Vengeance 10

For the next hour they reviewed the A-10 project. Bethwig was able to report that the first engines had been assembled for testing and that the instrumentation was nearly all in place. Beyond that, aerodynamic and structural studies were nearly completed, and the shops had already begun fabricating those components with the longest lead times. Any final changes necessary could be made as they went along.

Heydrich professed himself satisfied. Leaning back in his chair, he regarded Bethwig closely. ‘You will accept the position of A-Ten project director then?’

The question startled him. He thought that Heydrich had satisfied himself that he would never replace von Braun. Bethwig spread his hands in exasperation. ‘How can I, Reinhard? I have given you my reasons for refusing. Von Braun is the only man who in my opinion can do the job. I certainly recognise the urgency but … ‘

Heydrich’s expression had become hard and frightening. ‘You must do more than that, Herr Doktor Bethwig. You must accept. We will discuss the matter further tomorrow, before I leave for Paris.’

Bethwig nodded, relieved that the inquisition was over, at least temporarily.

His exasperation began to wear off as soon as he left Heydrich’s office. The afternoon and evening he would spend with Inge were as much as he wanted to think about for now. He had decided that they would go for a drive during the afternoon, but when he tried to arrange for a car at the reception desk, he was told by an apologetic clerk that all were in use. On the way to his suite he noticed that a guard had been stationed at the end of the corridor.

Inge was gone, every trace. The bed had been made and an antiseptic-smelling deodorant sprayed about the room to cover even the trace of her perfume. When he phoned the reception desk, they of course knew nothing, and the SS guard at the end of the corridor would only stare silently ahead.

Bethwig tried to remain calm, but after the first hour he was pacing from one end of the apartment to the other. He knew what Heydrich was up to — a demonstration. The lesson was bitter but not unexpected. Heydrich meant to show him what it was like to have a favourite toy taken away. The bastard! Inge had become more than a toy. Though why he loved her as he thought he did, he could not be certain.

Inge was returned at nine o’clock that evening. He heard a timid knock and threw open the door and the girl collapsed against him. Franz kicked the door shut and carried her into the bedroom. For a moment he thought she was drunk, but there was no odour of alcohol. Her head lolled to one side as he placed her on the bed, and she moaned when he lifted her arm on to the cover. He pushed the sleeve back and shock jolted through him. Swearing like a madman, Bethwig tore away her light summer dress. The sight was stunning. Her chest and back were covered with purplish bruises. Cigarette burns dotted her breasts. Wire marks encircled her thighs and upper arms, and a livid SS brand had been burned into each buttock.

When Bethwig calmed down enough to lift the telephone to call for a doctor, the line was dead. The door to the corridor was locked, from the outside. An SS guard stood beneath the balcony, and when he looked over, the sentry raised his rifle and ordered him back inside. Unable to believe what was happening, Bethwig lowered himself into a chair beside the bed. Inge seemed to have been drugged. She tossed restlessly but was semi-conscious and totally incoherent.

After a while he wet a towel in the bathroom and began to bathe her carefully. The cool water had a soothing effect, and her restlessness ceased. In the dark hour before dawn she wakened screaming. Bethwig took her in his arms, whispering her name over and over until she calmed. Then he filled a glass with brandy and persuaded her to drink. Afterwards Inge lay back, movements stiff and slow, and as she told him what had happened he examined her body under the bed lamp until convinced that the damage was more painful than dangerous. None of the burns were deep except for the two SS brands, and those seemed to have been treated with an antiseptic.

From what he could make out from her childish narration, it seemed she had been ordered back to her room after he had left for his appointment with Heydrich that morning. Her story was not always coherent, and he had to interpret a lot that she did not understand. Assuming that he had left and that she would be reassigned, Inge had done as she was told. Instead, the matron had sent her to the basement. Though frightened, she had still expected nothing more than a beating. It was not the first time. There were so many rules and a guest’s single negative comment was considered reason enough for a whipping. But such punishments were limited to no more than ten strokes with a rubber hose administered by the matron. The hose left no marks and, while painful did no damage. The matron apparently enjoyed the punishments, and they were given liberally.