Vengeance 10

Bethwig kept silent, troubled by the haunted eyes that had stared at their car as they stopped at an intersection for a convoy of military trucks. The people — men, women, and children — seemed to have been rounded up indiscriminately, and all were clearly frightened. If what had been done to Inge was merely a casual lesson to persuade him, they had every reason to be afraid.

‘And I thought the Czech people loved him so much,’ he observed bitterly after the car had started up again.

‘Who told you that?’

‘He did.’

The colonel’s laugh was bitter, it’s hard to love your hangman. That’s what they called him, you know.’

* * *

Colonel Ullman’s estimate was not far wrong. It was just after midnight when Bethwig raced from the Peenemunde airfield to von Braun’s quarters. He pounded on the door until he heard a sleepy muttering on the other side.

‘Damn it, Wernher, open the door!’

‘Franz? Just a moment.’

The door opened and von Braun waved him in. ‘Damn it, Franz, couldn’t you have waited until morning to tell about the fleshpots of Prague?’ He shuffled back into the room, turning on the light and sorting through the jumble of papers on his desk for a cigarette.

Bethwig kicked the door closed. ‘Shut up and sit down. This is serious.’

‘What the devil are you…?’

‘British agents shot Heydrich on Wednesday morning. He is not expected to live.’

Von Braun gaped at him. ‘Shot… Heydrich?’ He swallowed. The packet of cigarettes found, Bethwig then waited while he lit one, allowing him time to absorb the shock.

‘There was nothing about it on the wireless… or in the papers…’

‘Of course not. And there won’t be until he dies.’

‘He isn’t dead yet?’ Von Braun’s voice was hopeful.

‘He is dying,’ Bethwig said harshly. ‘Blood poisoning. And good riddance as well.’

‘What are you saying, Franz? Without him, how can we continue the A-Ten?’

‘Damned good question. First you had better hear what happened to me. Then you might not be so saddened by our dear patron’s imminent departure for hell.’ Bethwig told him the entire story, leaving nothing out except the details of Inge’s mental history.

Von Braun listened with a growing amazement that quickly turned to grim anger. When Bethwig finished, he stubbed out his cigarette with a vicious twisting motion.

‘It’s damned good riddance then, as you said,’ he snarled. ‘Until things clarify themselves, I suppose we had better continue as we have. Try to get as much done as possible in case we have to persuade someone else to support us.’

Bethwig nodded. ‘That’s my feeling as well. As for finding someone else to back us, we’re still not out of the woods as far as the SS is concerned.’

‘Perhaps not,’ von Braun replied, his voice thoughtful. ‘But perhaps it is possible that we have enough results now to persuade the Army General Staff to back us, particularly if we let it slip that the SS, in the person of the soon-to-be-martyred Reinhard Heydrich, was behind it. That would scare the hell out of them.’

‘It might also get us shot by our own employers,’ Bethwig snorted.

* * *

Three weeks later two SS officers accompanied by the Gestapo officer Walsch arrived at Peenemunde to arrest von Braun. Walsch politely introduced himself and reminded von Braun that they had met several years before in Berlin, in the office of Colonel Dornberger. He smiled when von Braun recalled the circumstances, and they flew to Berlin that afternoon, in spite of Dornberger’s strenuous protests. The aircraft took off even as Dornberger was trying to get through to Gestapo headquarters.

* * *

Bethwig telephoned his father that evening to ask him to use his influence to fix an appointment with Reichsführer Himmler, reasoning that the order for the arrest of Wernher von Braun, an army employee, by the SD could only have come from his office. His father agreed to help, but it was three days before the meeting could be arranged. Dornberger threw up his hands in despair when he heard what Bethwig had done.

‘For God’s sake, Franz, now there will be two of you to get out of prison, or worse.’

Added to his worry about von Braun was the lack of any communication from Colonel Ullman. Twice he had tried to phone through, only to be told that lines were unavailable. And there was little news of any kind from the protectorate. God only knew what havoc the SD were causing there.

The following day Bethwig, taking a roundabout route through Hamburg, drove to Berlin to consult with his father.

‘Hah! British agents indeed,’ his father had exploded in anger. ‘Mark my words, young man, the deed was done and Heydrich murdered at the express order of that weak-chinned jealous little sadist Himmler.’ Bethwig had told him what he knew of the happenings in Prague.