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    The Americans, by extraordinary feats of improvisation and daring, had first held the Japanese in the Pacific, then built up forces large enough: to go over to the offensive.

    The great clash had begun in August 1942 with battles in the Coral Sea, in the neighbourhood of the Solomon Islands and desperate fighting in the jungles of Guadalcanal. With magnificent courage and tenacity the famous United States Marine Corps had held on to these, against great odds, while the Australians in the jungles of New Guinea had rivalled their Allies' bravery. In the naval battles between August and January over forty- warships had been sunk and hundreds of aircraft shot down, but by the spring of 1943 the Japanese had been driven out of New Guinea, Guadalcanal was firmly in American hands and now, in May, the enemy was everywhere on the defensive.

    To outward seeming, therefore, it appeared to be only a question of time before both Germany and Japan were finally defeated. But those who were responsible for the High Direction of the war were far from being as sanguine as the public about the outcome. They had learned that a new development in warfare was maturing which might not only cancel out the superiority in men and material they now enjoyed, but reduce Britain's cities to ruins, render her ports unusable and make it impossible ever to invade and conquer Hitler's `Fortress Europa'.

    As early as the autumn of 1939 British Intelligence had reported rumours that German scientists were experimenting with some form of long-range weapon… From then on, at lengthy intervals, corroborative reports had come in; but it was believed that this new, secret weapon was still in its infancy and not likely to emerge from its experimental stage for several years, by which time it was anticipated that the war would have been won. Until December 1941 it had not even been known if the German scientists were working on a revolutionary type of cannon, a rocket or a pilotless aircraft; but chance had led to Gregory finding out at least that much.

    In June 194I Herr Gruppenfьhrer Grauber, the Chief of the Gestapo Foreign Department UA-I, had become so infuriated by Gregory's series of successes as a secret agent that he had decided to lure him into a trap and put him out of the way for good. For this purpose he had used Erika's husband, who was a distinguished scientist. A letter from Count von Osterberg had reached Erika, informing her that, revolted by the inhuman method of warfare that would result from a project on which the Nazis had forced him to work, he had fled from Germany and was living in hiding in a villa on the Swiss shore of Lake Constance. The letter went on to say that since they meant nothing to one another Erika would probably welcome a divorce, and that if she came to live in Switzerland for three months they could secure one.

    As Erika's dearest wish was to marry Gregory, she had asked Sir Pellinore to help her to get to Switzerland. He had agreed at the same time urging on her the importance of endeavouring to find out about the project upon which her husband had been working. On reaching Switzerland she had been led to believe that it was a new and terrible form of poison gas, the formula for which von Osterberg had left in his castle on the other side of the lake. She had accompanied him back into Germany to get it, so had fallen into Grauber's trap; providing, as he had planned, the perfect bait to ensnare Gregory.'

    Meanwhile, Gregory had been on a mission in Russia. On learning what had happened he had immediately gone to Switzerland, taking with him his friend Stefan Kuporovitch, the ex-Bolshevik General who had aided him on an earlier mission and then married a French wife and settled in London. At the lake-side villa they had killed the Gestapo thug who was acting as von Osterberg's jailer, and Kuporovitch had taken his place while Gregory went into Germany. There he had succeeded in blackmailing Grauber into giving up Erika. On their return, for a brief while, they believed that Grauber had shot the spineless Count, only to realize, when they recovered from their exhaustion that the shot had come from a Swiss patrol boat. So Erika's husband was still alive.

    While he had had the Count on his own Kuporovitch had forced him to talk. The secret weapon upon which he had been working was not a new poison gas, but a giant rocket weighing seventy tons. It was being constructed at Peenemunde, on the Baltic, and had a range of over two hundred miles; so from the French coast it could be used to bombard London.

    That had been in December 1941 in the fifteen months that

    followed further somewhat vague and conflicting reports had come in about the Germans' activities at Peenemunde; but it was not until the previous April that serious notice had been taken of them. On the 15th of that month General Ismay had sent a Minute to the Prime Minister stating that, in the opinion of the Chiefs of Staff, German experiments with long range rockets had now reached a stage when definite facts about them must be obtained, and recommending that a secret committee under the chairmanship of Mr. Duncan Sandys should be set up to carry out a full investigation.

    Air reconnaissance over Peenemьnde had disclosed that the buildings of the experimental station covered such a large area that several thousand people must now be employed there, and the aerial photographs had shown missiles of several different kinds assembled near the launching sites.

    Suddenly, the need for full and reliable information became regarded as a matter of urgency. Sir Pellinore, who had a finger in every pie, was consulted. Although Gregory had never been an official member of the British Secret Service, most of the top people knew of the missions he had carried out for Sir Pellinore and the elderly Baronet had to admit that few men could be better qualified to find out the facts.

    Between September 1939 and October 1942 Gregory had spent many months in enemy territory and had survived many desperate hazards; so Sir Pellinore, who loved him like a son, was most loath to ask him to risk his life again. But it now appeared that if Hitler's secret weapon were allowed to become operational millions of British civilians might be killed and the Allies lose the war; so the old man had decided that it was his duty to put the situation to Gregory.

    Having thought the matter over, Gregory had decided that he would stand a better chance of success if he had a companion, and the stalwart Kuporovitch had agreed to accompany him. So on this night of the 30th May 1943 there they were, lying side by side in the bomb bay of the Mosquito.

    As Gregory's mind roved over the past and speculated on the future, he thought it just possible that at Peenemьnde

he might come across von Osterberg and, if he were exceptionally unlucky, find himself once again up against Grauber; but it never even occurred to him that his mission might lead to his again meeting the lovely Sabine, much less that Erika would become involved, and that before the end all five of them would become enmeshed by the Fates, who had decreed that two of them must die.

    It was a little after two o'clock in the morning when Gregory jumped from the aircraft and Stefan Kuporovitch followed him down into Nazi Germany -that land in which a growing fear of the consequences of defeat was making Hitler's fanatical followers ever more desperate- and ruthless.

2

Back into the Battle

    As the parachute opened, Gregory let his breath go in a sigh of relief. He had found by experience that at the critical moment of having to jump he could occupy his mind by making a cheerful farewell to the crew of the aircraft, and statistics showed that although an unlucky landing might prove painful it rarely resulted in serious injury. But there was always that actually brief, yet seemingly interminable, wait before the time came to pull the ripcord. During it the heart contracted from the awful knowledge that should the cord fail to work nothing could stop one's body rushing to earth at the speed of an express train and being smashed to pulp upon it.