“So…” Himmler wheeled around as soon as they’d left the windowless concrete shed. “When do you think we’ll be able to launch your spaceship, Dr. von Braun?”
Von Braun had heard this question before: from Goering, from Goebbels, from Speer, from everyone else in the High Command who’d suddenly taken an interest in Peenemünde after Hitler had given the order to proceed with Silbervogel. “We’re hoping to be ready to fly by next summer,” he replied, a truthful yet evasive answer that he and Dornberger had devised a while ago. “There are still many technical obstacles in our way, but we’re working to overcome them.”
Dornberger stepped in. “We’ll soon be ready for static tests of the new rocket engine, Herr Reichsführer. It will run on a revolutionary new mixture of liquid oxygen and a hydrocarbon suspension of aluminum particulate that promises to produce a higher thrust than the fuel we used for the A-4 prototype. The turbopump assembly for the main combustion chamber is nearly complete, once we finish testing the main coolant loop for…”
“Yes, yes, of course.” Himmler was impatient with details, and von Braun doubted that he understood them anyway. He continued walking toward the large, warehouselike shed that Dornberger had indicated would be the next stop on their tour. “I know your scientists are technically competent. What concerns me is whether you’ll be able to produce a weapon of this sort before the Americans do.”
“I’m positive we shall,” von Braun said. “We’re already far ahead of their own rocket program.”
Dornberger shot him a look. What von Braun had just said came dangerously close to contradicting the colonel’s contention that Germany was in a race against America to produce an intercontinental rocket. And they had another concern as well. Himmler was Goering’s rival. He’d already taken the Gestapo away from him, transforming it into an arm of the SS, and it was whispered that he wanted control of the Luftwaffe as well.
It was bad enough that Dornberger and von Braun had to answer to Goering. It would be worse if Himmler became their new boss. There was nothing either of them could do about that except prepare for the worst and expect that Himmler would win the power contest. If that happened, the Reichsführer-SS needed to be convinced that the Silbervogel Projekt was proceeding according to plan. Otherwise, the two of them might receive a visit from men in black trench coats, followed by an automobile ride to parts unknown.
“Hmm…” Himmler abruptly stopped and turned to gaze around the area. “Where will the launch site be located? I see nothing that indicates that the track is under construction.”
“We’ve been considering a new location, Herr Reichsführer,” Dornberger said. “The original plan was to build it here on the island, but lately we’ve come to believe that this might not be a good idea.”
“About a month ago, the RAF began making reconnaissance flights above us.” Von Braun nodded toward the overcast sky; Himmler instinctively looked up, as if expecting to see a British P-38 or Mosquito. “The Luftwaffe commander has sent up Messerschmidts to intercept them, of course, but they managed to get away. I have little doubt that they’ve taken high-altitude photographs of our facilities, and even if British intelligence hasn’t figured out what they are, an elevated rail three kilometers long will certainly draw their attention. If the British and American air forces decide to make an air raid…”
“It will not succeed.” Himmler’s tone was flat, decisive. “No bombs will drop on the Fatherland, I assure you.”
“Nonetheless, may I respectfully submit that the rail be built elsewhere, for the sake of security?” Von Braun knew that he was perilously close to contradicting Himmler, so he decided to change tactics. “Besides, the closer to the equator the launch site is located, the more we’ll be able to take advantage of the Earth’s rotation during takeoff.”
“Yes… yes, I see your point.” Again, Himmler became contemplative. “Perhaps it could be built in an occupied country near the Mediterranean. Southern France, or perhaps Egypt…”
“Those are the optimal locations, yes, but then we’d have a new problem… moving Silbervogel there once it’s assembled. The vehicle will be twenty-eight meters in length and have an empty weight of ten metric tons. Transportation out of the country will be very difficult, and should the craft be damaged in any way during transit…”
“There’s also the necessity of having a large workforce,” Dornberger said. “Several thousand people work here, including the war prisoners we’ve assigned to hard labor. Moving this operation elsewhere will mean that we’ll have to find a new source of labor. This will be difficult if the project is relocated to France or North Africa.”
“I understand.” A dry smile appeared on Himmler’s pinched face. “Let me look into this. I may be able to find an alternative within our borders.”
Von Braun inwardly groaned. Without intending to do so, he’d given Himmler another reason to give Hitler why the Luftwaffe in general, and Silbervogel in particular, should be turned over to him. Himmler’s first priority was his own ambitions. Anything he could use to further them was fair game.
“That would be helpful, Herr Reichsführer,” he said. “Danke.”
“Still, this matter about the American rocket program bothers me. How can you be so certain that we’re ahead of them? We’ve had little recent intelligence about what they’re presently doing.”
Von Braun found himself at a loss for words. Himmler was correct; they really didn’t know where the Americans stood in terms of rocket development. Neither he nor Dornberger could afford to admit this, though, because it would have undermined the myth upon which the Silbervogel Projekt was built: America was far ahead of Germany in the field of rocketry, and Silver Bird was the Third Reich’s best chance of catching up.
“It might be possible that their program is being done in secret, just as ours is.” Von Braun had no idea if this was true; he just hoped that it didn’t sound like he was making it up on the spot. “It would make sense that their foremost scientist, Robert Goddard, would be involved in any sort of long-range project that the Americans might have undertaken…”
“Has doubtless undertaken,” Dornberger quickly added. “Yes, I agree. The project is being kept hidden, naturally, and Goddard is probably in charge. This is probably why our intelligence operatives have yet to determine its purpose or whereabouts.”
Von Braun nodded, even as he and Dornberger shared a conspiratorial look. Both of them knew this was an utter fabrication. What little they knew about Goddard’s recent activity was that he was somewhere out in the American desert, tinkering with rockets that probably couldn’t reach the next state, let alone Europe. Himmler wouldn’t be aware of this, though. If he could be led to believe that the Americans had their own Peenemünde, with Robert Goddard as its mastermind, then the Reichsführer-SS and the rest of the High Command wouldn’t suspect that they’d undertaken a massive and enormously expensive research-and-development program in response to a threat that simply didn’t exist.
Perhaps we’ll be lucky, and the war will be over before this thing is ready to fly, von Braun thought. Like Eugen Sanger and Irene Bredt—who were involved in the project only as Luftwaffe Institute advisors, with no direct role, at least as yet—he’d come to view Silbervogel as a space vehicle rather than a military weapon. Perhaps one day it could be used for more peaceful purposes, like carrying the components of a Mars expeditionary fleet into orbit for assembly. Until then, though, he’d have to focus on carrying out an attack on America, a goal he’d come to like less and less as time went on.