Von Braun sat quietly staring out the window, until the limousine stalled in heavy traffic at a busy intersection. Then he turned to his friend.
‘I saw a picture of London in that American magazine Life. Leiderle brought it back from Switzerland. The city is in ruins, and the people look half-starved. Yet here you would never know there was a war. Look at them.’ He motioned towards a couple running hand in hand across the street, both clutching bundles and laughing happily, it’s as if they were on holiday, a permanent holiday, and no one will ever have to pay the reckoning.’
Bethwig remained silent. Germany triumphant! A nation surfeited with self-confidence after so many years of insecurity. How much longer could it last? The British had even begun to bomb Berlin’s industrial suburbs. How much longer would the British and their American allies show such restraint, he wondered, with British cities being subjected to terror bombing?
The limousine inched forward until it was stopped opposite a news-stand. The banner leader indicated fresh news from Stalingrad, and Bethwig wound down the window and motioned for a paper.
Von Braun glanced at the headline and snorted. ‘Herr Goebbels is still trying to convince us that the mighty army is winning the battle of Stalingrad, I see. What foolishness. I spoke to a pilot who had flown some wounded out a few days ago. He said the situation grows more hopeless by the day.’
Bethwig shook the paper loudly and jerked his head at the driver beyond the glass window. Von Braun nodded wearily and fell silent. The car broke free of traffic then, and a few minutes later they were walking up the broad steps into SS headquarters. An officer was waiting to conduct them directly to the Reichsführer who stood to receive them, smiling broadly. He indicated two chairs, then occupied a few moments with pleasantries and comments on how well the battle at Stalingrad was shaping, while the aide brought coffee – not ersatz, Bethwig noted, but the real thing.
‘Well, now, gentlemen, I see by the reports that in spite of difficulties, you have made remarkable progress in the past few months. I understand that you are readying another A-Ten for testing. Fine, fine. We must keep things moving along now that the Americans are beginning to make themselves felt in the war.’ Himmler hunched forward and stared at each man in turn.
‘Gentlemen, I must be frank with you.’ He turned first to Bethwig. ‘It concerns the matter of priorities. I am finding it most difficult to supply your needs in the face of the Führer’s repeated refusals to allot top priority to rocket development. I have discussed the matter with Minister Speer’ – he turned to von Braun – ‘and he also has had little success in obtaining materials and priorities for Peenemunde. It seems that our Führer has dreamed that rockets will not be successful weapons. Whether or not this colours his thinking I do not know, but he continues to state that he is not yet convinced that the rocket will be an effective weapon. Now, gentlemen, I understand something of the needs of research and the amount of time required to ready new weapons for use. I believe that I have hit upon a scheme to ease the matter of priorities.’
Himmler smiled his most disarming smile, and Bethwig thought he looked more than ever like an ineffectual country farmer.
‘And what is this plan, Herr Reichsführer?’ von Braun enquired politely.
‘A very simple one, to be sure, and to your benefit. As you know, the Schutzstaffel is a separate legal entity of government within the Reich. We are essentially a state-within-a-state and therefore are exempt from the unnecessary and time-consuming foolishness foisted on the Wehrmacht by bureaucrats.’ He leaned back and regarded them both with a benign expression.
‘My position as Reichsführer allows me a great deal of freedom. We of the SS have our own army, courts, market system, housing, transportation, and scientific sections, as you know. And I am solely responsible for the establishment of priorities within that framework.’ He shot forward in his chair and peered at von Braun over his pince-nez.
‘I propose that you both leave the employ of the army. You, Doktor von Braun, would become director of my rocket research programme with the rank of gruppenführer and you, Doktor Bethwig, his second in command as brigadeführer. I can assure you that everything necessary will be granted without delay. You have no idea how efficient my SS can be.’
The suggestion did not impress Bethwig. Heydrich had tried to force acceptance of a similar offer before his death, and it had been only a matter of time before Himmler did likewise. Only the high ranks were surprising. The Reichsführer was not known for his generosity, and ranks equivalent to major general and brigadier general only hinted at his determination. In spite of his antipathy to Himmler, Bethwig could see the benefits of such a move. But von Braun would have none of it. He cited his contract with the Army Research Centre, as well as his personal loyalty to Dornberger. Himmler, surprisingly reasonable in the face of such stubborn opposition, turned the talk to other matters.
At eight o’clock an aide entered to remind the Reichsführer of another engagement, and he apologised for keeping them so long. As they walked towards the door Himmler smiled and reached up to clap a hand on von Braun’s shoulder. ‘Please reconsider my offer, Herr Doktor von Braun. I am sure you will not let last spring’s unpleasantness obscure your judgement.’
Von Braun snorted. ‘And what of the investigation, Herr Reichsführer? Have I been cleared yet?’
‘Ah, yes, the investigation,’ Himmler replied, half turning to glance back at his desk as if the answer lay there. ‘I read a preliminary review of the evidence only last week. Most favourable. Most favourable. Otherwise, I would not be able to offer you such a fine position, would I?’
‘And when will the charges be dropped?’
‘Soon, my boy. Soon. Don’t give it another thought. There are more important things with which to occupy your mind.’ Himmler gave them an enigmatic smile and closed the door.
As they were getting into the car an officer hurried out with a sealed envelope.
The Reichsführer asked me to give this to you personally,’ he said to Bethwig, ‘and to assure you that if further information is required, he will endeavour to assist you in any way he can.’
Bethwig stuffed the envelope into his pocket and got in. The return trip to Tempelhof was made under escort with sirens blaring. A Ju.88 was standing on the apron, engines turning, and a pretty hostess in Lufthansa uniform welcomed them aboard. After the plane was airborne, they were served wine and a gourmet supper, followed by cognac and real coffee.
All through the meal von Braun ranted angrily at Himmler, and Bethwig listened silently until he ran down and fell asleep. He remembered the envelope then, found it in his overcoat, and struggled to read the spidery handwriting. When he had finished, he refolded the letter and sat motionless.
Franz remained silent during the drive from the airfield to their quarters, barely acknowledging von Braun’s comments. He pleaded exhaustion and went immediately to his apartment.
In his room, he lit the fire, poured a stiff whisky, then spread Himmler’s note on his desk and stared at the words. Now he knew why Himmler had summoned them both to Berlin. The last two paragraphs made it perfectly clear:
‘Knowing of your concern, my investigators established beyond doubt that the young lady is being well cared for in a Prague hospice. It is certainly possible that if her treatment continues as successfully as heretofore, she may be released in the near future. Unfortunately, her parents have disappeared, and it is thought they may have been killed in the bombing of their small village by aircraft of the American Eighth Air Force. If so, there will of course be the matter of guardianship to be settled, as the doctors are doubtful that she will ever again be well enough to live on her own. Perhaps something can be arranged in this regard.