Janet was the first to notice. He had slept for twenty-six hours after she had found him in the hall, and when he had awakened late the next night, she had brought him tea and scrambled eggs. Afterwards he had bathed and shaved and, returning to the bedroom, found the window thrown wide and the room filled with the soft summer air. Janet had wanted to recreate the night he had proposed to her, and grinned impishly as he got into bed beside her, only to find himself impotent. The shock to his self-esteem was crippling. Since that night, he had avoided her, finding excuses to be absent or taking refuge in anger to hide his fear. He did not know what to do to break the impasse, short of admitting to her that he was frightened to death, and that he would never do. Not to anyone.
Sandys returned an hour later to find Memling asleep. He woke him reluctantly, and after a quick bite, the three of them sat long in the drawing-room discussing the implications of the German rocket programme and their inability to make the committee realise the great danger it posed to the entire Allied war effort. Both Sandys and the brigadier were pessimistic, and the discussion turned to ways they might circumvent Viscount Cherwell’s influence on the Prime Minister.
‘I don’t understand it.’ Sandys smacked the table in exasperation. ‘He is a brilliant scientist. Brilliant! But for some reason he is totally blind regarding the German rockets. Even after seeing the photographs. It is beyond belief.’
Simon-Benet gave Memling a smile to remind him of their discussion.
It was after midnight when they emerged, and Memling was drained. Sandys and the brigadier stood talking beside the car, and Memling leaned against the railing drawing deep lungsful of cold night air. The wind had stiffened and was now whirling dead leaves across the square. The stuffy library had left him with a raging headache, and in spite of the liberal infusions of whisky and water that Sandys had poured, his throat ached. A chill shook him, and he pushed himself up and took a few steps along the gravelled walk, wishing the two would finish their conversation. He was dead tired and wanted nothing so much as his own bed and sleep.
Sandys said good night to them a few moments later and returned to the building. Simon-Benet motioned Memling into the car and gave the driver the address.
Memling lay back against the upholstery, eyes closed as the brigadier droned on about the impression he had made on Sandys; his head was spinning and he was half-asleep when the car drew up in front of his door. He mumbled a good night to Simon-Benet and shuffled towards the steps. Jan found his key and got the door open with difficulty. The flight of stairs seemed endless, and he could not make his key fit in the door to the flat. Janet heard his fumbling and came to open it. She took one look at his perspiring face and helped him directly to bed, undressing him and then covering him with a quilt. By this time he was shivering and his teeth were chattering. Janet got into bed beside him and took his shivering body in her arms. The room seemed to spin and bob, and for a moment Memling was frightened that he was still aboard the fishing boat caught up in the storm. Then Janet’s face swam into view and he relaxed, knowing everything had come out right.
The next morning Janet phoned the hospital, and Memling was removed from the flat for treatment of exhaustion and incipient pneumonia.
Berlin
March 1944
Military police were everywhere, waving batons and shouting at drivers, urging them through the tangle of debris, and cursing civilians and soldiers alike. Peering through the mud-spattered window, Bethwig caught sight of an army officer arguing heatedly with an SS obersturmführer at a roadblock. The army officer was pointing to three of his men being held at gunpoint. The obersturmführer waved him away and, when the army officer continued to argue, turned abruptly to his squad and snapped an order. Before the astonished officer could react, the SS had surrounded his company. As his car finally broke out of the crush, Bethwig had a last glimpse of the soldiers being disarmed.
‘The breakdown is beginning,’ General Dornberger grunted, peering over Bethwig’s shoulder. ‘The SS is overstepping itself, and the army is powerless to stop it – lacks the courage to do so.’
They had been driving since eight that morning, moving through heavy snow and rain, dodging military traffic, and enduring frequent stops at Gestapo checkpoints where their papers were examined and re-examined until they had become dog-eared. It was a revelation to Franz how far out of esteem military personnel had fallen of late. The Gestapo and SS were contemptuous of their documents and frequently made them wait while telephone calls were placed to obtain approval to allow them to pass.
Munich had suffered heavily from a British bombing raid the night before, and fires still raged inside the city. Only bad weather prevented the American follow-up raid, Franz thought. They spent two hours inching through traffic before the driver was able to turn off on the road to Berchtesgaden, which they reached just before 6 p.m. As soon as they were in their hotel room Domberger rang up General Buhle, chief of the Army Staff at Hitler’s headquarters, to announce their arrival. He was told to remain where he was.
Dornberger gave Bethwig a puzzled glance as he replaced the receiver. ‘I would certainly like to know what this is all about, Franz.’
Franz had been in Dornberger’s office in Schwedt-on-Oder that morning, ready to begin a long-delayed discussion about priorities and personnel which promised to last most of the day, when the summons to Berchtesgaden came. Rather than waste the opportunity, Dornberger asked Franz to come along, and they had conducted their discussion in the back seat of Dornberger’s Opel Admiral. It was the first time in months that Bethwig had been further away from Peenemunde than Schwedt, and he was shocked at what he had seen. Their route had taken them through Berlin to Hof and on to Munich, and he was startled to see that vast sections of the capital were in ruins. The newspapers and radio had reported the bombing of the cities but always the raids were said to be failures and the toll of enemy bombers exceptionally high. Yet the industrial suburbs were bombed-out ruins, and the city centre devastated. Bethwig could not get over the sight of shrapnel holes in familiar city buildings and bomb craters in the Park am Zoo. The autobahns seemed to have been targeted as well, and on the drive south they had passed a military convoy stopped by the side of the road. Several vehicles were burning, and a line of snow-dusted bodies could be seen beside an ambulance, proof that in spite of the Luftwaffe, Allied fighter bombers were managing to penetrate this far into the country.
Fifteen minutes later General Buhle entered their hotel room. His heavy face was grim, and he wasted no time on preliminaries, barely acknowledging the introduction to Bethwig.
‘This morning at eight o’clock,’ he told them abruptly, ‘Professor von Braun, Ernst Mundt, and another engineer, Helmuth Gottrup, were arrested for sabotage. They were removed to Gestapo headquarters in Stettin.’
The news stunned both men, and they stared at each other as Buhle went on to tell Dornberger that he was to meet with Field Marshal Keitel at nine the following morning. Buhle offered his sympathy and privately told Domberger not to expect much help from Keitel. Having refused a drink, he left abruptly, as if by remaining longer he would be contaminated.
As Buhle predicted, Domberger’s meeting with Keitel was a farce. ‘He told me point-blank he was afraid for his position,’ Dornberger stormed as the heavy automobile raced north again.