‘We’ve discovered the Germans are firing numerous A-Four rockets on a range established in Poland. It is Ml-Six’s guess that they’re training operational crews, and Polish Intelligence seems to bear this out. In late May, the twenty-fifth to be exact, a rocket was fired from near a town named Blizna. It apparently went a bit off course and crashed beside the River Bug. The Poles got to it first, hid it from the Jerry recovery team, then spirited the whole thing away. From the reports we have, the damned rocket is completely intact, if a little bent. I’ve proposed to the committee that we bring it out of Poland. They agreed, and the Prime Minister endorsed the mission. Special Operations Executive has agreed to lay on a special aircraft. I want you to go along as the committee’s representative and take charge of the affair.’
Memling listened in silence, then shook his head. ‘Sorry, Brigadier, but the answer is no.’
Simon-Benet had expected a bit of hedging, perhaps some argument, but certainly not a firm, outright refusal. His temper got the best of him then. ‘Damn it all, Jan, I thought I’d made it clear it was time to stop playing the jilted schoolgirl. This is - ‘
Memling interrupted: ‘Brigadier, I don’t give one good Goddamn in hell what the committee thinks, or what they don’t think. I won’t go! I can’t,’ he finished lamely.
After a moment the brigadier asked, ‘Why ever not?’
Memling had turned away, his shoulders hunched, refusing to say anything more. Simon-Benet waited, not quite understanding. After a moment he said softly, ‘I saw Janet just before I left London. She’s looking well.’
Memling gave no sign of having heard.
‘She asked me to give you her love.’
‘Look here,’ Memling shouted, ‘let’s leave Janet out of this, shall we? She has nothing to do with your being here.’
‘All right, Jan. Let’s get back to the subject at hand. Why are you refusing? As a superior officer, ‘I’m entitled to an explanation.’
Memling walked off a bit, then turned and came back. ‘Damn it all, what more do you want from me? If you want to know so badly, I’ll tell you! I won’t go because I’ve bloody well lost my nerve. The idea of going anywhere near a German gives me the shakes. ‘I’m scared to death, damn it!’ Memling was on the verge of tears as he stared at Simon-Benet.
So that’s it, the brigadier thought. My God, and he hid it so well. No wonder ... and he began to laugh.
Memling blinked in astonishment. ‘You think cowardice is funny?’ he demanded in outrage.
Simon-Benet had to lean against a rock for support, and it was a few moments before he could bring himself under control. ‘No, Jan,’ he finally managed. ‘I don’t. I don’t at all. And I am sure I do not know whatever gave you the idea that you were a coward. Good God in heaven, you have to be one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. If I could, I’d recommend you for the Victoria Cross.’ He paused to examine Memling’s anguished face.
‘Everything makes more sense now. Janet suggested that you had been having... ah... certain difficulties, and she felt that was why you - ‘
‘Jesus Christ, isn’t anything considered private any more? What right do you - ‘
‘Major!’ the brigadier’s voice cracked like a whip. ‘Shut your mouth. You are speaking to a superior officer, or have you forgotten?’ He glared the younger man into silence, then waited a moment more.
‘It might interest you to know that I am a physician and a psychologist. I held a professorship in medicine at London University Hospital before the war. So, I know what I am talking about when I ask you, by what possible conceit do you conclude that your problems are unique? Perhaps if you had discussed them with your doctor while in hospital you would have discovered they are not confined exclusively to you.
‘Of course you are scared and your nerves are shot. They should be after what you’ve been through. That does not mean that you are a coward. What it does mean is that you have a healthy respect for danger and your body will not allow your brain to overrule common sense. Fear is simply a warning of danger. Nothing more. If those damned fools at Combined Operations had listened years ago, we would be teaching courses in how to deal with fear, and as a consequence we would have far fewer officers and men institutionalised because of so-called battle fatigue. The lessons of the First World War were clear enough. Unless men are taught to respect and use fear as a self-protective device, they will . . .’ Realising that he was beginning to lecture, the brigadier broke off.
‘Look here, Jan. When in danger, any sane person is frightened. Often that fright persists after the danger has passed. Body and mind together must deal with the effects of fear, and to do so, a great deal of energy is expended, generally in situations that are stressful. Over time this is very debilitating and causes, a form of exhaustion, both physical and mental, and certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Better to be ashamed of yawning, which is a natural response to an excess of carbon dioxide. Instead such reactions should be cultivated and trained as warning systems and used to increase strength and response levels to a high degree. The Vikings recognised, and trained their warriors in, the phenomenon we know today as a berserk rage. A Viking could turn it on and off at will. Its basis was fear, but fear channelled into a useful course. If you were a coward, as you suppose, nothing could have dragged you into the Royal Marines. Do you understand what I am saying, Jan?’
When Memling nodded, the brigadier sighed. ‘All right, then, to the next item, your so-called impotency, as I am certain that is what Janet was so delicately alluding to. She felt your trouble was exhaustion, and in that she was entirely correct, but I assume her response was to be embarrassed for you, and you in turn felt that you had failed. Correct?’
When Memling nodded angrily, he rolled his eyes skyward.
‘The ignorance of this supposedly enlightened generation as regards sex, a perfectly natural function of the human body, is at times beyond belief. Your impotency was originally due to exhaustion brought on by the stress of a lengthy sojourn in a fear-producing situation. If it continues at all now, it is because you have convinced yourself that there is something quite wrong with you, namely, this ridiculous idea of cowardice.’
Memling shook his head. ‘You’re wrong there, Brigadier. Damned wrong. Not everything that happened in Germany was in my report.’ Memling described Francine’s insistence that they live as husband and wife. ‘I don’t know why I went along,’ he admitted, his face flaming. ‘I was a married man... it was just that Janet and I had been having trouble before I left, and she was there and, well, I had no trouble with her, Brigadier. Absolutely none. So you see …’
Simon-Benet stared at him in amazement. ‘My God, boy, I find it hard to believe ... I thought you had been married once before . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Look here, you need straightening out and badly. I’ve been married three times. I am also considered an expert in the psychology and training of combat soldiers, and I served in the first war. In fact, I survived twelve months on the Somme. So I think I know what ‘I’m talking about. You left England, guilty over your problems with Janet, fell into the clutches of. a nubile and probably oversexed teenage girl. What could be more natural than your reaction? From the way you describe her, she would have tempted Christ himself. There is nothing wrong in that, or in your taking advantage of the situation. If you hadn’t, I would have been worried. I would also think that under the circumstances, Janet, if she should ever find out, would be the first to dismiss it for what it was - mutual need. Now, as for being able to perform with this little German girl and not, afterwards, with Janet, you told me yourself that you stopped sexual relations after reaching the village because there was too much to do.
‘If you think back, you will probably find that your desire for sex had diminished. The young lady’s remained high because she, as you yourself maintain, did not appreciate the danger of the situation.’
The brigadier pushed himself away from the rock. ‘Look here, Jan. This isn’t simple cocktail psychology. The effects of stress on the human body have been carefully studied. Certainly this damnable war provides no end of subjects. One thing we know for certain - stress is cumulative over time and can and does cause temporary impotency. We are also finding that its cure is often quite simple, requiring nothing more than the patience and help of a woman who loves you.’ He hesitated, then decided that it was all or nothing.
‘I want you to run this operation for me, but only if you feel completely up to it. I suspected something like this after speaking to Janet, although certainly not the extent of the problem. Before I left London, I made arrangements to have you transferred back to my command, if you were willing. The only condition I now impose is that you speak to a certain doctor in London. I think he can help you appreciate what I’ve told you. Think about it. If you decide yes, ring me in Glasgow at this number.’ He handed Memling a card on which he had scribbled a telephone number.
‘If you decide no - well, then no hard feelings. But I must know within twenty-four hours. Otherwise it will be too late to get things organised properly.’
Simon-Benet punched him lightly on the shoulder and strode away, knowing that he had best have time alone.
As they walked along the path leading from the tiny Peenemunde cemetery to the waiting car Wernher von Braun caught Bethwig’s arm and steered him away from the others so that they were screened by the pines.
‘Franz, you know how sorry I am about this. I just wish...’ His voice trailed off, and he glanced around at the dripping branches and hunched his shoulders against the rain.
Bethwig nodded but did not reply, and after an awkward moment they resumed the walk to the car. The SS officer who had accompanied Bethwig stared sullenly as they approached, oblivious to von Braun’s glare; he opened the rear door, and once settled inside, Bethwig leaned against the seat, face carefully composed even though he was still clutching Himmler’s telegram expressing sorrow at his loss.
Bethwig was long past either sorrow or anger; both had ended with Inge’s death. The Peenemunde staff physician, an old friend, had offered no hope from the beginning.
‘‘I’m sorry, Franz, but there is nothing I can do other than to make her as comfortable as possible. She has advanced tuberculosis. A week, perhaps a month. Certainly not more. Since the war began, there are just not the medicines available, not that they would be of much use at this stage. The Allies are said to have a drug that will help but...’ He shrugged in helplessness.
The car turned into the drive. It had made little difference, he thought. Inge had no recollection of him. The house, the warm bed, food, and hot tea were enough. Whatever had been done to her in the camps had destroyed her already damaged mind. It was impossible for her to carry on even a short conversation; she had great difficulty composing the simplest sentence. His housekeeper, a taciturn Polish woman of middle age, assumed immediate care of her and even moved into the house to be with Inge at night. Bethwig found himself on several occasions studying this strange woman as she sat bundled in blankets on the enclosed porch, searching for even a vestige of the beauty that had so entranced him. But there was nothing left of her former self in this wasted frame. When she died quietly one night after a severe bout of coughing, he could only feel vast relief that she was now spared further agony. His consolation lay in Himmler’s defeat. Dornberger had persuaded Hitler himself to free von Braun, Gottrup and Mundt. Von Braun was now safe, by order of the Führer, and Inge was beyond reach.
Franz opened the door without waiting for the driver and stepped out. A sentry standing by the gate presented arms, and Bethwig turned to see the Gestapo officer Walsch stepping from the front seat of a touring car.
‘What is this man doing here?’
Walsch nodded towards the front of the house where another guard waited. ‘You are quite fortunate, Herr Doktor Bethwig. The Reichsführer takes great interest in your safety. It has been reported that a Russian assassination team has been sent into the area. The sentries will assure your safety.’
It was a barefaced lie, but Bethwig was too disgusted, too exhausted, to feel outrage. That fool Himmler should know by now that he could not be intimidated with threats to his life. Walsch, smiling now, continued. ‘Our counter-intelligence forces have established that the Russians have marked you and your family for murder, Herr Doktor. The Reichsführer has therefore extended the same protection to your father.’
The blow so stunned him that Bethwig could only gape. As if from a great distance, he heard Walsch explaining that precautions required that his father be placed in protective custody, that the Führer had personally approved the plan, and that the Reichsführer hoped he could now continue his work with his mind eased. Bethwig turned away and stumbled up the path as Walsch smiled and nodded after him.
‘I tell you, Franz, this may very well be our last opportunity.’ Von Braun kicked at the sand, then picked up a stone and hurled it towards the waves. It skipped twice and sank. ‘You can’t resign. You can’t give up now!’
Bethwig shook his head stubbornly. ‘I can and I will. If I have to leave Peenemunde, I’ll do so.’
Von Braun snorted. ‘Ever since that spy scare last summer, SS control has tightened like a noose. You could no more leave here than a front-line soldier could desert his unit.’
Bethwig shrugged, and von Braun muttered to himself in exasperation. ‘Damn it, Franz, you are badly needed here, now that Dornberger has been transferred to Berlin. Ever since that fool Keitel and the Army General Staff refused to support him a few months ago, it’s become clear the army is giving up all claim to rocket development... and Himmler is moving quickly to assume control. The attempt to kill the Führer only strengthened his hand.’ He stopped and swung around to face Bethwig. ‘You’ve met General Doktor Hans Kammler, the SS’s own wonder boy, and you know what he thinks of the work being done here. Well, tomorrow he assumes complete command of the programme and the Peenemunde facility.’