Impossible Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “Captain, Bombardier. I have the chalk cliffs on the right.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  The nav put us right on the money, Harriott thought. Now if we can swing around the Jasmund Peninsula, we will be lined up for a straight shot to Peenemünde, and whatever the Huns have built there. Hopefully, the Huns won’t see us coming.

  The jangling phone in Lieutenant-General Walter Dornberger’s quarters shook the head of research at Peenemünde out of a sound sleep. As he picked up the receivers, the air raid sirens began growling around the research park.

  “Herr General, many aircraft incoming from the north-east.”

  “Very well, get the anti-aircraft guns manned. I assume we do not have a lot of time.”

  “Fortunately, we have someone in Sassnitz. It was pretty obvious a major raid was coming around the Jasmund.”

  “Thank you,” Dornberger said. “Carry on.”

  He quickly pulled on a uniform and buckled his gunbelt around the tunic. When he stepped out of his cottage, his adjutant and driver were waiting in his Opel Kapitän. He climbed in, and the driver turned to take the road to the installation, accelerating hard.

  “Will we make it to the bunker in time?” Dornberger asked the adjutant.

  “I do not know, Herr General. It will be very close.”

  They could hear the buzzing thunder of the Wellingtons as they came across the bay, this, over the roar of the Opel’s engine. The driver skidded to a stop next to the rocket launch bunker. Dornberger had designed the bunker to be bomb proof as well as resistant to exploding rockets on the launch pad. It made for a great command center.

  “Leave the car,” he called to the driver, and he climbed out of the car and trotted into the bunker.

  The driver needed no encouragement and quickly followed the adjutant. Just as they were closing the door to the bunker, the anti-aircraft guns began firing. It appeared they would receive a low-level attack. Dornberger thought this would allow them to shoot down more of the English bombers, but it would also enhance the accuracy of the attack.

  “Have you called the air defense squadrons?” the general asked as he walked into the main room.

  “Yes, Herr General. They are scrambling now.”

  “Unfortunately, that will not blunt the attack,” he said. “But we need to harry them on the way out.”

  Though muffled by the twenty-four inches of concrete, they could hear the bombs as they exploded. The floor shook with each impact. Dust particles drifted down from the ceiling. They felt, more than heard a solid whumpf, and the floor heaved.

  “What was that?” the adjutant asked.

  “I think a bomber crashed,” Dornberger replied. “A bomb would have given us a sharper shock. Did the scientists get under cover?”

  “The phone lines to the bunker have been cut,” a corporal replied. “I cannot raise anyone, Sir.”

  “The bombers won’t be here long,” the general said. “They are a long way from home.”

  “I wonder how they found out about us, Sir,” the adjutant said.

  “There is no way for us to know. I will likely have to drive to Berlin tomorrow to report on the damage. I only hope von Braun was not injured.”

  A few minutes later the crump of explosions died down. Everyone looked at the general.

  “I think it is safe to open the door, now,” he said. “We need to get some idea of the damage.”

  The smell of burning wood and cordite greeted them as they opened the bunker. As they stepped out, a disheveled figure in a white shirt walked towards them out of the darkness.

  “Herr General,” it called, “so good you survived.”

  Dornberger recognized the figure. “Wernher, you seem none the worse, yourself.”

  “I was late getting out of my cottage,” Wernher Von Braun said. I hid in a ditch. And, a good thing I did. My house is gone.”

  “We can replace your cottage,” the general said. “I am delighted we do not have to find a replacement for you.”

  Von Braun gave one of his brilliant smiles. “Believe me, I am just as delighted. I am interested in discovery, but finding out what is on the other side frightens me just a bit.”

  “It looks as though the entire industrial park is gone,” Dornberger commented as he looked around. Many of the buildings were burning. “We will have to wait until daylight to get a good assessment of the damage.”

  “This will set us back,” von Braun said. “Fortunately, most of the V1 assembly is off-site. But, the rocketry will suffer. I shall start immediately on finding out the extent of the damage.

  “I would prefer to have you stay here at the bunker, Wernher. It may be dangerous for you to wander around in the dark.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be wandering. I know exactly what I need to look at.”

  “Just the same,” Dornberger injected a stern note into his speech. “I want you to wait here until daylight. The firemen are out and about. Let’s allow them to do their job.”

  “Very well, Herr General. There are things I can work on in the bunker.”

  Dornberger watched as the other man marched into the bunker. He appreciated von Braun’s enthusiasm. He also was glad the man was not a fool. The rocket scientist seemed to have a well-developed sense of self-preservation. When dealing with unstable chemicals, and the possibility of large conflagrations, it was a good characteristic. It had even kept him out of trouble with the Nazi swine, which was amazing in itself.

  § § §

  August 11, 1942; 9 AM

  Government Council Chamber

  Reich Chancellery

  Berlin, Germany

  “I have a report from General Dornberger concerning the bombing raid on Peenemünde last night,” Goering said.

  “How bad was it?” Schloss asked quietly, as he tapped his pencil on the notepad in front of him.

  “Is everyone in the room cleared for this, Herr Reich Chancellor?”

  Schloss took a breath. “Since the English obviously know something important was going on there, I believe we can talk about it in this room. Please understand this is considered Top Secret.”

  Several of the members of the council looked curiously between him and Goering.

  “The project at Peenemünde,” Schloss continued, “is developing several kinds of advanced weapons. Closest to going into service is an unmanned aircraft that carries an 800-kilogram warhead with a range of over 200 kilometers. The second is an advanced rocket which will carry a 1,000-kilogram warhead over 300 kilometers. I believe we were projecting first flights sometime this fall. Hermann?”

  “Yes. General Dornberger believes the raid set back the rocket by six months. It will not affect the V1 program. However, we must think about a response to this attack.” Goering hesitated. “I took the liberty of stationing a group of Swallow fighters in the area. I feel certain the English will send a photography aircraft through to get information about the results of the raid.”

  “I think that was a good idea,” Schloss said. “Is there any other discussion of the raid?”

  “Did we manage to take down any of the attacking aircraft?” Rainer asked.

  “We shot down two of the bombers. They were Wellingtons.”

  “How did they get to the target undetected?” Schreiber asked.

  “We think they flew around the Danish peninsula and attacked from the northeast. They were detected as the rounded the Jasmund Peninsula. We had about ten minutes’ warning.”

  “What are we going to do about the attack?” Ribbentrop asked.

  “Very well,” Schloss replied. “Since everyone wants to talk about retaliation, let me hear what you have in mind.”

  For the next half hour, he moderated a spirited discussion on what to attack and where. Schloss reluctantly concluded they were going to have to raise the tempo of the war against England. He considered his position and thought about where he had come from.

  I have successfully driven Germany past the immediate existential cris
es of 1941 and 1942. History is now completely different from what I knew. The question in my mind is: What do I do next?

  § § §

  August 12, 1942; 7AM

  Over Northern Germany

  “Hawk One this is Hawk Central.”

  Lieutenant Georg Handel pushed the button on the control stick to answer.

  “Hawk One, go.”

  Handel was one of a group of five Me-262 Swallow jet fighters loitering above the Jasmund Peninsula. When told to loiter, he had taken the command with a grain of salt. At 8,000 meters, it was necessary to run the turbojets at nearly eighty percent power just to keep the sleek fighter from stalling. He had thirty to forty-five minutes of flight time. After his take off and climb to altitude, there was not a lot of loitering time. And, he had been on station for ten minutes.

  “Hawk One, target. Vector 270, distance 50, course 90, altitude 2,000 meters, speed five-hundred.”

  This was the first time the jet fighters had worked with the Condor radar aircraft, and they were still ironing out the procedures. The target was well below him and would pass under him shortly. He banked and began a dive, carefully extending the dive brake. The Swallow would rapidly exceed its maximum speed, even in a shallow dive and become uncontrollable, so the dive brake was a necessity.

  “Hawk Central acknowledged,” he called.

  He glanced out the side and noted his wingman, Hawk Two, was off his right wing, and slightly behind. Even with the dive brake deployed, his speed rapidly built up. He scanned the area below him but could not spot the target aircraft.

  “Hawk Central, Hawk One. Where is the target?”

  “Hawk One, he is now in front of you and low.”

  He kept looking and then spotted it. It had twin engines and the RAF roundel on the wings.

  “Hawk Central, Hawk One. I have him. English Mosquito.”

  “Roger, Hawk One. You are cleared to engage.”

  Thanks, he thought. What else was he going to do? He eased back on the throttles carefully. This was a very smooth flying bird, but it did not react well to abrupt throttle changes. Now was not the time for a flameout. He double-checked the charging handles on the guns. They were armed and ready.

  The thin line of exhaust from the two Rolls-Royce Merlins became thicker and the English plane began to ease ahead. The English are paying attention, he thought, but they don’t know what they have back here.

  He eased the throttles open again and rapidly gained on the other aircraft. It was lined up on Peenemünde, and since it was a singleton, it was likely a photographic plane. If the Englander was willing to hold his vector and speed, Georg was willing to oblige him. He took the time to make sure he had the Mosquito in his sights and then squeezed the trigger. He saw pieces begin to fly off the wing root of the Mosquito. The other pilot began a radical maneuver to get out of the way, but it was too late. The right wing folded up, and the English Mosquito tumbled to earth in a ball of fire.

  “Hawk Central, Hawk One. Scratch one Inselaffe.”

  “Hawk one, Hawk Central confirms. No other targets at this time.”

  “Hawk Central, Hawk One needs to return to base.”

  “Roger Hawk One is RTB.”

  Handel swung the aircraft around and headed towards his landing strip. The low fuel warning light had not come on, but he did not have enough for any other activities. He mentally reviewed the operation and decided he would be able to claim the Swallow’s first victim. It was a good day for Germany, he thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  August 11, 1942; 2 PM

  Reichsprotektor’s Office

  SS Headquarters

  Berlin, Germany

  “It is a bit out of the ordinary to be summoned to your office like this, Karl,” Misty Simpson said as she walked in.

  Karl Rainer stared at her and glanced down at his desk. The thought occurred to him that while Schloss’s desk resembled an ongoing traffic accident despite Willem Kirche’s best efforts, Rainer’s desk was perfectly neat and well arranged. He decided it was a mark of his agitation that he would think of something like that at this time.

  “Sit down, Miss Simpson. We must talk.”

  “Miss Simpson?” she repeated. “This sounds serious.”

  Her light tone belied the slight quaver in her voice. Something was not right and she was not sure why. She had assumed the SS captain in Wolgast had reported her presence there the previous week, but Karl would have said something sooner than today.

  “Misty, I must ask you a question, and I need your honest answer.”

  “Of course, If I can, I will answer.”

  He frowned, not sure where to begin. “You were in Peenemünde on the night of August fourth. I would like to know your intentions.”

  “I was in Wolgast on August fourth,” she corrected him. “I heard about a restaurant there and wanted to try it. What seems to be the problem?”

  “The problem is that an SS captain encountered you on a military reservation; a restricted area. Early this morning the English bombed an installation in that area. My people are turning over every rock they can find in hopes of discovering how the English found out about the installation. You were in the area a week earlier and you had a camera with you.”

  He watched as she squeezed the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “If you must know, I got turned around and took the wrong road out of Wolgast. I had a flat tire and the officers were kind enough to change it for me. They arranged to repair my tire back in Wolgast. For that matter, I carry my camera everywhere. I like to take pictures of the German scenery.”

  “And after the raid, the captain remembered the encounter and notified Berlin. It was brought to my attention because of your diplomatic status.”

  “And so, you think I was spying for the Brits? Surely, you know better than that, Karl. The United States is a neutral country. Of course, I report on things I see. That is my job. But, I had a nice dinner in Wolgast. When I got back to Berlin I asked that idiot Gordon Smoke why he hadn’t made sure the Opel had decent tires.”

  “I’m sure you did,” he commented, imagining the scene in the office when she returned.

  Misty Simpson was nothing, if not impetuous. That was one of her characteristics he found so beguiling. The young woman did what she needed to do, and would climb over any obstacle to do it. Gordon Smoke was definitely an obstacle to her.

  “Your SS captain was very kind,” she continued. “He even asked one of the garages in Wolgast to open, even that late at night, to repair my tire. You should commend him.”

  I need to reprimand him for waiting so long to report the incident, he thought. This has put me in an impossible position.

  “Misty,” he said, returning to the subject, “As part of the normal course of business, if we catch a foreign diplomat in a restricted area, we declare them persona non grata. You understand my concern?”

  “Is that what this is? You think I was crawling around in the dark spying for the Limeys. Surely you know better than that.”

  “It did look suspicious...”

  “Everything looks suspicious to the SS,” she interrupted. “You cannot allow people to go to the toilet without subjecting them to the third degree.”

  “Now, that is hardly fair,” he responded with a chuckle. “You know we have gotten rid of the Gestapo.”

  “Then what was an SS captain doing out in the middle of nowhere like that? I was on an evening’s visit to an interesting restaurant. What business is it of yours?”

  He held up his hands in an attempt to calm her down. At the same time, he felt his own temper begin to rise. She liked to argue, and during many of the dinners together, he had risen to the challenge.

  “This is really not the time for debate,” he said. “I have a serious problem here. Because a member of the diplomatic community is involved, it becomes my business.”

  “Haven’t you listened to what I just told you? You are as bad as the other Nazis, seeing enemies behind ev
ery tree.”

  “And you know what I think?” he shouted, losing his composure. “I think you were crawling around in the dark spying for the United States.”

  She stood up and shouted. “If that is the case, then go ahead and PNG me and be damned to you!”

  She whirled and marched out of the office. It seemed to him like the walls shook when she slammed the door. He stared at the door, and then looked down at his desk again. He stood up, and after a moment of indecision, he sat down again.

  “Gott im Himmel!” he shouted.

  His secretary opened the door and stuck his head in. “Is there a problem, Herr Reichsprotektor?”

  “Get out of here!” he shouted. He picked up his coffee cup and threw it against the door. It shattered and scattered fragments of porcelain across the floor. The secretary quickly retreated.

  “What has that woman done to me?” he asked himself aloud.

  He was sure he had just contributed to the office grapevine. The employees in his office avidly followed his interactions with the American girl. He was convinced they were worse than a bunch of old women. He took several deep breaths to get his emotions under control. He wondered if he should apologize to his secretary and then decided that would not help matters. He pushed the button on his intercom box.

  “Yes, Herr Reichsprotektor,” the secretary quickly responded.

  “Please call the Reich Chancellor’s office and see if I might go over and take a few minutes of his time.”

  “At once, Herr Reichsprotektor.”