By the time they reached the first fence, Bradley and Wickham were across the small section of no-man’s land and were working on the second. In the first fence they had created a hole by peeling back the wire strands from an area about a metre square. Kendall wriggled through first, then Paul. They paused while Bradley and Wickham finished their work. The sound of the wire-cutting seemed so loud to Paul that he wondered why the sentries, in their watchtowers fifty metres on either side of them, did not hear. He glanced up. The sky was black, full of scudding clouds which portended rain. The darkness was oppressive. He could barely make out the tops of the watchtowers.
Kendall was slithering forward now. The second fence had been cut and Wickham and Bradley were already through. Paul scrambled after Kendall. His body was taut, waiting for the shout of warning and the smack of a bullet to announce that they had been spotted. It did not come. Suddenly he was running up the grassy incline and entering the clump of conifers some ten metres away.
In the darkness, Bradley held his thumb up.
They paused there to regain their breath for a few seconds and it was only then that the siren died away, leaving a strange silence.
‘The silos,’ whispered Bradley. ‘Which way are they?’
Paul, to whom the question was directed, extended his arm in the gloom.
‘Beyond these trees. There is a rise, shaped like a horseshoe, enclosing the silos themselves. The rockets are there.’
‘I’ll take the left side. Wickham, you come from the right.’ He unsheathed the SS dagger at his side and held it up. ‘You know what to do?’
Wickham grunted an affirmative. A moment later they both had disappeared through the darkness of the trees.
Paul shivered as he realized what was to be done. There was an irony in it. SS daggers were presented at passing-out parades and on each blade was inscribed the motto ‘Blood and honour’. But a death like that was not honourable; neither for the killer nor for those that were to be killed. He stirred uneasily, wondering how he had been precipitated into this nightmare.
‘Meine Ehre heisst Treue,’ he sighed softly, remembering the old oath.
‘What?’ whispered Kendall.
‘Sorry,’ Paul replied. ‘I was just thinking aloud.’
Bradley and Wickham seemed to have been gone a long time. In fact, it was only five minutes by Paul’s wrist-watch when Bradley’s voice suddenly broke the silence.
‘It’s up to you now, Kendall,’ Bradley said. ‘The silos are clear.’
Paul stared into the gloom until he could make out the forms of Bradley and the Englishman. ‘Weren’t there any guards there?’ he asked, then immediately felt stupid.
Wickham gave a dry chuckle. ‘Three guards, old boy,’ he murmured. There was no further explanation.
‘Let’s go,’ grunted Bradley. Keeping low, he led the way through the trees to the tall horseshoe-shaped mound. The dark outlines of the rockets stood motionless, piercing the night sky.
‘You get to work, Kendall,’ Bradley said. ‘Wickham and I will try to find von Knilling. We’ll meet back here as soon as possible but if anything happens, or if you finish before we come back, get back to the half-track the best way you can. And if we aren’t there before first light, start heading back.’
Bradley and Wickham disappeared once more into the darkness.
Kendall was already gazing up at the rockets, which both stood next to their gantries.
‘Standard V2s in design, but they seem longer by an extra two metres.’
Paul had no idea of what a standard V2 rocket was like, although he had heard plenty about these terrible vengeance weapons.
He glanced uneasily around the deserted silo, realizing just how vulnerable Kendall and he were if anyone came by. Kendall was already swinging himself up the first gantry.
‘We have to work quickly and quietly,’ he said, as Paul followed him upward. ‘I’ll need you to hold the flashlight and hand me the tools as I need them.’
Within a few minutes Kendall was leaning out from the arm of the gantry and examining the rocket’s outer metal plating. Paul crouched behind him, seeing very little in the gloom.
‘Shine the light over my shoulder,’ instructed the scientist, ‘but try to keep it hooded. We don’t want anyone to spot it.’
After a moment he asked for a tool. The minutes ticked by slowly. Now and again Paul heard a muttered curse or a whistle of surprise, then a terse order for a specific tool. Presently the tool would be handed back. Paul felt virtually useless as he waited while Kendall fiddled with the warhead.
It was almost half an hour later when Kendall let out a deep sigh.
‘I thought this might be an ambitious task.’
Paul frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘A bomb of this quality is very sophisticated. The good thing is that it doesn’t have any anti-personnel devices — booby-traps, that is, against anyone attempting to defuse it — because apparently the designers didn’t expect that there would be any risk of it being defused.’
‘So it’s defused now?’
Kendall did not reply. After a few moments he said, ‘The bomb itself is designed to fire by a conventional explosive charge which would release … ’
Paul suddenly hissed at the man to be quiet.
A shadow was moving below them across the silo. The moon suddenly appeared from behind a cloud and glinted on the black helmet of a guard. For a few seconds the entire area was bathed in the eerie silver glow of the moon, lighting it almost like day. Had the soldier glanced up he would have seen them hanging on the gantry. But the soldier chose that moment to put his head down, cup his hands and light a cigarette. Then he glanced around and moved on.
Paul let out a sigh of relief. ‘We’d better get a move on,’ he muttered anxiously.
‘Right. I think I have disconnected the firing mechanism and generally smashed everything smashable in the vicinity. I’d say that the technicians will have to remove the warhead and either replace it or mend the firing mechanism. They could do that in a day if they have the duplicate components, but I’m banking on the probability that they haven’t. There is just no sound way of destroying … ’
Paul tried to control his impatience.
‘You mean that you can’t disarm the bomb itself?’
Kendall shrugged. ‘Not unless Bradley and Wickham can find von Knilling, bring him here and get him to tell us of any simple method of doing that safely.’
Paul felt a shiver go through him.
On the southern horizon he could see flashes and the faint thump-thump of high explosives came to his ears. The Allies were bombing Dortmund. It would not be long before the air raid was over and the lights would be switched on.
‘If you’ve done all you can with this one, then we’d better get started on the second rocket,’ he suggested.
Kendall hesitated. ‘I’ve done all I can. I smashed the firing mechanism and if they launch the rocket without checking they will be in trouble.’
Paul was already clambering down into the silo. A moment later Kendall joined him and they began to climb up the next gantry.
*
Brigadeführer Arnt Heiden was awoken by a shrilling near his left ear. He groaned, reached out and switched on his bedside light before grabbing at the offending telephone.
‘Heiden.’
‘At what stage is Project Wotan now?’ the voice of Bormann said brusquely.
Heiden pursed his lips in an expression of annoyance.
‘As I have already reported, Herr Reichsleiter, the fuel is now loaded. The rockets are ready. The warheads are mounted and fully operational. The scheduled launch is at noon.’
Damn that Bormann! he thought. Didn’t the man trust him? What was the point in checking up on him at … he glanced at his wristwatch. It was 2.35 a.m.
‘Can your rockets be launched in the next half-hour?’
‘I beg your pardon, Herr Reichsleiter?’ Heiden was astounded.
�
�Can you commence your launch at once?’ snapped Bormann’s voice.
Heiden thought rapidly. ‘There is no reason why we cannot, I suppose … ’he began.
‘Good. The rockets will be launched at London at precisely 3.15 a.m.’
‘But … ’Heiden began to protest.
‘Herr Brigadeführer,’ interrupted Bormann, ‘I want you to stay on the phone for a minute. A voice will speak to you. I hope you will answer well.’
Frowning, Heiden sat listening to the static between himself and Berlin. Then the sound of a hoarse, whispering voice came over the line. Heiden stiffened as he recognized it.
‘Put Project Wotan into effect immediately, Heiden. Immediately, do you understand? The rockets must be launched no later than 3.15 a.m.’
‘Jawohl, mein Führer.’
‘You see, Heiden, I can trust you, I know. It is a momentous time. A time we cannot afford to miss. Mars is in ten degrees of Aquarius — ten degrees! The planet of war. Within a few hours it will have passed a whole degree, a whole degree, Heiden. That is bad for us. So the rockets must be launched before it changes position.’
Heiden blinked at the receiver. He was not sure that he was hearing right.
‘Yes, my Führer,’ he said woodenly.
‘Wotan will be our revenge, revenge for the terror bombing of Dresden, for the deaths of our people. Do you understand?’
The static came back for a few moments and then Bormann’s voice cut in.
‘Is everything clear, Heiden?’
Heiden hesitated a moment and then said, ‘Yes, Herr Reichsleiter. The rockets will be launched at 3.15 a.m.’
‘Good. Report the moment of firing and the estimated time of their arrival on target.’
Heiden sat gazing at the receiver a moment before he hung up. He pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure what to make of the double-talk. He had heard that the Führer was supposed to believe in astrological prediction but … He shrugged and jangled the receiver.
‘I want all personnel to the control room immediately. They are to stand by for launching in one half hour. I’ll be right over.’
*
Bradley and Wickham moved away from the silos toward the medical block, following the directions given them by Paul. They reached the complex and hesitated in the shadow cast by one of the long, low wooden huts.
‘What’s the plan, old boy?’ whispered Wickham.
‘A straight forward abduction or … ’Bradley gestured with one finger across his throat. ‘As I said, von Knilling is too valuable to be left behind.’
Wickham nodded.
Bradley rose and moved slowly forward to the main door of the medical block. There were no guards in the vicinity. He gently eased the door open a fraction and peered through. In the reception area a bespectacled white-coated nurse sat with his feet on the desk, reading a book. Bradley pushed silently in, followed by Wickham. The man gaped as he saw two resplendent officers of the SS enter, each man casually holding an M38 machine pistol. He began to rise to his feet with an apology for being caught relaxing on duty when he realized that the weapons were pointing at him.
‘What … ?’ he began.
‘Shut up!’ snapped Bradley. ‘Which room is von Knilling in?’
The nurse blinked.
‘Who are you?’ he blurted, finally overcoming his surprise. His hand was moving across his desk.
Bradley smashed the butt of his machine pistol hard on it. The man uttered a groan and sank back.
‘I won’t ask you twice. Von Knilling?’
‘Room Three, at the far end of the corridor,’ muttered the nurse.
‘Tie him up,’ Bradley snapped to Wickham, then turned to examine the corridor. When he glanced back, Wickham was calmly wiping his SS dagger on the nurse’s white coat.
‘Damn it! What the hell did you have to do that for? He might have been useful.’
‘I doubt it, old boy,’ Wickham murmured, as he opened a nearby storage cupboard door and dragged the body through.
Bradley bit his lip. There was no time to bawl Wickham out now. He motioned the English captain to follow him and moved quickly down the corridor to Room Three. He hesitated outside and then, placing his hand on the door handle, he turned and swung it open.
A uniformed SS guard was struggling to rise from a chair, his uniform jacket open, a cigarette in his mouth. Bradley strode forward and smashed his gun butt against the man’s head before he was halfway out of his chair. The guard collapsed without a sound.
Wickham was already at the bedside. ‘Holy Christ!’ he breathed.
Bradley went to join him and his face twisted in disgust. An elderly man lay on the bed amidst a terrible odour of vomit and excreta. The man’s hair hung in tufts as if most of it had fallen out. He was convulsing in a terrible fever. But the most alarming thing was his face.
‘What the hell is it?’ asked Wickham, taking an involuntary step backward.
The face was unrecognizable, covered with deep layers of pink, rubbery scar tissue.
Bradley swallowed hard. Paul Horder had said something about some radiation disease, but he’d had no idea it was like this … He forced himself to lean closer to the gruesome face.
‘Von Knilling?’
The eyes flickered, but continued to stare unseeingly.
‘Professor von Knilling?’
The figure groaned.
‘Reaped … reaped the whirlwind … whirlwind … ’ The voice was very indistinct.
‘What’s wrong with you? What happened?’
Von Knilling stared up, the eyes unable to focus.
‘Warned them … it’s going to get us all … everyone … can’t control radiation … puny man … trying to control … ’
They turned away in disgust as von Knilling suddenly retched and vomited bile, distorting his terrible parody of a face with its keloid tumours.
‘Radiation sickness … they don’t know what they’re playing with.’
Bradley’s lips were compressed. ‘Can you travel, von Knilling?’ he asked.
‘Dead soon … travel then. Thank God for it.’ He retched again.
Bradley glanced at Wickham and shrugged. ‘The poor bastard … I’ve never seen anything like this before.’ He glanced down at the man. ‘We’ll leave him here. He’s not up to going anywhere.’
Wickham smiled tightly. ‘The plan, old boy. We must keep to the plan.’
‘He’ll be dead before nightfall in this state. He’ll work no more for the Nazis.’
‘One has to be sure, old boy,’ insisted the captain.
Before Bradley could register what he was doing, Wickham had unsheathed his SS dagger again and stabbed von Knilling cleanly through the heart. The old scientist died without a murmur.
Bradley choked back the exclamation which was rising in his throat when he saw Wickham take a quick step to the side and raise the barrel of his M38 pistol. It was pointing straight at Bradley’s chest. There was a look of callous amusement on the English captain’s face.
For an interminable moment neither man said anything, and then a klaxon alarm started to wail nearby.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Heiden entered the control bunker situated a hundred metres from the silos. The technicians and scientists were already in their places, standing before their various monitors and consoles.
The Obersturmführer came forward and saluted perfunctorily.
‘The first klaxon warning has been given, Herr Brigadeführer. All personnel should be clear of the launch area by now.’
Heiden turned to the chief technician. ‘Everything ready?’
‘All systems are prepared.’
‘Good. We will start countdown at minus thirty.’
The chief technician signalled to a man before a chronometer.
‘Minus thirty and counting,’ intoned the time-keeper. The chronometer began to tick in a slow, heavy monotone, its single hand moving from the half minute marker.
‘All systems prepared
and counting,’ announced the chief technician.
The Obersturmführer had taken a key and unlocked a panel to reveal a small red-painted lever.
He glanced at Heiden. ‘Will you … ?’
Heiden smiled grimly. The honour of pulling the lever which would launch the two rockets should have gone to von Knilling, the inventor of the deadly missiles. But even if the scientist had not lay dying he had forfeited the right. Heiden moved to the lever and let his hand touch it experimentally, almost fondling it. A gentle push and the future of the Third Reich would be altered. Once more it would emerge in greatness.
The chronometer was the only sound in the bunker, its monotonous, remorseless tick echoing in the silence.
‘Zehn!’ announced the sonorous voice of the timekeeper.
*
‘You’d better explain, Wickham,’ Bradley said coldly.
Wickham smiled and patted the barrel of his machine pistol with his left hand, while keeping his right firmly around the hand-grip and trigger.
‘It’s quite simple, old boy. Our people have become very interested in the efforts of Anglo-American scientists to construct a super-bomb … Project Manhattan, I believe it’s called. Oh yes, we’ve heard all about General Groves and his team. We even have a copy of his memorandum to the American Chief of Staff, General Marshall, stating that the Allied super-bomb will be ready by August.’
Bradley stared at him blankly. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Wickham.’
Wickham chuckled dryly.
‘I’m telling you that we know the Nazis aren’t the only ones to have developed a super-bomb. Greatest coincidence of my life being at Nijmegen when that Kraut doctor wandered in with his tale of Project Wotan. And you could have knocked me down with a feather when Roberts flew Kendall in from London. Kendall … one of the British team working on Project Manhattan. We’d been trying to infiltrate Manhattan for a long time. Now we were presented with two new possibilities. Von
Knilling or Kendall — either one would do in order for our scientists to find out the principles of the super-bomb.’
Bradley shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t get it. What do you mean, “our people”? … You talk as if we were on opposing sides, dammit!’
The Doomsday Decree Page 21
