She deserved to be punished.
‘I won’t hit you again,’ he said. ‘You won’t make me stoop to that. But you must put an end to this affair and keep your mouth shut in public.’
‘I promise to be more careful in public. I give you my word.’
‘And your affair with Lieutenant Tillmann?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’ t... I can’t possibly stop seeing him. I don’t think I can do that.’
‘You must!’
‘I’m sorry, Ernst, but I can’t. If I said I would, I’d be lying.’
‘Then, my dear, I’l have to make it easy for you – with my Reichsführer's consent.’ Her gaze turned from confusion to dread as he savoured his own words. ‘As soon as I return to barracks, I’ll arrange the transfer of your beloved Lieutenant Tillmann to a penal regiment on the Eastern Front. Do you know what that is, dear? A penal regiment is composed of soldiers who’ve been found guilty of some offence and given the choice between military prison or serving in a regiment used solely for the most dangerous missions. The chances of survival for the regiment’s members are therefore slim, though they do have a chance. So Lieutenant Tillmann, your traitorous lover, will be gone within the week and is unlikely to ever return. Don’t worry about trying to keep yourself away from him: you won't have a choice.’
Ingrid threw herself at him, beating at him with her fists. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back and forced her into the wall. She didn't look so pretty now, for her face was streaked with tears, and he held her until she stopped struggling and sagged in his arms. When he released her, she slid to the floor, took a deep breath, then calmed down.
‘I’m leaving home,’ she said, ‘and I’m taking the children with me. I’m going back to live with my parents in Wannsee, and if you want to see the children, you can visit them there, but that’s all you can do. We’ll be man and wife only in name. That should keep your superiors happy. Then as soon as this war ends, I’ll apply for a divorce. Believe me, I’ll do it.’
‘That’s fine by me, Ingrid.’
He went in to see his children, embraced them passionately and kissed them, then quickly left the bedroom and went to the front door. He passed Ingrid who remained kneeling on the floor with her head bowed, and left without looking back, not even slamming the door.
It was a dignified exit.
‘My handsome Kapit än!’ Brigette exclaimed with throaty sensuality, tugging him into her embrace and pushing the door closed behind him, She was wearing only her dressing gown, through which he felt her animal heat, and he was instantly aroused by her full breasts and sly, pressing loins. Yet even as he pressed his lips to her neck, she pushed him gently away from her. ‘Greedy little boy,’ she said with a mocking smile. ‘Did you bring me a present?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his ardour dimmed a little as he handed the wrapped gift to her. ‘A diamond necklace – a very expensive necklace – from that shop on Tauentzienstrasse.’
‘Ah!’ Brigette exclaimed with a bright, greedy smile as her long, painted fingernails tore the paper open. ‘Then it must be expensive!’ She threw the paper on the white carpet, held the diamond necklace on high, let it dangle from her fingers, turned it around, and studied it in the wintery light slanting in through the window. ‘Wunderbar!’ she said softly.
‘Put it on,’ Ernst said.
‘You sound rather hoarse, my dear Ernst.’
‘Put it on!’ he repeated, with emphasis.
She stared thoughtfully at him, eventually gave a knowing smile,
then placed the necklace between her breasts and clipped it behind her neck. ‘What now, my love?’
‘Take the dressing gown off.’
Brigette did as she was told, but slowly, seductively, like the professional stripper she was, and then stood before him in a lazily sensual pose, curvaceous and marble-pale, naked except for the necklace glittering on her full breasts.
‘Was I worth it?’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Then come and take what you paid for.’
He had her right there on the floor, on a carpet as soft as eiderdown, not worrying about love or its loss, surrendering himself to pure lust. Brigette wrapped her legs around him, writhed under him, rolled above him, trailed her wet tongue down the length of his heaving body and then over his lips and eyes. He wanted that and nothing else, a loveless coupling, her expertise, and his pleasure was increased by the knowledge that she cost only money. She did not demand his loyalty or arouse his emotions just to poison them; she gave him what he wanted for a price that he could easily afford. He wanted that now – his only commitment was to the Fatherland – and so he took it and revelled in his freedom and orgasmed with pleasure.
Later, when he had bathed and dressed, Brigette made him a meal that he washed down with wine and followed with cognac, after which, though it was still only afternoon, he felt drunk and self-pitying.
‘Ingrid’s leaving me,’ he confessed, ‘and she’s taking the children with her. She had a lover and now she’s leaving me! Such is feminine reasoning.’
Brigette licked at her glass of cognac. ‘You have a lover,’ she teased. ‘You have a mistress: me.’
‘That’s different. I’m a man. And it wasn’t until Ingrid and I were growing apart that I took up with you.’
Brigette chuckled. ‘Such is male reasoning, my pet! And as I recall it, Ingrid only took on a lover when she found out about you and me.’
‘She’s a whore,’ Ernst said.
‘No, darling, I'm a whore. Ingrid is only a wounded woman who’s now taking revenge.’
‘I don’t care,’ Ernst said. ‘I’m not interested in her motives. I only know that our marriage has been poisonous on both sides and I don’t want any more emotional involvements as long as I live. I have my work and it costs me no emotion while giving me great satisfaction. That’s all I want now.’
Brigette smiled and sipped some cognac. ‘There speaks a true man,’ she said. ‘In the end, all men turn to their work for the satisfaction they lack at home. Soon you won’t even need me: you’ll make love to the SS.’
‘You’re being sarcastic,’ Ernst said, ‘but there’s a certain truth in what you say. My allegiance to the SS, to the Fatherland, is now stronger than love or blood. The Reich towers above personal concerns and is founded on discipline. That’s what I want now – discipline – not wasteful emotions. Yes, thank God for a man’s work.’
He left shortly after, having sobered up sufficiently to drive, and went directly to the research centre at Kummersdorf, to have words with Wilson.
It was growing dark when he arrived there, the buildings swept by restless spotlights. He parked and hurried into the main hangar, past the stone-faced SS guards. Wilson was in his glass-walled office, studying drawings of a flying saucer prototype, but he raised his head when Ernst entered, to look at him with that unblinking, disconcerting gaze.
He had been in the hospital recently for some mysterious operations, and certainly they seemed to have been successful, for now, though he was gray-haired and lined, he looked otherwise remarkably youthful. And his eyes, even though he was smiling faintly, had the brightness of ice.
‘Captain Stoll!’ he exclaimed softly in his oddly glacial, polite manner. ‘This is a surprise! I was just about to finish up and go home. What brings you here so late?’
‘Some news,’ Ernst replied.
‘Regarding the failed test flight?’
‘Yes.’ Ernst glanced through the windows at the hangar beyond and
saw the scorched, gutted saucer on the metal platform, some metal plates hanging loose. ‘Himmler was most upset – ’
‘I gathered,’ Wilson interjected dryly.
‘ – and claims that he now has more faith in the V-I and V-2 rocket project at Peenemünde than he has in our project. So, he’s going to switch his attention to that and leave us to struggle on without support, with me in charge, until he decides what to d
o about us.’
Ernst was startled when he saw what he thought was the beginning of a smile on Wilson’s lips, but the American, as if realizing what he was doing, retreated instantly back into a solemnity that showed not the slightest trace of concern.
‘So what’s going to happen to me?’ he asked in a surprisingly calm, almost academic manner.
‘He didn’t mention you personally,’ Ernst said. ‘I think he’s just going to forget you. You’re safe for the moment, but your time here could be limited. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
Wilson nodded. ‘Yes, Captain.’
Ernst realized instantly that Wilson was actually pleased with what he had heard.
He just wanted to be left alone.
Perplexed, Ernst said, ‘Good night, Wilson,’ then turned away and walked out.
He had a miserable three weeks, living mostly in the SS barracks, feeling depressed, and returning only occasionally to his apartment, which, having been vacated by Ingrid and the children, simply depressed him even more. However, his feeling of being in limbo regarding Projekt Saucer was resolved when, in early September, he was called back to the Reichsführer’s office.
Trying to sound as casual as possible, Himmler said, ‘You have heard, have you not, of the recent bombing of Peenemünde by the RAF?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ernst replied.
‘Exactly what have you heard, Kapitän?’
‘That Peenemunde was seriously damaged,’ Ernst said, deliberately
understating the case, knowing full well that on the night of August 17, Wernher von Braun’s rocket research centre on the Baltic had been bombed by a mass of RAF Lancasters and Halifaxes, which dropped thousands of tons of explosives and incendiary bombs, reportedly almost totally destroying the complex.
‘And that’s all you know, Kapit än Stoll? That Peenemünde was seriously damaged?’
‘Yes, Reichführer.’
‘Then let me give you the full facts,’ Himmler said in an unusual display of frankness. ‘Fifty of the important development and test buildings were destroyed, including Wernher von Braun’s laboratory. Not one of the hundred-odd buildings used to house the scientists was left standing. The foreign workers’ settlement was a heap of rubble. The concentration camp suffered greatly. And, finally, included among the dead were several hundred German girls from the women’s auxiliary service, one hundred and seventy-eight scientific workers, Dr Walter Thiel, and senior engineer Helmut Walther. A total loss of seven hundred and thirty-five people, plus the destruction of sewage and power lines, water mains, railway tracks, and the road running down the middle of the complex. In short, Kapitän Stoll, it was for us an unprecedented disaster.’
‘I’m sorry, Reichsführer.’
‘We will recover, Kapitän’ Himmler insisted, sounding unusually passionate. ‘We will recover!’
‘Of course, Reichsführer. Naturally.’
As if satisfied with Ernst’s confirmation of his own faith, Himmler nodded solemnly, adjusted the pince-nez on his nose, then became more relaxed.
‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you,’ he said, ‘of my conviction that Peenemünde could not have been bombed had some disgusting traitor not betrayed us.’
‘Yes, Reichsführer,’ Ernst replied, despising himself for this grovelling.
‘So,’ Himmler said, ‘because of this conviction, and also because of the subsequent air raids on the Zeppelin and Henschel-Rax works, I insisted to our beloved Führer that everything connected with the rockets should be put under the care of my SS.’
‘He agreed?’
‘Naturally, Kapitän. And I have since decided that the experiments involving the rockets will be moved to central Poland, the development works to caves in the mountains near the Traunsee, in Austria, and mass production to our underground factories in Nordhausen, in the southern Harz Mountains. Meanwhile, the eastern side of Peenemünde will be rebuilt and camouflaged from the air in a way that makes it look like a deserted battlefield. You agree with this, yes?’
‘It’s brilliant, Reichsführer. But if we move the development works to Nordhausen, we will need to expand the labour force there.’
‘That has already been arranged,’ Himmler replied, in the testy manner of a man whose judgment is being questioned. ‘Three thousand prisoners from Buchenwald will be used as slave labour and housed in a new subcamp named Dora, which also will be underground. We will then expand Dora until it has approximately fifteen thousand prisoners, which should be enough.’
‘Excellent, Reichsführer. I will be proud to take command of – ’
But Himmler cut him short with an impatient wave of his hand, which was, as Ernst had long noted, rather effeminate. ‘No,’ he said. You will not be in command. Since I have already put you in charge of Projekt Saucer – which, I must confess, I now have grave doubts about
– I am placing General Hans Kammler in charge of the transfer and, subsequently, the whole mass-production plant, which will now be known as the Nordhausen Central Works.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Ernst said, trying to hide his shock.
‘Do you have any further questions, Kapit
ä n?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then you may leave.’
Realizing that he had just been removed from his position of authority over the SS secret weapons program and relegated to what Himmler now viewed as a relatively minor Projekt Saucer, Ernst left the SS headquarters in a state of confusion.
He took the news straight to Wilson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Arriving in London in February 1944 as an OSS colonel, Bradley was completely unprepared for the full extent of the city’s devastation. Having remembered London from his many pre-war trips to Europe, he was shocked by the scorched, blackened ruins and debris-strewn rubble, the ugliness of the barrage balloons at the end of their steel cables, the gun emplacements in the parks, the sandbagged doorways, blackout curtains, and reinforced walls of even the city’s most elegant buildings.
When he impulsively mentioned this observation to British Lieutenant Colonel Mark Wentworth-King, shortly after meeting him in the headquarters of the Special Operations Executive at 64 Baker Street, the raffishly good-humoured SOE officer told him that much of the devastation was fairly recent, because London was in fact suffering its heaviest air raids since the Blitz of May 1941.
‘The blighters are coming over practically every night,’ the lieutenant colonel told him, ‘so keep your head down, old chap. Take a chair. Have some tea.’
Weary after his night flight from Washington but otherwise feeling unusually healthy because of his weeks of intensive OSS training in physical fitness, espionage, self-defence, and guerrilla operations, Bradley pulled up a chair at the other side of Wentworth-King’s desk and appreciated the hot tea that was poured for him.
‘I’ve never seen so many troops in my life,’ he said, ‘as I’ve seen in the streets of London today. And not only English. Also Irish, Scottish, Welsh, French, Hungarian, Polish, Australian, Canadian, and American. They formed a regular flood out there. Just how soon do you expect the big push?’
‘Fairly soon,’ Wentworth-King said. British reticence. Bradley knew it and was used to it. ‘Just how soon is “fairly soon,” Colonel?’
‘In good time,’ Wentworth-King said.
Bradley sighed. ‘This is a pretty damned good cup of tea,’ he said.
‘Naturally,’ Wentworth-King replied. 'It is English, after all.’
‘Three cheers for the English.’
Wentworth-King smiled, lit a cigarette, then glanced down at the papers on his desk and turned some of them over. 'Mmmm ... Quite a record.’
‘Thanks,’ Bradley said.
‘The Distinguished Service Cross, the Distinguished Service Medal, and the Medal of Honour for exploits in the battlefields in France in 1918,’ Wentworth-King insisted upon reading aloud, as if he hadn’t read the documents before. ‘Unlikely member of the Republican Party in New York – �
�
‘Why unlikely?’ Bradley interjected.
‘One naturally assumes that those of Irish extraction will be Democrats.’
‘I’m sorry I missed the boat.’
‘On the contrary,’ Wentworth-King continued with a slight, amused smile, ‘you didn’t miss the boat at all, but travelled far and wide on it... A successful lawyer with offices in Wall Street. Specialist in international law and used your knowledge to assess, on behalf of the US secretary of state, the military aims and capabilities of Europe, particularly Nazi Germany, before the outbreak of war. Encouraged by boredom and the fact that you were too old to take active part in this war to perform other unofficial services for General Dwight Taylor of US Army Air Force intelligence. Eventually, through him, and with the blessing of President Roosevelt, you were given the job of laying the groundwork for some kind of centralized intelligence agency, rather like our own. Worked at this in a purely unofficial, civilian capacity whilst trying to establish a more formal intelligence organization to deal with the European situation. When OSS was finally established, based on the Office of the Coordinator of Information, or COI – which ironically was based on your unacknowledged recommendations – you were invited by General Taylor to join the new intelligence organization, did so, then underwent retraining, and, as a much fitter, hopefully more dangerous man, ended up at the other side of my desk. Why, Colonel Bradley?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why have you ended up at the other side of my desk? Our intelligence man in Washington requests that we bare our breasts to you, though does not tell us why. What are you after?’
‘The benefit of your experience,’ Bradley said diplomatically. ‘OSS is a relatively new organization – ’
‘Established two years ago,’ Wentworth-King interjected with the air of a man who likes to get his facts right and wants you to know it.
INCEPTION (Projekt Saucer, Book 1) Page 28
