The Kammersee Affair

by John Holt

  Karl walked a little way further along the corridor. “Now look at the corridor,” he said. “It extends at least another five, or six metres. The only other door into it is that one, over the other side, into the laboratory just here.” He looked at the other two. “Why would you need all of that extra corridor space, leading to nowhere? Why not utilise that space and make the laboratory bigger?”

  It was a good question, but the others still had not grasped the significance of what Karl was saying. “I don’t know the answer to either question,” said Fritz. “And I still don’t see what you are getting at.”

  “Neither do I,” said Mueller. “And to paraphrase what Fritz said earlier, so what?”

  Karl looked at his companions. “I think that at one time there was another room just here.” He pointed to the corridor wall. “A room about five, or six metres long I would guess,” he slowly replied. “Where is it now?”

  Fritz and Mueller looked at the area Karl had indicated. Fritz shook his head. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe there was never a room here,” he said. “Perhaps, there is a large rocky outcrop just here, and it wasn’t possible to build in that area.”

  “Perhaps there is, but maybe there isn’t,” Karl responded. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s say there is a large rock just the other side of this wall. But, it still doesn’t answer why the need for this extra corridor leading nowhere.” He walked over to the corridor wall. “I still think that it’s possible that there is a room just here.” He banged on the wall. “I also think that the area has deliberated been sealed up.”

  Fritz and Mueller looked at each other. Mueller walked over to where Karl was standing. “You mean, behind that wall, is a secret room?”

  “Precisely, a secret room,” said Karl. “Gentlemen, I believe that behind that wall lies our storeroom C.”

  Fritz started to bang on the wall. Did that sound hollow, or was it his imagination. They began to examine the area closely. They found nothing unusual. Then suddenly Fritz called over to Karl. “I think I might have found something,” he said. Karl went over to him. “Look at that blockwork. Is it my imagination, or is it a different colour?”

  Karl looked at the area that Fritz had indicated. “No, it’s not your imagination,” he said. “That looks like a blocked up doorway to me.”

  The concrete blocks were slightly different in colour. They were also smaller. Karl tapped with a metal bar. There was a definite hollow sound behind the blocks. He drew the metal bar backwards, and then with considerable force, brought it forward, smashing into the wall. Part of the blockwork cracked, broke loose, and fell to the ground. Three or four more blows, and a large part of one block had been demolished. Karl continued to pound the wall for a further thirty minutes, taking down about a quarter of the area.

  Mueller stepped forward, and placed his hand on Karl’s shoulder. “Let me take over for a while,” he said, taking the metal bar out of Karl’s hand.

  Karl stepped back. “Thanks,” he said. “I could do with a rest.”

  Mueller began to hit the wall. Gradually, it became weaker and weaker. Slowly it started to crumble. Larger and larger sections fell away. Each blow bringing down more and more pieces of rubble. Dust filled the air, and Mueller started coughing. He stopped to tie a cloth around his mouth.

  Another thirty minutes went by, and almost three quarters of the wall had now gone. “Okay, Hans, you’ve done enough,” said Fritz. “It’s my turn, now.”

  Mueller thankfully stopped. He handed the metal bar to Fritz, and sat down on the corridor floor. Twenty minutes later the wall had crumbled and fallen away, to reveal a timber door. It was still intact, although, oddly, it was not locked.

  Karl turned the handle. “Hans,” he said, “After you.” He stood aside, to allow Mueller to pass by, he and Fritz followed close behind. They had actually done it. After almost eleven years they had found storeroom C.

  * * *

  The following day they packed up their belongings, and returned to Bad Aussee. They prepared a statement giving their names, addresses, and full details of what they had found. The statement and the identification tags were placed in a strong envelope, addressed to the US Embassy, in Vienna. Before posting it, Mueller suggested that they rang the embassy, to advise them first. Fritz made the call, and after some while he was put through to a Major Dawson, the Military Attache. At the end of the call, Fritz was told to keep the package safe, and that two Military Policemen, stationed at Bad Ischl, would collect it in the next few days.

  Two days later, the MP’s arrived. The parcel was handed over, and a receipt obtained. Five minutes later they had gone. “Well, so much for that,” said Karl, when the police officers had left. “Not even a thank you.”

  Chapter Six

  Lake Toplitzsee - November 1943

  Dr Franz Jurgen was pleased with himself. Only thirty-five years old, he had been placed in charge of a brand new marine testing facility. This was quite an achievement for such a young man, a feather in his cap. He was well aware that there were many more eminently suited people, far more qualified than he. And yet he had been chosen. It was a heavy responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders, and he knew that his actions would be closely watched. He also knew that failure would have dire consequences.

  Certainly it was only a small complex, but nonetheless he had been assured that it was of extreme importance, and vital to the war effort. His orders had come from Berlin, and were authorised directly by the Fuhrer himself.

  He picked up a thin buff coloured folder that was lying on the desk in front of him. The folder was headed Toplitzsee Naval Testing Facility – Top Secret. Inside there were a number of sheets of paper, and a set of blueprints. He took out the blueprints, and unfolded them on the desk. He then took out the top sheet of paper, and read through his orders once again. They were simple, and to the point.

  “German High Command, Berlin. Order Number: 5/2396 to Doctor Franz Jurgen. You are to:

  1. Establish a naval testing facility to be located at the eastern end of Lake Toplitzsee, approximately 110 kilometres to the east of Salzburg;

  2. To carry out the development, and testing, of underwater missiles, torpedoes and mines;

  3. To develop and test fuels and propellants, to be used in torpedoes, missiles, and rockets;

  4. To develop, and test, launch and guidance systems;

  5. To carry out research, and development, of new weapons, including missiles.

  6. Such facility is to be established, and ready for operation, not later than six months from the date of these orders.

  Signed: General L Weitz, Berlin, 4th May 1943. Countersigned across the bottom of the document was the distinctive signature of Adolf Hitler.

  * * *

  The complex had been completed by the beginning of October 1943, one full month ahead of schedule, thanks to great work by the engineers, and the construction workers. Those Polish prisoners were at least good for something.

  The base consisted of two underground compartments linked by a central corridor. One compartment contained the technicians with their recording dials, control panels, and firing mechanisms. In the same area were a small laboratory area, and the testing areas. The other compartment consisted of a number of storage areas. There was also a small cinema.

  There were three testing bays, with access into the lake itself, together with one vertical firing tube. Behind this compartment was a storage area for the missiles and torpedoes. This area was provided with access lifts to ground level.

  There was also a launch pad located on the surface in the middle of the lake. Above the underground section there was a small building containing the offices, laboratories, and some living accommodation for overnight stays. Further along the lakeside, there were a number of wooden chalets, which provided accommodation for the Facility Commandant, Dr Jurgen, and his chief scientist and deputy, Dr Theo Lehmann. The complex had a small compliment of staff comprising six technicians, three scientists,
and Jurgen’s secretary, Maria Schmidt. There was also a small detachment of soldiers who were required to defend the area if need be. Finally, there was an SS officer in charge of security, Major Dietrich Hartman.

  Jurgen looked up from his desk and stared across at the far wall. Yes, things had gone reasonably well. Certainly there had been some opposition from the local village. That was to be expected. It hadn’t amounted to much though, had it? Not that there was the remotest possible chance that their protest would have been acted upon, or indeed, even heard. SS Major Dietrich Hartman had seen to that, in his usual, uncompromising way. Though there hadn’t been any shooting as far as Jurgen could remember. Not this time. There had, of course, been several arrests. He knew precisely what that meant. People were taken away, and had never been seen again.

  People had also been hurt. Oh yes, people had been hurt, some of them quite badly. Jurgen sighed and shook his head once again, trying to shake the memory from his mind.

  * * *

  Jurgen had first met Major Dietrich Hartman almost two years earlier. It was at one of those endless political rallies in Nuremburg. Hitler was giving one of his stirring speeches. How well the war was going. It would soon be over. The enemy will be crushed into submission.

  Then, as now, Hartman was in charge of security. His orders were simple. Opposition was not to be tolerated. Any sign of dissention was to be quashed immediately, by any means. It was a task that Hartman relished. He was good at it. He knew exactly what to do. On that day there had also been a number of protests. Forty two people were killed that day. All shot.

  * * *

  Jurgen looked down at his desk. He opened the top drawer and took out a small envelope. He opened it. It was a telegram from the Fuhrer. Jurgen looked at it for a few moments, tapping it gently. Imagine the Fuhrer sending me his personal congratulations. He tapped it once more, and placed it back into the drawer.

  * * *

  The facility had been fully equipped, and now, one month after the completion of the building, preparations were underway for the first test, to be carried out today, November 8th 1943. The torpedoes had been delivered by truck, a week ago.

  It was 11.20 a.m., and Jurgen was now ready for the first test. The torpedo was already loaded into the firing tube, and locked into position; the control panel gauges and dials were switched on, and operating; and recording cameras were established in a number of positions, located within specially constructed underground areas at the lake perimeter.

  “Dr Jurgen. Please report to test rig number 2. Dr Lehmann, please report to test rig number 2,” came the message over the tannoy system.

  Torpedo XJ476/D was ready for testing. This was a Mark 3 version, an improvement over the Mark 2 weapon currently being successfully used by U Boats in the northern Atlantic. This improved version was supposedly faster and smoother running. We shall see Jurgen thought, as he made his way to the test site.

  * * *

  “Well Theo, here we are, at last”, said Jurgen, as he caught up with Lehmann walking along the corridor. Today’s the big day. Are we all ready?”

  “I believe so,” Lehmann replied, with a huge grin. “We’ll soon know”.

  A few moments later they arrived at Test Rig number 2, and went in. They walked over to the main console. Two junior technicians were already in position. Lehmann sat down and switched on the main control panel. Jurgen took up a position just behind, and then waited.

  Lehmann looked around the room. “Ready everyone?” he asked. Each person nodded as Lehmann looked around the room. “Right, we’ll start. Recorders on,” he instructed.

  “Recorders on, sir,” a technician responded.

  “Torpedo XJ476/D ready for test launch, confirm,” Lehmann started to go through the formalities. The torpedo was primed, charged and armed. It was ready for launch. “Depth and distance,” Lehmann requested.

  “Depth and distance set, sir” replied the technician. “We are ready for firing.”

  Lehmann looked across to Jurgen. “Ready for firing,” he confirmed. He looked at the clock on the wall opposite. Eleven thirty.

  “Ten seconds to launch,” Lehmann continued. “Nine, eight, seven, cameras on.” He checked the panel in front of him. It indicated that the cameras were on. “Six, five, four.” He placed his hand over the firing button. “Three, two, one. Fire.” He pressed firmly on the button. He could hear the muffled sound as the torpedo shot from the tube, at a depth of seven metres, and smoothly sped away toward its target.

  “Distance 25 metres, speed 12 knots” a technician read from the gauges.

  Lehmann looked at the control panel. “It’s looking good,” he called over to Jurgen.

  “Distance 50 metres, speed 14 knots,” said the technician.

  The speed was beginning to build as expected.

  “Distance 75 metres, speed 15 knots.”

  “Distance 100 metres, speed 16 knots …”

  Suddenly, at a distance of 120 metres, and travelling at a little over 18 knots, the torpedo veered violently to the left, and then turned vertically heading toward the lake surface. As it reached the surface it flipped over, and exploded into a dozen pieces, and sank to the bottom.

  * * *

  Jurgen was not so pleased with himself now, even though he knew that it had been nothing more than an accident. Accidents happen, he told himself. If the weapons were so perfect that they worked on every occasion there would be no need for testing, he reasoned. Nonetheless, he knew that now the complex was operational, senior officials would be visiting the site in the near future, expecting to see results – successful results. They did not want to hear about failures. They would not accept that it was an accident. Oh no, in their opinion it would be a mistake, pure and simple. And mistakes would not be tolerated.

  He would now have to carry out a full investigation to see what had gone wrong. Had it been human error? Had someone made a mistake? Had he made a mistake, an error of judgement? Was it the guidance system, the fuel, or the torpedo itself? Or was it something in the lake. Had the torpedo hit something floating in the water, or was it turbulence. Whatever it was he needed to find out, and find out quickly, before High Command started to ask questions. In order to find out, he would need to carry out another test with identical criteria. Same torpedo design, same fuel, same depth and distance settings.

  “Let me have a full report on that test, as soon as you can. In the meantime process the film of the test, and set it up in the projection room, let me know when the film is read,” Jurgen said to the Chief technician connected with the test. He started toward the door. He suddenly stopped and turned around. “Prepare another torpedo, for testing immediately,” he instructed. “Advise me as to the earliest we could be ready for a launch.”

  * * *

  As Jurgen returned to his office, he could hear the telephone ringing. It was Berlin. They wanted to know how the test had progressed. Jurgen cleared his throat. “The torpedo mal functioned,” he said quite simply.

  “Telegraph a full report by the morning,” a voice said. The phone went dead.

  The phone rang again, this time it was Kurt zur Heide, his chief technician, “The film has been retrieved from the operational cameras, and is now being processed,” he said. “It should be ready for viewing in a day or two. I’ll call you when it is set up.”

  “Good,” replied Jurgen. “What about the second torpedo that I ordered?”

  “The second test torpedo should be ready within seven to ten days,” zur Heide replied. “It is currently being taken from store, for the preliminary inspection processes.”

  “Okay,” said Jurgen, “In the meantime let us hope that the test film gives some clue as to what went wrong.”

  As he put the telephone down, his door opened and in walked Major Hartman.

  “Heil Hitler,” he said, raising his right arm, waiting for a formal response, which he noted was slow coming. “I understand that the torpedo test was a failure,” he said. How on earth
did he know that, who had told him, thought Jurgen.

  “Why was I not informed?” Hartman continued. “I must make a full report to Berlin.”

  Jurgen made a small gesture to respond to the raised arm salute, more out of fear than real respect. “We are investigating the cause of the failure, and a report will be issued as soon as possible. We are currently processing the test film. You would have been advised as soon as we had some information.”

  “What do you think went wrong?” Hartman asked.

  Jurgen looked surprised. “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “Something simple I expect, possibly an obstruction in the water.”

  “Sabotage,” Hartman replied simply.

  “Oh no I’m sure you’re wrong, Major,” said Jurgen. “The film will show what went wrong.”

  “Let me know when the film is ready,” Hartman said. “Heil Hitler.” He turned and stormed out of the room.

  Pompous idiot, thought Jurgen, but he knew that Hartman could be trouble. If the failure was found to be due to something that he had done, or not done, the consequences could be dire. He could imagine all manner of things, especially accusations of treason against the Fatherland. He sat back in his chair. He must put these thoughts out of my mind, and concentrate on the matters at hand. He looked at his watch – it was almost a quarter to one. There was a staff meeting scheduled for three-thirty. He had a lot to do before then. He took up his pen, and started to write his report.

  Chapter Seven

  Deliberate Sabotage?

  Two days after the test failure, Jurgen received a call from Lehmann. The test film was ready. “It is all set up in the projection room,” said Lehmann. “I have already seen it, so I can go through it with you.”

  Jurgen looked at his watch, 2.00 p.m. “I’ll be right there,” he said.

  He tidied his papers, got up and went the short distance down the corridor to the projection room. Lehmann and Hartman were waiting for him. Who told Hartman, Jurgen wondered as he walked over to them.