Vengeance 10 (5 page)

A lorry engine racketed to life as a technician stripped the shroud from the rocket’s nose and descended the ladder. The lorry drove towards the gap in the high concrete wall, leaving the launch area clear. Two minutes to launch.

The fuselage was captured in a sheath of glistening ice crystals as the minus-two-hundred-degree-centigrade liquid oxygen sucked moisture from the humid air. A thin plume of vapour shot from a vent half-way up the rocket’s side to signal that the oxidiser tank had reached full pressure. The red flare indicating an imminent launch arched up from the control bunker. At minus twenty seconds the merest wisp of vapour appeared beneath the rocket, and a collective sigh of relief went up from the technicians in the bunker. Bethwig heard Dornberger explaining to Goering that the vapour had been vented through the fuel feed system to make certain that everything was operating properly and that no valves were stuck.

At minus ten seconds sparks showered from the nozzle as the pyrotechnic igniter went off. A gout of reddish-black flame belched from the rocket’s base, steadied, faded to yellow, and a sound like a giant blowtorch gone mad swept the island. The flame turned an incandescent white impossible to watch without protective glasses, and clouds of smoke and dust sprang up to obscure the rocket. For a moment, only its nose was visible, and then, like some prehistoric monster rearing slowly above a primeval fog, the A-5 appeared. Bethwig could see it turn slowly on its axis as its fins cleared the smoke. It tilted slightly and was gone, a fast-dwindling dot of flame directly overhead.

Silence held the launch site for a moment, then cheers and shouts erupted. Bethwig turned to see the officers gathered about Goering pointing upwards, shading their eyes against the sun, all talking at once. His instrument panel was registering perfectly, and the whir of the cinecamera focused on the gauges surprised him. In the excitement he had not recalled having turned it on. The temperature gauge was holding steady at 2902° centigrade, five degrees below his prediction. Satisfied, he turned his glance upward and, after a moment of practised search, found the white dot now moving slightly to the east.

‘Thirty-five seconds,’ blared the loudspeaker.

Even through his powerful Zeiss binoculars Bethwig could not resolve the pencil-shaped A-5 completely. This was far better than they had hoped, and he glanced quickly at his instruments again. No change.

‘Forty-five seconds,’ and a moment later, ‘Brennschluss, end of combustion.’ The white dot disappeared.

‘Rocket motor burning time was forty-six seconds,’ the loudspeaker intoned, ‘and altitude at burnout was eight point one kilometres.’

Through the glasses Bethwig watched as the rocket continued to climb under the momentum imparted by the engine until the shape elongated and he knew it had reached its peak altitude. At any second von Braun would press the button that would send a radio signal to deploy the parachute. The rocket was tumbling now, and sunlight flashed from the alternating squares of red and yellow painted on the fuselage. Abruptly the tumbling stopped. He could make out a hazy stream behind and the main parachute deployed in a perfectly-shaped canopy.

The missile hung quiescent in the shrouds, and the air was so still, Bethwig could follow its descent until foreshortened trees appeared in his binoculars and the rocket splashed into the Baltic. There was a puff of yellow smoke as the explosive charge cut away the parachute, and the A-5 bobbed, stern up, like a child’s bath toy The patrol launch described a sharp turn and raced across the harbour.

For a moment Bethwig remained standing on the lip of the bunker, glasses pressed against his eyes, wanting to impress the picture on his mind: the colourful rocket, paint bright against the intense blue sea, gleaming wakes, the tiny Storch aircraft swooping low over the tilted gnomon surrounded by the creamy parachute. There had been dozens of launchings, and hundreds were yet to come, but none, he knew, would ever be as important, or as perfect, as this.

Colonel General Hermann Goering had departed as darkness crept in over the Baltic. The evening brought cooling breezes that were gratefully received, and Dornberger ordered supper served on the roof of the canteen, overlooking the tiny harbour.

Bethwig had noticed the man earlier, standing a bit apart from the officials and officers fawning about Goering. He was of medium height, balding, and he wore a simple but expensive summer suit. His eyes missed nothing, Bethwig thought. He arrived shortly after Goering’s plane had landed, and Dornberger hurriedly introduced him as Albert Speer, mentioning something about a post as Hitler’s personal architect. How did one go about becoming a personal architect? he wondered. Yet Dornberger had seated Speer on his left, a position that would have been given to Goering had he remained.

Bethwig and von Braun were seated further along the table, but several times during the meal Speer leaned forward to ask them questions. Each time, others engaged in conversations of their own stopped to listen.

‘Colonel Dornberger tells me,’ Speer said to Bethwig as the waiters removed the last course, ‘that today’s test flight of the A-Five rocket vindicated one of your developments.’

Bethwig coughed to hide his embarrassment and stole a glance at Tuchman. The old man was watching Speer and Dornberger in tight-lipped silence.

‘Come now, young man, no modesty please,’ Speer prompted.

‘Well, yes, the test flight did bear out a few of my thoughts.’

‘I would like to hear about them.’

Bethwig appealed silently to Dornberger, who chose to misinterpret the glance. ‘You may speak freely, Franz. Herr Speer has the highest clearances.’

‘Was it the graphite vanes?’ Speer asked.

‘Ah ... no, sir. We knew they would work.’ Bethwig was surprised that Speer knew that much.

Speer laughed at his expression. ‘You were correct, Colonel. Herr Doktor Bethwig is a modest young man. He reduces the cost of the vanes from one hundred fifty to one point five marks and claims to have known it would work all along.’

Dornberger grinned at Bethwig who was now flaming red. Von Braun chuckled, nudging him with an elbow as Tuchman stalked away from the table without an apology. Under prompting by Domberger and von Braun, Bethwig explained the film cooling system, and Speer listened closely, asking occasional questions.

The military officers and civilian officials invited to watch the launching filtered to the far end of the table as the talk became increasingly technical, and the scientific staff gathered about the head. Bethwig thought it strange that Speer, who for all his interest seemed a lightweight in scientific matters, should prefer to indulge in what must have been a boring discussion of velocities, specific impulses, radio telemetry techniques, and a myriad other engineering concerns.

When he finished, Speer turned to Dornberger. ‘I understand, Colonel, that another purpose of today’s launching was to test a guidance system?’

Dornberger nodded and folded his napkin. ‘Our A-Three rocket was cursed with the problem of maintaining directional stability. The rocket would turn on its axis during powered flight, thus making it impossible to keep a proper course. At first we thought this a result of wind acting upon the fins, but wind-tunnel tests disproved that. It was due rather to fluctuations in the exhaust stream. To correct the problem, Wernher developed a gyroscope system that controls the movement of the vanes in the exhaust stream. Now, when the rocket begins to veer, the gyroscopically controlled vanes bring it right back by bending the exhaust in the opposite direction.’

‘I see. Exactly how does the system work?’ Speer asked. Dornberger began to sketch on a napkin. ‘It is really quite similar to a child’s top spinning inside a metal cage. Like a top, it always remains upright, no matter which way the surface on which it is mounted tilts. To take advantage of this natural phenomenon, a metal rod fixed to the rocket is passed through the top’s centre. A series of electrical switches are placed along the rod, and as the rocket begins to veer off course the rod turns with it, thus touching the top and closing a switch, which sends an electrical impulse to the motor controlling the graphite vanes extending into the rocket’s exhaust. The rocket is thus turned back on its proper course.’

‘My congratulations, Herr Doktor.’ Speer rose and bowed to von Braun.

Von Braun laughed and shook his head. ‘Thank you, Herr Speer, but the credit goes to spy work, not to us.’

‘Spy work?’

The others at the table groaned. It was an inside joke that had grown hoary with age but always drew the expected reaction from outsiders.

‘Yes, the system was developed by an American named Robert H. Goddard who developed the first liquid-fuelled rocket in 1923 and is now working with a small grant from the American government somewhere in their western states. Dr Goddard published a paper in 1937 which was ignored by nearly everyone in the world, including the Americans. But one of our embassy employees in Washington obtained a copy from the Library of Congress and sent it on to the Army Weapons Development Centre at Kummersdorf on the chance that it would be of value. Dr Goddard was actually the first to use vanes in the exhaust stream to control flight, and I would say that his work has saved us at least three years. Fortunately for us, his own people have ignored him entirely.’

The rowdier members of the party had begun to stagger off to bed, and the table grew quiet. A soft breeze blew landward, drawing its cooling breath across the parched island. Speer asked a few more questions about technical problems, then leaned back in his chair and regarded Dornberger for a moment.

‘Where will you go from here?’

‘To the A-Four,’ Dornberger replied without hesitation.

‘A-Four? I must admit that I was curious as to what intervened between the old A-Three and today’s A-Five.’

‘The A-Four is a very ambitious step forward and has been our objective all along,’ von Braun told him. ‘We did not realise just how ambitious until we were rather far along in its design. We saw very early that we needed a great deal more information than we possessed or could ever hope to gain from the A-Three. So, we dropped it and designed the A-Five as our test vehicle.’

‘Wait just a moment.’ Speer clutched his head in mock despair. ‘You are making me dizzy with so many numbers. Tell me, just what do you intend the A-Four to do?’

All eyes turned to Colonel Dornberger. ‘It will carry a thousand-kilogram high explosive warhead three hundred kilometres.’

An artillery officer, who had remained, whistled in amazement. ‘What do you intend its accuracy should be?’

‘Plus or minus two kilometres. And,’ Dornberger added, ‘we hope to improve that to within half a kilometre.’

The officer calculated the range in relation to impact deviation on his slide rule and shook his head. ‘Impossible,’ he said flatly.

‘I do not understand the technical details of artillery ballistics,’ Speer murmured, ignoring the officer, ‘but even I can recognise the value of such a weapon. How long would it take to produce one operational by troops under field conditions?’

‘That depends upon the priorities and budget restrictions under which we would have to operate. And of course, approval from the chancellory. The Führervisited us early this year at Kummersdorf and seemed not in the least impressed with our rockets.’

Speer only murmured a noncommittal response to Dornberger’s probe, and during the long silence that followed they could hear the gentle slap of waves on the sand.

An hour later Franz Bethwig and Wernher von Braun walked along the beach as they often did before retiring. Usually they reviewed the day’s events, discussed new ideas, or speculated idly about the future of rocketry. Tonight von Braun was quiet, resisting Bethwig’s attempts to draw him into conversation. Finally, in exasperation, Franz swore at him.

Von Braun grunted and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘I have a feeling that everything is about to change, and I don’t know if for better or worse. It seems to me that today we took the first real step towards space. The A-Five performed beautifully under control. We’ve proven what we knew all along, and now we have only to build ever bigger versions until we are there.’ He waved a hand vaguely at the sky and shook his head in exasperation. ‘But I ... I just have a feeling that we are being sidetracked. Walter talks only about war rockets, and this Speer character agrees with him. Did you see how they all listened whenever he said anything? I don’t want to waste time building war rockets. Let the army find someone else to do that. We’ve shown them how.’

‘Don’t forget’ - Bethwig grinned - ‘you are in the army, my friend. Or at least paid by them, which amounts to the same thing.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘Why not? So far you’ve just wasted a great deal of energy kicking against the inevitable. You know as well as I why the army wants rockets. Goering was here today to see how much of a threat they might be to his precious bombers. I have a feeling this Speer is more than he seems; in fact, I suspect he was sent to keep an eye on Goering. Who knows what’s going on in Berlin these days? Even my father has gotten to be quite vague about it. But whatever, our salary is paid by the army, and if they tell us to build war rockets, I don’t see that we have any other choice. Do you?’

‘I guess not,’ von Braun mumbled.

The moon was nearly full and hung in mid-sky, a silver beacon strong enough to light the beach. Franz stared at it, trying to imagine as he had done a thousand times since childhood what it would be like to walk across its surface. It was not only that barren desert of frozen, airless stone that drew him, but rather the promise of what was to follow. The moon and the various planets of the solar system were only the beginning. There was a universe beyond to be explored and bent to man’s will. Mankind needed something greater than itself to challenge, if for no other reason than to refocus selfish thoughts and petty concerns. Space travel offered the ultimate goal, stars in their billions with unlimited room for the race to grow and expand.