V-S Day: A Novel of Alternate History

ON ORDERS OF THE REICH MARSHAL

AUGUST 18, 1942

The bombs began falling shortly after 1 A.M.

Wernher von Braun awoke to the wail of air raid sirens. He’d barely opened his eyes when he heard what he first thought was a thunderstorm rolling in from the Baltic. Then he realized what was happening, and in moments he was out of bed. No time to get dressed; he found his robe and slippers in the abrupt, violent flashes of light coming through the bedroom windows, then he was racing down the stairs, taking the risers two or three at a time, even as he felt the house tremble from explosions coming closer with each passing second.

The streets of Peenemünde’s residential area were filled with scientists, engineers, and military officers, all of them in their bedclothes as they scurried for the air raid bunker beneath the foreign workers’ barracks. Von Braun found Lise Muller in the darkness; she was wearing only her nightgown, so he gallantly put his robe around her, then took her arm and led her through the yelling, shoving crowd. Frequent flashes and explosions from the northeast end of the island told him that the industrial center was being targeted, but the housing complex might be next. Above the rooftops, searchlights roamed across the black and pitiless sky, while the luminescent tracers of antiaircraft guns sought targets too high for them to reach. No sign of Luftwaffe fighters taking off to do battle with the invaders; the airfield had probably been the first thing destroyed. Von Braun could see nothing when he looked up, but a loud, rolling drone that sounded like a swarm of immense bees told him that that hundreds of British bombers were up there, bringing wave upon wave of destruction.

Walter Dornberger found him and Lise just as they reached the shelter; he looked odd without his uniform, and for once he wasn’t smiling. They managed to make their way into the shelter just as the first bombs began falling on their houses. The concrete ceiling quaked, causing several women to scream in terror; Lise remained calm, but she clung tight to him. Taking her under his arm, von Braun shuffled through the crowded shelter, trying to find a place where, if the ceiling were to collapse, they might possibly escape being crushed to death beneath tons of rubble. It was a hopeless notion, of course—if a one-ton bomb made a direct hit, everyone down there would die—but it helped him feel just a little more in control.

For the next forty minutes, the people who’d taken refuge in the shelter listened as giants marched overhead, each footfall signaling another house, office, or workshop that had ceased to exist. The shelter was so tightly packed that no one could sit down; swaying lights revealed terrified faces and eyes that constantly peered upward as if expecting to see RAF Lancasters through the ceiling. Von Braun spotted Arthur Rudolph; he had his wife and children with him, and he was doing his best to comfort them. Looking around, he glimpsed various other members of his rocket team, peering out between the French and Polish workers who’d been the first to get belowground. He searched for Walter Thiel, his senior chemical engineer, but didn’t see him; von Braun hoped he and his family were safe.

A little after 2 A.M., the bombs stopped falling. No one moved, though, until they heard the sirens sound the all clear. Someone went upstairs and threw open the steel double doors, and everyone began to leave, pushing against one another in their eagerness to get out of the cramped and airless bunker.

Yet the nightmare wasn’t over. They emerged to find Peenemünde on fire, the flames spreading to even the places that the bombers had missed. Fire trucks raced through the streets, bells jangling as they headed from one blaze to another. Von Braun’s house was intact, but the cottage Fraülein Muller shared with several other unmarried women was gone. A couple of blocks away, von Braun was horrified to discover that Thiel’s house was nothing more than a burning heap of wood and brick. Soldiers were trying to put out the fire before it spread to other homes, but its occupants were nowhere to be seen. Staring at the Thiel home, von Braun realized that Walter and his family lay within the inferno.

The shock had barely settled in, though, when Colonel Dornberger found him and Lise again. There was no time to grieve; the colonel dragged them to the research-and-development district, which had been hit even harder than the residential area. There they found that the fire had reached Haus 4, and no firefighters had yet arrived to put out the blaze. As Dornberger ran down the street, yelling for everyone to drop what they were doing and save the headquarters building, von Braun and Lise took their chances and went inside. Keeping away from the part of the building that was on fire, they cupped their hands across their faces and made their way upstairs to von Braun’s office, where they managed to break down the locked door. While von Braun gathered the most important papers and blueprints from his file cabinets, Lise opened the wall safe and took out the Silbervogel master study. They fled the building before the flames could reach them; Dornberger returned with a bucket brigade just as the roof fell in.

By daybreak, the fires had been put out, but as the sun came up, it became clear that the raid had been a success. Entire buildings had vanished into bomb craters, and blackened iron skeletons and smoking piles of debris lay where houses, laboratories, and offices had been only yesterday. Many streets were impassable; scores of parked cars and trucks had been crushed or burned. Hundreds of people were dead, ranging from foreign workers to top-level scientists. Walking through the ruins, von Braun saw so many bodies covered by sheets that he soon lost count.

Ironically, the nearby concentration camp was largely untouched. Only a handful of Russians died there when a stray bomb fell on their quarters. But the camp wasn’t very large; because of the sensitive nature of the Silbervogel Projekt, it had been decided that prisoners would be used as forced labor as little as possible. Von Braun hadn’t been involved in this decision, though, and he’d deliberately tried to ignore the camp’s existence as much as he could, so the fate of its prisoners barely registered on his conscience.

Not all was lost. With the notable exception of Walter Thiel, most of the project’s key scientists and engineers had survived. Like von Braun, they’d taken shelter as soon as they heard the sirens. Just as importantly—miraculously, in fact—the raid had missed Wa Pruf 11’s most valuable facilities, the construction and test complex at the northern tip of the island. Whether it was sheer luck or because the bombardiers couldn’t see Peenemünde clearly from high altitude, von Braun didn’t know. Nonetheless, the wind tunnel, the static test stand, the liquid-oxygen and gasoline storage tanks, and the control bunkers had all gone untouched.

Most crucial of all, the bombers hadn’t hit Silbervogel. The spacecraft was in two adjacent work sheds: one containing the engine assembly, the other the unfinished fuselage. Neither was so much as scratched. When von Braun saw this, he felt his knees grow weak, and he had to grab Dornberger’s shoulder for support. If Silver Bird had been destroyed, the entire project would have come to an end; there was not enough time or money to start over again. And he didn’t want to even think about the Führer’s reaction. Hitler was notorious for not accepting failure even when it was for reasons beyond anyone’s control.

All the same, it was obvious that Silbervogel had to be moved from Peenemünde. The RAF could return at any time, and the next raid might not miss the most important targets.

Only a few weeks ago, Himmler had come through on his promise to find a launch site. Von Braun hadn’t yet taken a close look at the SS memo that had landed on his desk, but apparently it involved a couple of abandoned railway tunnels that had been carved into a mountainside somewhere in the Harz Mountains. There were also proposals to put the launch site in Poland or Austria, but both Dornberger and von Braun were opposed to this; it would be difficult enough to transport the spacecraft by rail across Germany, let alone to another country.

For now, though, the most immediate concern was cleaning up from the air raid. Von Braun set up a temporary headquarters office in his living room; Walter and Lise had found clothes by then, and both were working with him to organize the salvage operations. That would take a while, of course, but once that was done, the next step would be to work out a plan for relocating the entire project from the seacoast to the mountains.

Perhaps it was too soon to even begin thinking about such things, but von Braun needed the distraction. He felt numb, body and soul, from the violence of the night before; many people were dead, among them one of his oldest friends, and he was all too aware that the bombs had been meant for him, too. If he thought about it too much… No, it was better to work and exhibit the leadership the survivors needed just then.

He and Lise had only begun, though, when the rumble of motorcycles heralded the arrival of a motorcade. Von Braun had no sooner risen from his desk than the front door slammed open, and two soldiers stomped into the front hall. And right behind them, resplendent in a tailored white uniform, swaggered the bloated figure of Hermann Goering.

“Wernher!” A broad grin stretched across the general’s fleshy face. “So good to see that you’re still alive!”

“Da, Herr Reichsmarschall.” Ignoring the friendship Goering pretended to share with him by using his first name, von Braun took a formal stance, back straight and arms at his sides. As usual, Dornberger came to attention, his right arm snapping forward in a brisk salute that Goering didn’t seem to notice. From the corner of his eye, von Braun saw Lise stiffen. His secretary had once confessed to him, following one of the Luftwaffe leader’s earlier visits, that she could practically feel Goering’s eyes crawling over her. She’d begged von Braun never to leave her alone with him, and von Braun knew why. There were rumors about Goering’s sexual appetite, and rape was not beneath him.

“And I’m pleased to see that your lovely secretary is safe as well.” Goering hadn’t forgotten her, and Lise blanched when he favored her with a smile. Removing his white kid gloves, Goering found an armchair big enough to support him and sat down heavily. “I don’t suppose she could bring us coffee, could she?”

“Fraülein, bitte?” Von Braun dismissed Lise with a glance, and she disappeared through a swinging door into the kitchen. He hoped for her sake that she’d take her time. “So, Herr Reichsmarschall… what brings you here?”

Goering raised an eyebrow. “Come now, Herr Doktor. You don’t think I’d abandon you in your moment of crisis, do you? As soon as I heard about the raid, I drove here straight from Berlin.” Frowning, he shook his head in commiseration. “Horrifying. Utterly horrifying. England will pay dearly for its temerity.”

“As you say.” Von Braun had to work at keeping a straight face. It was well-known that Goering’s stature within the High Command had taken a major blow when the Luftwaffe failed to bring about Great Britain’s surrender. His planes could no longer cross the English Channel without being intercepted, and since he had forced Peenemünde to abandon the A-4 in favor of the far more ambitious Silbervogel, it was hard to see how he could make good on his threat.

Goering nodded. His pig eyes never left von Braun’s face; Wernher knew that he was being studied, assessed for any sign of disloyalty or weakness. “Quite,” Goering said drily. “I take it that you’re following Herr Himmler’s advice and preparing to move your operations to a less vulnerable location, yes?”

“As we speak, I’m preparing to determine how long it will take for us to relocate to…” Von Braun paused. “I’m sorry, but the name of this place escapes me.”

“Nordhausen. That’s the town nearby, but we will be calling the facility something else… Mittelwerk.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. May I…?” Goering gave him the slightest of nods, and von Braun resumed his seat behind the desk. “It may be some time before we can leave, though. Most of our casualties were among the labor force. Not just the foreign workers, but also the war prisoners we’ve been using lately. Without them…”

“I’ll requisition more soldiers to assist you with the relocation effort. And you need not concern yourself with finding a source of labor at Mittelwerk. Herr Himmler has seen to this as well.” Goering shrugged. “I’m sorry, though, but we’ll no longer be employing any civilians who aren’t German citizens. The security risk is too high… and I’m convinced that one of the reasons why the British were able to strike us with such accuracy is that they had spies among the foreign workers. We caught two already.”

“That’s entirely possible, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Dornberger said, still standing at attention beside von Braun’s desk. “However, I’d like to point out that, since late last year, we’ve been careful to keep foreign workers away from the vital facilities. I doubt very strongly that the British or their American allies have learned anything about Silbervogel.”

Goering shook his head. “Perhaps so, Colonel, but we cannot take a chance based on that assumption. I’ve consulted Admiral Canaris, and on his advice, I’ve ordered the Abwehr to take active measures that will prevent the Americans from engaging in any countermeasures.”

“Active measures, Herr Reichsmarschall?” Von Braun blinked. “My apologies, but I fail to understand what you’re talking about.”

“In the past, you’ve told us of the American scientist who’s their key expert in rocketry… Dr. Robert H. Goddard, I believe?” Von Braun nodded, and the monster sitting across from him smiled. “You won’t have to worry about him for very much longer. The Abwehr is taking care of that particular problem. Herr Doktor Goddard will be found and liquidated.”

Von Braun felt a chill of horror. He suddenly wished that he’d never said anything about Goddard to Goering. He had nothing against Goddard; in fact, he greatly admired him even though Goddard had deliberately ignored Hermann Oberth’s request to share technical information with the VfR.

“Do you really believe this is wise?” von Braun asked, choosing his words carefully. “If Goddard is… um, liquidated… wouldn’t this alert the Americans that we’re involved in a rocket program of our own?”

Goering gave him a condescending smirk. “Oh, Wernher… the Americans and the British must know what we’re doing here. Why else would they have dropped bombs on you?”

“Da, Herr Reichsmarschall,” Dornberger said, ever the fawning officer. “You are correct. Perhaps not the specific details of Silbervogel, but…”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew about that, too,” Goering said, shaking his head. “And even if they don’t, you yourself said that they are doubtless working to develop a transcontinental rocket… did you not?”

Once again, von Braun regretted Dornberger’s exaggerations about the American rocket program. Had Goering figured out that it was all an elaborate lie to justify continued funding for Peenemünde and Wa Pruf 11? Yet even if he did, neither he nor Walter had any choice but to continue telling the lie. Goering had managed to get someone to drive him all the way from Berlin; he could easily return with von Braun and Dornberger as unwilling passengers, with the SS headquarters as their destination.

“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t realize that earlier. Eliminating Robert Goddard might be the most prudent thing to do.”

“I thought you’d see things my way.” Goering abruptly rose from his chair, wheezing quietly with the effort. “Well, then… if there is nothing else for us to discuss, I’d like to view the damage. Colonel, if you would…?”

“It would be my privilege.” Dornberger was already stepping to the door; von Braun wondered if he was going to remove his uniform jacket and lay it across the puddle of water that lay just outside. Goering walked past the colonel with only the barest acknowledgment of his presence, but then he paused to look back at von Braun.

“Good day, Wernher,” he said. “May this be the end of your misfortunes.”

“I certainly hope so, Herr Reichsmarschall.” Von Braun watched him go but didn’t let out his breath until he heard the rumble of motorcycles pulling away. Then he lowered his head into his hands and closed his eyes.

“He’s gone, thank God.” Unnoticed until she spoke to him, Lise had come back into the office. Then she lay a soft hand upon his shoulder. “Wernher, are you all right?”

“No… no, I’m not all right.” Raising his head from his hands, von Braun looked up at her. “I’m afraid I’ve done a terrible thing. I’ve given permission for a good man’s death.”