Sam Eastland - Berlin Red

There were occasions when this labyrinth of chemistry and physics had worked to Hagemann’s advantage and listeners, no matter what their rank, would have no choice except to take his word for everything he said.

But this was not one of those occasions. This time Hagemann had lost a rocket approximately 45 feet long and weighing more than 27,000 pounds. Now he very much needed these men to understand exactly what had happened.

‘Think of the engine in your car,’ he began, and immediately the strained looks of the generals and politicians began to relax. Even the most technologically dense of them could picture what lay under the hood of their automobiles, even if they had no idea about the workings of the internal combustion engine.

As Hagemann continued, he did his best to make his audience feel as if he were speaking to each person individually, but the only one who really mattered in this conversation was Hitler himself. In the trembling hands of this man, who was so obviously being devoured from the inside by the all-consuming fact of his defeat, lay not only the future of the V-2 programme but Hagemann’s very existence.

‘When your car engine is not tuned correctly,’ he explained, ‘you end up with a lot of smoke coming out of your exhaust.’

There were some nods of agreement.

‘This happens,’ he continued, ‘because your fuel is not being properly burned. When the engine is correctly tuned, you can barely see any exhaust at all.’

‘So,’ Goebbels said cautiously, ‘with this rocket of yours, instead of seeing nothing . . .’

‘You see diamonds,’ answered Hagemann.

But Speer was not yet satisfied. ‘And the guidance is what tunes the engine?’ he asked, his eyes narrowed with confusion.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ agreed Hagemann. ‘Think of a clock hanging on a wall. If the clock is not hanging at the correct angle, its timing will be off. You can even hear it when the ticking isn’t right.’

‘I have a clock like that,’ muttered Goebbels. ‘No matter what I do, it cannot tell the proper time. And the sound is enough to drive a person crazy, especially at night.’

‘Shut up!’ barked Hitler. ‘This has nothing to do with your clock.’ He nodded at Hagemann. ‘Go on, General.’

‘Think of the ticking of this clock as the result of the spring winding down, just as the exhaust from the V-2’s engine is the result of the fuel as it burns. When the clock is running perfectly, the spring will wind down to the end, telling perfect time along the way. But if the clock is out of balance, the clock will usually stop before the spring has properly wound down. Until now, our rockets have been like clocks whose springs are out of balance. The fuel consumption was not optimised and the rockets, whether they were fired against targets or out into the Baltic Sea, did not achieve their true potential. The Diamond Stream device was designed to create a perfect balance in the rocket. Until this most recent test, that balance had not been achieved. But when it did finally work, not only were we able to witness the distinctive exhaust pattern, but the rocket travelled further than any previous test had done before, without any increase in fuel payload. As of last night,’ he concluded, ‘the Diamond Stream is a reality.’

Over the past few minutes, the focus in Hitler’s eyes had changed. He sat forward now and, when he spoke, his speech was no longer barbed with the executioner’s sarcasm on which he always relied to chip away at those who had displeased him. ‘Why did this rocket work so well’, he asked, ‘when all of the others had failed?’

This was the moment Hagemann had been praying for. From now on, this was a conversation between himself and Hitler. Everyone else in this room had just been relegated to the position of an unnecessary bystander.

‘The reason the others have failed’, said Hagemann, ‘is that all of our previous attempts to install guidance technology in the rockets were thwarted due to vibration from the engines. The result, as you know, has been the high percentage of our rockets not landing where they were supposed to, whether on our test sites or upon the battlefield. Although they created a significant amount of damage to the enemy, they were nevertheless off target when they landed. The control system in this particular rocket was fitted in a newly designed shock-proof housing. This allowed the guidance technology to minimise the fuel consumption, thus allowing it to travel further than had previously been the case. Our original calculations did not take this into account, with the result that we undercompensated the flight curve. Such a thing is easily corrected and, from this point on, the device will be able to perform as we had always intended.’

Hitler fanned his eyes across the others in the room. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Easily corrected. Did you hear that, or are there more jokes to be made, Goebbels?’

The room became utterly silent. Goebbels’ eyes strained in their sockets as he peered into the corners of this concrete cell, as if searching for some means of escape.

Hitler turned back to Hagemann. ‘But where is the rocket now?’

Hagemann opened his mouth to reply. There could be no hiding of the truth. Not now. And he wondered if every measure of confidence he might have gained during these past few minutes would now be squandered by the simple declaration that he did not know.

But before he could speak, Hitler answered his own question. ‘It probably fell in the sea.’

‘In all likelihood,’ Hagemann assured him.

Hitler nodded, satisfied.

‘There is one more thing,’ said Hagemann, almost in a whisper.

Hitler held out one hand magnanimously towards the general. ‘Do continue, please.’

Hagemann did as he was told. ‘With the accuracy we can now obtain, we are capable of obliterating highly specific targets. By this, I mean we are no longer unleashing the force of the V-2 upon cities, but upon targets of our choosing which lie within those cities. A single house. A single monument. All you have to do is take the tip of your pencil, touch it against a location on the map and give the order. Within the hour, the place which lay beneath that pencil point will cease to exist.’

‘What about anti-aircraft fire?’ demanded Fegelein. ‘Can’t they bring it down with that?’

‘No,’ answered Hagemann. ‘By the time the V-2 finishes its journey, it will be travelling at supersonic speed. This means that those who stand in its circle of destruction will receive no warning. Even for those who survive, the sound of the rocket will reach their ears only after the explosion. Once the V-2 has been unleashed, nothing on this earth can stop it.’

‘Do you hear?’ Hitler shouted. ‘This will be our deliverance! Everything we have endured will now be cast into the light of everlasting triumph!’

Now Goebbels spoke. ‘As long as the professor is convinced that such results can be achieved with regularity.’

‘Not just regularity, Herr Reichsminister,’ Hagemann told him. ‘With infallibility.’

‘Ha!’ Hitler crashed his hands together. ‘You have your answer, Goebbels!’

‘I do indeed,’ the Reichsminister said as he fixed Hagemann with a stare, ‘provided his deeds match his words.’

‘You may leave us now, Professor,’ said Hitler. ‘We have other matters to discuss.’

Obediently, Hagemann began to gather up his blueprints.

‘Leave those,’ Hitler waved his hands over the documents. ‘I would like to study them.’

‘Of course,’ replied Hagemann, standing back from the table, ‘but I must ask that they be kept in a safe. I cannot overestimate . . .’

‘Thank you, Herr General,’ interrupted Speer. ‘We are well aware of safety protocols. We wrote them, after all.’