These Fragile Regimes, page 7
part #10 of Parallel Nazi Series
He had encouraged Zuse to rapidly develop his computational devices, which were conceptually superior to anyone else’s. And Zuse was adopting the solid tubes for the machines, which would build upon that preeminence.
Several fortuitous events had allowed him to capture Boeing’s expertise in building large aircraft. Combined with Germany’s lead in jet engines, Germany now had the world’s best jet bomber. Schloss hoped to capitalize on that lead to build a commercially viable jet airliner. But he was also aware that the Americans would be formidable competitors in that area.
But yet, Schloss was captivated by rocketry. In his former world, getting men into orbit and on the moon was expensive, arduous, and time-consuming. He had pressured Dornberger and von Braun to constantly look for ways to drive costs down. He wasn’t sure Dornberger totally understood him, but von Braun clearly did and was ferocious in his efforts to commoditize the technology.
He had spoken to Ribbentrop about encouraging progress in these areas. Ribbentrop didn’t quite understand, either. But he was honest about it and worked hard to advance those industries. To give the man credit, he was a good businessman and paid more attention than the other members of the governing council.
At 6:30, Schloss left his office and walked up to the apartment. Gisele 2 was in the sitting room, entertaining the children. Anna-Lisa seemed captivated by her stepmother’s friend, and even Hans interacted with her. Erich did as toddlers usually do, though, and wandered around to play with whatever captured his interest at that moment.
“Ah, you’re early, Hennie,” Gisela said.
“I wanted to make sure I was on time. I thought your friend might need to be rescued from the teeming hordes.”
Gisele laughed. “Oh, your children are wonderful, Herr Reich Chancellor.”
“Please, you can call me Hennie. We are informal here.”
She blushed. “I am not sure I could do that, mein Herr.”
“Well, you can try it,” Schloss said. “With a little practice, you will become comfortable with it.”
“We are having roast beef tonight, Hennie,” Gisela said. “I asked Frau Marsden to come over and cook the meal for us.”
“Something does smell very good,” he replied. “I am suddenly hungry.”
“I am starved,” Hans said. “We had Fußball practice this afternoon, and I have not had even a snack since.”
“We can’t have you fading away from hunger,” Schloss said. “Your coach would be disappointed in me.”
“I told Coach that you practice with me sometimes, and he said that was very interesting.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
Hans laughed. “I asked him that, too. He was impressed that you took the time to practice.”
“I enjoy it,” he shrugged. “And I probably need the exercise.”
“And drink less coffee,” Gisela added. “My husband drinks entirely too much of the stuff.”
“At least I stay sober.”
He settled on the sofa next to her, and she immediately grabbed his hand.
“You have such a wonderful family,” Gisele said. “Thank you so much for inviting me to visit.”
“I have waited too long to do so,” Gisela said. “I’m glad you were able to come.”
Frau Marsden’s dinner was impressive as usual, and Gisele seemed rather taken with the old woman. For her part, Frau Marsden was solicitous of the guest, and her normal ferocious demeanor seemed in abeyance.
Later that evening, Gisele returned to her hotel, and it was quiet in the apartment as Schloss and Gisela shared a brandy on the sofa.
“Your friend is pleasant,” Schloss said. “Has she changed much since you last interacted with her?”
“She has matured well, I think. We were in our teens when her father moved the family back to France, and she was a bit… flighty then.”
“I trust her marriage has helped.”
Gisele had told them she had married Romain Lemoine a year ago and was deeply satisfied with him. He worked in the Vichy government, although she was not specific about his duties. Schloss wondered if he could use that as an opportunity to open another window into the Vichy regime and then chastised himself as an opportunist.
“I’m delighted she was able to wed, finally,” Gisela said. “It has brought her much happiness. She was also very appreciative that we paid for her hotel.”
“Of course, we would. She’s our guest. And this place is not conducive to housing guests.”
“Yes, but while her parents are fairly well off, I don’t think she married into a lot of money. She commented about having to budget for everything.”
“I’m glad she was able to visit here.”
“She did ask if I would be able to visit her in Vichy,” Gisela said. “I told her I would love to do so but was not sure if it was possible given our position here.”
“A wise answer, Schatzi. However, we might be able to work something out. I worry about the security issues. Perhaps if I arranged for a private visit to Vichy to consult with Pétain, we could work some time with Giesele 2 into your schedule.”
“I will have to leave that to you, Darling. I understand the constraints. But thank you for suggesting it.”
CHAPTER TEN
February 6, 1946; 7 AM
Base Freiland
Coast of the Gulf of Bomba
Libya
The sun would soon peek above the horizon as Wernher von Braun gazed around the launch complex. The crisp winter chill of the desert air always surprised the scientist, considering how hot it grew during the day. But the weather was rarely bad, making the northern Libyan desert an excellent location to loft rockets. Only the occasional sandstorm marred the practicality of the place.
Despite the usefulness of the rocket base, von Braun hated it. During the recent war with Russia, he had been forced to move, along with the rest of the base, to this God-forsaken wasteland on the Mediterranean. He missed the woodlands and marshes of Northern Germany. But the Reich Chancellor had allowed him to continue his life’s work, and he was, therefore, content.
He watched as the ground crew hooked the hoses to the A15 rocket to begin filling it with alcohol and liquid oxygen. He decided to return to the blockhouse and observe the launch preparations from there.
“Is everything nominal, Wernher?” General Walter Dornberger asked.
“So far,” he grinned, “but the day is young.”
“Do you expect to have a launch today?”
Von Braun swung his head as he spoke to the commander of the base.
“Through painful experience, I have learned that the launch infrastructure is as important to success as the rocket. After we fuel the bird, I want to look things over carefully before we launch. I think we have incorporated everything necessary from the rocket into the countdown sequence. But we also need to identify pieces of the launch infrastructure that impact success or failure.”
“That would explain the team you had crawling over the pad for the past several months, then,” Dornberger replied.
“Right. If the OKW decides to use the A15 as a weapon, we will be tasked with developing the entire system, not just the rocket. We need this rocket to lift off every time we light it.”
“I worry about ganging so many engines in a single vehicle. If one fails, we lose the rocket.”
Von Braun shrugged. “We put four engines in the Condor, and it gets off the ground. Mostly.”
Dornberger laughed despite the tension. “Mostly. I love your confidence Herr Doktor.”
“As you know, our Reich Chancellor has two primary requirements. Reliability and cost. That’s why I have insisted on such heavy testing of the motors. We are down to one failure for every fifty firings. And we can usually achieve a shutdown rather than explosive destruction.”
“But the testing is expensive, too. I understand what you say, though.”
“If we invest in the testing and preparation, we succeed more often. The result is a net lower cost. It has been a struggle to get the cost of the A15 under 100,000 Reichsmarks. We continue to work on that, but I am also focused on getting more out of one rocket.”
“I am curious, however,” Dornberger said, “as to why you have insisted that the mechanisms for the recovery of the rocket be in a group of discrete modules.”
The scientist scratched his head. “I think we talked about that here while you were on one of your trips to Berlin. We won’t need those modules on the weaponized version of the A15. Removing them adds to the payload. Making it easy means we can shift production to weapons and back easily.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I wish I had known that in my last meeting with the Reich Chancellor. He worked me over on the costs. This would have made him happy.”
Von Braun looked abashed. “I am very sorry, Herr General. I will prepare a report that you can either send to Herr Schloss or carry it on your next trip. Besides you, he would be the last person I want unhappy with me.”
Dornberger laughed and patted von Braun’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Wernher. After this launch, we will probably both be making a trip to Berlin.”
“Fueling is complete, Herr General, Herr Doktor,” one of the technicians called out.
“Excuse me, Herr General,” von Braun said. “Duty calls.”
He walked over to five men who sat before an equipment console along one side of the room.
“Now is the time, meine Herren, to pay close attention to everything on the pad.”
The small ground control team studied their rudimentary instrumentation and then looked at the scientist.
“All is nominal, Herr Doktor.”
“Very well. Let’s start the countdown clock.”
One of the technicians had invented a mechanism that took the reverse motion of the countdown clock and, through a series of relays, displayed the remaining time on a digital display. He was justly proud of his efforts. And the device mounted on the wall began counting down from 30:00.
The teletype machine connected to the Zuse Z4 computer began to clatter as it generated the ongoing status of the rocket. The launch director, another of von Braun’s innovations, studied the paper spit out by the machine. The director managed the launch and could abort at any time. Von Braun was pleased with the discipline of the crew.
Three minutes before launch, the vent valves closed, allowing the oxygen tank to pressurize. At one minute, the rocket switched to its internal batteries, and the gyros spun up. The Siemens flight control computer-initiated operation and ran its internal tests.
“Internal power and control are nominal,” a technician reported.
Von Braun had learned not to interrupt the launch director. The man was closely watching the printer and scanned the room. Each control station showed a green light. The director nodded. Things looked good.
As the countdown proceeded to zero, von Braun looked through the heavy glass window at the launch pad. Vapor began to spill from the motors at the base of the rocket as it opened the valves from the Oxygen tank. At zero, nothing happened, and the vapor dissipated.
“And… we have an abort,” the launch director said.
“What happened?” von Braun asked.
“We didn’t have LOX to engine 3. We might have a stuck valve.”
Von Braun turned to Dornberger. “We just paid for our ground crews, Herr General. We would have taken off on three engines, and the test would have failed.”
Dornberger nodded. “That’s it for today, then?”
“Most likely. We need to detank before we can let the crews crawl around inside the rocket. I believe we can call today’s test a success. But we will want to watch the detanking carefully. We haven’t practiced it much. We need the experience.”
“Is this something we should do regularly?” Dornberger asked.
“We did this twice before today with this rocket. A third detanking should be adequate. And we will certainly gain more experience with the next booster. And now I must observe the detanking process.”
Dornberger moved over to his usual chair in the blockhouse. He observed the detanking process and then returned to his office. He was disappointed in the failure to launch but also understood von Braun’s cheerful optimism. The OKW needed the A15 as a weapon, and the rocket was nearly ready.
§ § §
February 11, 1946; 8 AM
Old Executive Office Building
Pennsylvania Avenue and 17th Street, NW
Washington, DC, USA
Rear Admiral Alan Carper stood in the entry lobby of the sprawling Old Executive Office Building and wondered how he would find his new office. This was a huge building, and he had never visited it before.
“You look like you need a guide,” a petite brunette said as she walked up to him.
“Or a map or something,” he replied. “This place is big!”
“Where would you be going?”
“Office of Naval Intelligence, if that isn’t an oxymoron.”
She laughed and said, “Well, come on. It’s a bit of a walk, but I can get you there.”
“I’m not interrupting you from something else, am I?” he asked.
“I was delivering a memo, but my dad was Navy, and so I have a soft spot for wandering sailors.”
“I’m Alan Carper, by the way,” he said.
“Lesa Seibert.”
“If it doesn’t get you in trouble, I’d appreciate the guidance. This is a bit different than the navigating I have done in the past.”
“Judging from the dolphins on your uniform, you are used to navigating underwater. This building should be no problem, then.”
Carper tried to study the young woman as she led him briskly along a corridor. She certainly was spunky.
“Where do you work, if I might ask?” Carper said.
“Oh, I’m a civilian employee in the WAVES. Our offices are near yours,” she replied. “I’m a dogsbody for Commander Thierry.”
“And do you enjoy it?”
“Yes. I see a lot of interesting things, and the Commander gives me a lot of responsibility.”
“I suppose that means you don’t make many mistakes,” he commented.
“I define a mistake as anything I can’t fix before the boss finds out about it.”
Carper laughed. “You ought to be in uniform. You would fit right in.”
“Not this girl. I want to have a life. What do you do when you are not in a submarine?”
He stuck his tongue in his cheek and grinned at her. “You may have a point there. I have never had time to have a life. I have no complaints, though.”
The girl kept up the conversation as they moved through the labyrinth of offices, and Carper began to get out of breath. And his leather briefcase was starting to get heavy.
“And… here we are,” she said. “Do you know where you will be going for lunch?”
“Uh, no, Lesa. I’m sure I’ll figure something out. There will probably be a Navy Chief in there somewhere who will keep me on the straight and narrow.”
“Ha. I’ve met a few chiefs. They have no problem straightening out the officers. I will be here at noon and will guide you to an acceptable lunch.”
“Only if you will allow me to buy.”
“Deal!” And she stuck her hand out to shake his.
Carper was somewhat bemused as he entered the ONI offices. He wondered where Lesa Seibert had come from. She was… impressive.
“Attention on deck!” the Navy Chief shouted as Carper walked in the door.
Around the large open office space, perhaps thirty people jumped to attention.
“At ease,” Carper quickly called. “I don’t want to waste everyone’s time whenever I come in the door. Feel free to ignore me unless I come to your desk. Who has the big mouth?”
“Chief Paul Sopher, Sir.”
“Alan Carper, Chief. I guess I’m the new brass here.”
“Welcome aboard, Sir. Do you happen to have your orders with you?”
Carper gave the chief an old-fashioned smile. “Of course, Chief.”
He set the briefcase on the desk and unhooked the straps. He pulled out the thick, sealed, and taped manila envelope and handed it to the chief.
“Here you go. What’s next?”
“We need to get you to your office and then find some coffee.”
“I’m glad you have your priorities straight.”
“We try, Sir,” Sopher replied. “We try.”
“I suppose I should also meet my assistant and the key people on the team.”
“We can arrange that as well.”
An impeccably attired captain stepped out of an office and moved towards them.
“Captain Bill Williams, Admiral. I’m the Assistant Director. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Carper replied. “Why don’t you come visit my new office with me. The Chief promised to find some coffee.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Carper waved the captain into a chair as he hung his overcoat and hat. He slipped behind the desk to try the chair. It seemed adequate.
“It will probably take me a while to get up to speed,” he said. “Is there anything hanging fire that I need to deal with immediately?”
“Alan Dulles is making another attempt to fold us into the OSS,” Williams said. “I believe he thought there would be enough confusion during your transition that he could make this happen.”
Carper opened the desk drawer and found several pencils and a legal pad. He pulled it out so he could make notes.
“I will mention that to the CNO, although he probably already knows about it.”
“But what should we do, Sir?”
“About Alan Dulles? I think we can safely ignore him for the moment. The OSS took several shots below the waterline in their last operation. The Navy rescued the operation and succeeded. And the President knows that.”
“Scuttlebutt has it you ran that operation for the Navy,” Williams commented.
“Off the record, Captain,” Carper replied, “I was involved in that operation, but I think that knowledge remains compartmentalized. You probably have need to know, but before we talk further about that, we should review our security classifications. If we let something leak, we most certainly will have Alan Dulles all over us.”
