The Doomsday Decree Page 15

  ‘Love?’ Paul shook his head. ‘Didn’t you ask me that before? No, I suppose I was just using Ilse in the same way that she was using me. Two people looking for some degree of comfort in a world gone mad.’

  ‘Do you hate her?’

  ‘No. Hating her would have meant that I cared something for her. I feel sorry for her but I can’t say I hate her.’

  She impulsively reached forward and laid a hand on his arm.

  ‘What can I do to help you, Paul?’

  He returned her steady gaze, wondering at the sudden tenderness in her voice.

  ‘It’s a question of what we both should do. Ilse knew that I had been seen with a nurse. I don’t think it will take the Gestapo long to track you down. I think we must both disappear.’

  The girl received his news stoically. ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘I think every moment we remain in Münster increases the danger. We have to hide out somewhere. The war must soon be over. The Allies are winning … there is no doubt of that. They are less than sixty kilometres away. It will not be long.’

  ‘But what about Project Wotan? Do you believe what von Knilling says?’

  Paul nodded. ‘There is no reason to doubt it. An eminent physicist like von Knilling is not given to fantasies. It seems that Hitler is determined to use these terrible weapons either against London or against his own people. If he can’t win the war, then he wants to destroy us all.’

  ‘Then what can we do?’ Magda said. ‘It would be irresponsible if, knowing what we do, we simply went into hiding without telling anyone.’

  ‘The only thing I can do is to get back to Dortmund. Ilse doesn’t know anything about the General, but it is obvious that she will have betrayed Ulrich and he knows the General. I think the sooner we can get to Dortmund the better. Then I can report to the General and we can pick up the car and disappear until the war is over.’

  ‘And Project Wotan?’

  ‘It will be up to the General to decide what should be done.’

  ‘All right. We must get to Dortmund. But how?’

  A shrill whistle nearby caused Paul to start nervously, but Magda reassured him with a smile.

  ‘It’s only a train whistle. The tracks run at the back of the house.’

  Paul stared at her and then clicked his fingers. ‘Of course! We’ll go to Dortmund by train.’

  Magda looked at him in amazement. ‘Don’t you think that the Gestapo will have covered all the usual means of leaving the city? They’ll be watching the station, checking people travelling out of the city. It’s difficult to move around at the best of times, but I’d say we have no hope of getting through to Dortmund by train.’

  Paul smiled. ‘I wasn’t proposing that we present ourselves at the station and book seats in a first-class carriage.’

  He stood up and moved across the apartment to the window which overlooked the attic tracks. There was little to see in the darkness but Paul knew this stretch of track well, for it was the main passenger line in and out of the city. He knew that the main-line trains coming northward from the station all ran past the house and then, just to the north, passed under a road bridge. At this point the tracks split into three lines, two diverging in northerly directions while the third swung round toward the south-east along the Dortmund-Ems Canal.

  ‘From about eight o’clock there will be at least three goods trains going to Dortmund,’ he said to Magda. ‘When they come to the road bridge, where the tracks separate, they have to slow down to take the long curve there because of the length of the trains. That is where we shall get the train to Dortmund.’

  Magda stared at him incredulously. ‘Jump on a moving train?’

  ‘It’s the only way. Besides, the train will be moving at a crawl and it will be easy to hop up into a wagon.’

  Magda looked dubious but then shrugged. ‘Well … perhaps you’re right,’ she conceded. ‘But once you’ve seen the General, once we get the car, what then? Where do we go?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking … The best bet would be to go to Xanten and hide out with Rolf and Erika. That is, if they would have me there.’

  ‘Of course. That’s a good idea. All we would have to do is wait until the Allies arrived.’

  Magda packed some essentials into a rucksack and gazed round the apartment. It had been her home for just over a year but she felt no qualms about leaving it now. They waited until eight o’clock before slipping quietly out of the back of the apartment block into the darkness. After scrambling through a fence, they picked their way across the steel railway tracks and followed them northwards to where they split into three. Paul led the way along the track which diverged after passing under the road bridge and swung sharply south-east toward Dortmund. As Paul had observed, it was here that the trains slowed down to take the long, curving bend. He and Magda rested a while in the dark shelter of the road bridge.

  They waited in silence, for at intervals they could hear the crunch of boots on the road as a solitary sentinel walked his beat. A hundred yards away, as Paul recalled, there was a Luftwaffe flak battery manned by half a dozen men.

  It was an agonizing wait. They had three false starts as the long dark silhouettes of trains steamed up from the station, two of them to suddenly turn away toward Hamburg while the third swayed by them but turned out to be a heavily armoured troop train. It was two hours before the first goods train came along. It was long, its wagons rattling, as it slowed and came chugging round the curve. They were in luck, for by the light of the moon Paul spotted a wagon with its doors open. He urged Magda to run toward it. The train slowed even more as it took the bend. Paul came alongside the wagon and thrust his bag upwards. Magda was beside him, and without breaking his stride he gripped the girl around the waist and heaved her upwards. Her outstretched hands caught the edge of the door and she hauled herself through, measuring her full length across the floor. Then Paul put on a burst of extra speed, levered himself up into the wagon and landed almost on top of her.

  For a few moments they lay side by side, panting from their exertions. Then Paul sat up and grinned in the darkness.

  ‘Nothing to it.’

  He heard Magda sniff.

  ‘That was only the first stage.’

  Paul stood up and heaved the door closed as the train began to gather speed. The wagon was empty; finding no boxes to sit on they made themselves as comfortable as they could on the floor, their backs against one wall.

  ‘Let’s hope the Allies don’t take it into their heads to strafe this train,’ Magda said.

  ‘And let’s hope there are no spot checks or searches,’ added Paul.

  After a while Magda asked, ‘Where are we going to get off?’

  ‘Anywhere we can after the train slows down beyond Lunen and enters Dortmund. We’ll have to be off before it enters the marshalling yards. They will be well guarded.’

  It took a long time to make the journey. Several times the train stopped for no apparent reason, although one time it slowed in answer to the wailing of air-raid sirens. Fortunately, no aircraft appeared. Paul kept a careful watch during each halt in case of searches. Eventually, the train passed through Lunen and entered the outskirts of the city, coming to a stop in answer to a signal. Paul seized the opportunity, and he and Magda alighted. After scrambling up an embankment and over a fence, they were walking casually down the streets of a northern suburb.

  There were no night curfews, even at this stage of the war, and there were plenty of people on the main thoroughfares. Many were in uniform, and they passed flak batteries manned by boys who looked scarcely out of kindergarten. It was said that the ‘class of 1929’ had been called up for active service — boys only fifteen years of age.

  In the light of one cafe, they paused to look at a new poster which had just been put up and was attracting a crowd.

  ‘To the young soldiers of the Reich!’ it read: ‘Remember, you have nothing to lose! Or do any of you really believe that life under a hail of bombs, in pan
ic fear of the enemy’s barbarities, is worth preserving? The enemy wages war remorselessly! He, too, has thrown boys into battle. But these boys, who have had their wits dulled by Bolshevism from an early age and who have grown up as a herd of sheep, cannot hold a candle to you who have proved your fine mettle in the Hitler Youth!’

  Paul bit his lip as he stared at the intense young faces of the boys seated around a nearby flak gun. Hitler Youth! It was no different than conscription for the army back in March, 1939. Hitler had passed a law conscripting all German youth into his movement on the same basis as a military draft. Any parents who refused to send their children into the Hitler Youth were threatened with having those children taken away by force and put into orphanages or homes. So a breed of young fanatics had been created and were now being asked to defend the madman’s Reich.

  Paul recalled a story being circulated about one of these youths which was being used as a boast by Goebbels. As the Allied troops entered German territory, it was said, a Canadian offered some chocolate to a boy of twelve who looked hungry. As the Canadian held out the chocolate the boy drew a pistol and shot him in the stomach. Goebbels had enthused on the radio: ‘Give us hundreds and thousands of lads like him and we shall win the war!’

  It took Paul a little while to orient himself from the station and find Linsenbuschstrasse. Outside the house he turned to Magda.

  ‘I’ll go up and see the General by myself. It will probably be safer. I’ll leave you around the back in the car. If I’m not out after an hour then you drive off. Head for your sister’s at Xanten.’

  Magda did not reply.

  Paul guided her round to the back of the apartment. The garage was still unlocked. The car was there and the keys were under the seat.

  ‘Remember,’ said Paul as he helped the girl in, ‘if I’m not out in an hour, or if anything happens which gives you cause to think that all is not well, you drive off. Never mind me.’

  This time she nodded reluctantly. Paul gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and turned in the direction of the apartment building.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Heiden had been told that it was Münster on the telephone. He waited, listening to the static dear, and then the voice of Victor Schoerner greeted him without preamble.

  ‘Ulrich talked.’

  Heiden waited a moment before prompting, ‘Well?’

  ‘Horder, as we thought, is a member of the treasonable conspiracy, the Widerstand. We have learned that apart from Ulrich he has one other contact, a man in Dortmund who calls himself the General. I am sure that Horder will be on his way there.’

  ‘Has Ulrich told you what Horder’s interest in Project Wotan is?’

  ‘No.’

  Heiden grimaced in annoyance. ‘Get Ulrich to speak about that. It is important. The safety of this project depends on our knowledge of exactly what Horder is doing.’

  ‘We will get this information from Horder as soon as we pick him up.’

  ‘Can’t you get it from Ulrich?’

  ‘No.’

  Heiden was impatient. ‘Why?’

  ‘Ulrich died while we were interrogating him.’

  *

  The old General stared at Paul with eyes widened in amazement. Silently he gestured for Paul to enter his apartment.

  ‘I thought you were dead, my boy,’ he said as he closed the door behind Paul.

  Paul shook his head. ‘As you see, Herr Generaloberst, I’m still alive. But Franz is dead and Ulrich has been … ’

  ‘I know,’ interrupted the General. He gestured for Paul to be seated and immediately went to a cupboard and took out a bottle of Schnapps. He handed a glass to Paul and seated himself. Paul suddenly realized that the man looked as if he had aged twenty years. His shoulders were hunched, his head no longer erect. There were dark rings around his eyes.

  ‘My boy, you have put yourself in great danger by coming here. You must leave soon, but before you do so, tell me quickly what Project Wotan is.’

  As Paul recounted his story, the General sat looking almost lifeless, his eyes closed. Paul wondered whether the old man had fallen asleep, but when he had finished, the General raised his head and exhaled deeply.

  ‘So that’s it? A Doomsday bomb?’

  ‘The Widerstand must do something,’ Paul said, nodding. ‘As soon as the fuelling process is complete, Hitler intends to launch his rockets.’

  The General made a gesture with his hand which seemed to express hopelessness.

  ‘The Widerstand? It is now incapable of doing anything to prevent the destruction of Germany one way or the other. The Allies are now within a few miles. They’ll be here soon, maybe within a week or two. They will overrun the site.’

  Paul stared at him in agitation. A few days ago this man would have led an attack on Project Wotan himself. He had seemed full of energy and strength of purpose. Now he seemed apathetic; a burnt-out shell of a man.

  ‘You don’t understand, Herr Generaloberst. If the Allies get close and the rockets can’t be launched, Hitler has ordered that the bombs be detonated on the site. Von Knilling says they would destroy this entire part of Germany, wipe out thousands of people and pollute a much wider area with deadly radiation for many years.’

  The old man stood up and moved slowly to the cupboard to pour another glass of Schnapps.

  ‘Can any weapon be that powerful? Are you sure that this is not some fantasy concocted by that madman in the Chancellery?’

  ‘If von Knilling says so, I believe it. He is a reputable scientist.’

  The General grimaced. ‘I am old and tired, my boy. It is up to you to do something.’

  Paul stared at him aghast. ‘But the Widerstand … ’ he began.

  ‘The Widerstand no longer functions with any power and I … ’ He glanced at the clock ticking ominously on the mantelpiece. ‘I have an hour or two at most to live.’

  Paul gazed at him blankly. ‘I don’t understand … ’

  ‘What I mean, my boy, is that I have had word from one of our contacts. Ulrich is dead, but they made him talk first. I am to be arrested this evening by the Gestapo. They will not take me alive.’

  Paul gazed into the General’s eyes. They appeared lifeless already. He shivered slightly. ‘Can’t you escape?’

  ‘Escape?’ The General’s chuckle was hollow. ‘I am too old, too tired. There is nowhere left for me to go. The resistance is over. Nothing can be done to overthrow Hitler from within Germany. The people have ignored all our efforts to spearhead an opposition to the National Socialists. Instead they have chosen to ride down into the pit of Hades with that madman. Nothing can be done now to save our nation from reaping the consequences of supporting Hitler.’

  ‘But surely something must be done to save the people from being annihilated by Hitler?’ Paul insisted.

  ‘My boy … ’ the General’s voice was cracking now with the strain. ‘It is now up to you to follow your own conscience.’

  ‘What can I do?’ Paul cried helplessly.

  ‘You have said yourself that the rockets must be prevented from flying.’

  ‘Well, I am not a scientist. I can neither defuse the bombs nor prevent the SS from detonating them on the launch site. I am a doctor of medicine, Herr Generaloberst.’

  The General stared at Paul and his pale eyes began to become animated again. ‘Then you must get help.’

  ‘Help? From where?’

  The General gestured with his hand towards a window of the apartment. ‘The Allies are only a few hours away.’

  The implication took a few moments to sink in. Paul stood aghast. Working to overthrow a tyrannical government from within the state was one thing but seeking help from the enemies of his country was surely something else.

  ‘I would be a traitor,’ he said softly.

  The General smiled thinly. ‘A traitor? To what?’

  Paul was silent and then the General continued: ‘There comes a time, my boy, when you must obey a higher humanity. If we aspire to
civilization we can never say “my country right or wrong”. To be a traitor presupposes a moral bond, and if the state, the Government, does not maintain a moral standard then it has broken the bond and we cannot be morally bound to it. It is entirely up to you. If you come to the decision that you must put the greater good of humanity before loyalty to the Third Reich then you must contact the Allies and tell them about Project Wotan.’

  Paul gazed at the General’s face for a few moments. The old man’s eyes were bright now and his head proudly erect.

  ‘You are right,’ Paul whispered. ‘The Allies are the only chance for Germany … for the German people.’

  ‘I can do only one thing more for you, Paul, and then you must go. The Gestapo will be here any moment.’

  The General turned to a portrait which hung on the wall. It was a portrait of a young man in the uniform of an Uhlan Lancer. It bore a striking resemblance to the General. The old man drew the picture aside, revealing a small wall safe. He turned the combination lock and from the safe took a small pocket notebook. From it he tore a single page, on which was written one word, and gave it to Paul. The rest of the book he flung onto the fire where the flames eagerly devoured it.

  ‘That word, my boy, is the code word which has been agreed between the Widerstand and Allied Intelligence. It will identify you as a member of this organization to the Allies. Once you have identified yourself, it will be up to you to convince them of what is happening at Project Wotan.’

  He suddenly cocked an ear. In the distance came the faint wail of a police siren. He compressed his lips.

  ‘You’d best go, my boy. I think that may be my expected visitors.’

  Paul hesitated. ‘You could come with me, Herr Generaloberst.’

  ‘I would only be a burden. No, I am prepared. Have no thought for me.’

  Paul thrust out his hand. The old General took it and bowed, clicking his heels in Prussian fashion. ‘Get out by the fire escape, my boy. Good luck.’

  Paul turned, thrusting the single sheet of paper into his pocket, lifted the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. The wail of the siren grew nearer as Paul stumbled down the iron stairway to the back of the building. He hurried across to the garage and opened the door. He drew up sharply. The car and Magda were gone.