The Führer's Folly

By Howard Marten

Young female voices chattered and laughed as the team emerged from the mess hut, donned their field caps then headed toward the anti-aircraft battery. All carried the khaki gas-mask packs that thumped awkwardly on their hips with the weight of the steel helmets, but only the first five wore the red lightning flash badges on their shoulders and they made for the octagonal shape on the ground beyond the arc of the guns. They wore the insignia of the Ground Location Unit; the new wonder device that they hoped would turn the initial success of Germany's aerial invasion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Feb 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479789801

Howard Marten

Howard Marten was born in London during the Blitz; his secondary education led to an engineering apprenticeship to become a metal turner. He later moved to Norfolk, where he spent forty years, working on vehicles of all types, water engineering, a drawing office, and then training the long-term unemployed. He is a father of one and a grandfather of three; retirement looked bleak unless a new income could be secured. As an ex-editor of a newsletter for a London-based Air Training Corps Squadron, he spends more retirement time in writing. Using the opportunity to take history and ask ‘What if?’ life retains its interest for him.

Book preview

The Führer’s Folly

11003.jpg

Howard Marten

Copyright © 2013 by Howard Marten.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 02/19/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

305198

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Biography

Book Summary

Chapter One

In German, please! Germany mid 1930s

P rofessor Hahn sighed and threw his pencil onto the pad before him.

The day he called for a conference of Germany’s most influential chemists, physicists and theoreticians he had hoped to merge minds into a united force that would overcome the difficulties bound to arise from the development of nuclear power.

Instead, all he had produced was a room full of the, supposedly, greatest brains in Germany where no one spoke the same language as anyone else.

As he glanced down at the minutes of the meeting he finally understood why the military and politicians were absent. ‘Absorption Resonance’ together with ‘The Theoretical Basis for Energy Production from Uranium Fission’ were hardly titles to encourage laymen to attend a seminar, even one that was as potentially important to the country’s place in the world.

He rapped upon the table to silence the excited babble of academics as each endeavoured to put their own views across more forcibly.

Gentlemen! If you please! We run out of time. If we are to produce anything to present to the government at the end of the day I must insist that we discuss the finer points on another occasion. What we require now is a simple outline of what we can achieve if we combine our accumulated knowledge for the good of Germany and what, if any, by-products we can expect that could prove useful for its defence.

He studied the sea of blank faces before him then realised that these experts were so full of technical jargon that they would find it extremely difficult to explain their work in plain German. He would have his hands full in the endeavour to produce a single item in layman’s terms that could be understood by the government or their new Chancellor. He made the subconscious decision. They would produce a report even if they had to stay here all night. The project needed funds but that required the undivided attention of the man at the top. There was only one way to do this.

Is there anyone present that can give me a plain yes or no, can Germany expect to be able to produce a source of power or a useable weapon from the production of a uranium pile?

Luftwaffe Gliding Training School near Prague

The crisp November air warned of colder to come as Stahlhelm (Steel Helmet) kadett, seventeen-year-old Hans Metz, eldest son of a Munich chemist, rubbed at the lenses of his goggles to ensure a clear view of the slope before him, pulled the collar of his flying overalls closer around his neck then gave the seat-harness one more tug to be sure.

The peaks of the distant mountains trailed mists of early snow as the wind at the higher altitude whisked it off to chase the clouds.

He wriggled the control column with his right hand and rocked his feet on the rudder pedals. He knew that the instructor would observe his every move to check that he had paid attention throughout the lectures.

He checked the two teams of three kadetts as they stood on either side, several metres ahead of his small Schulgleiter 38 glider. He checked the ropes that trailed from their hands to the rubber shock cord attached to the frame beneath him.

All was in order. He raised his left hand and the voice of his instructor sounded sharply from behind him as the man took hold of the craft’s light framework beneath the tailplane.

Ready The two teams turned to face down slope then took firm grips upon the ropes as another kadett took hold of a wing tip to lift the frail craft level.

Take up slack the voice called whereupon the teams trotted forward and apart to draw the two ends of the rope into a long ‘V’ as they went.

Hans dropped his arm as the shock cord was drawn to its full extent.

Release Shouted the instructor as he let go the glider. Hans felt the pad of the crude seat press against his back as his sense of balance reacted to the new sensations.

He locked his right arm to maintain level flight as the breeze roared gently in his ears. The sound of the skid on grass rapidly faded as the ground receded. He thrilled to the experience of his first solo flight.

Somebody yelled Cable clear as the ring disengaged from the hook. He eased forward on the stick, heard the wind roar louder then watched, enthralled, as the horizon seemed to rise before his eyes.

He levelled off then gently experimented with movements to the left and right. He grinned widely as the mountains seemed to rock to his command.

Next they swung as he gingerly tried the pedals but already he lost height and speed.

Not designed for sustained flight, merely to bestow the very basics of flight control with the least danger, the hopper had fulfilled its duty. Hans lowered the nose to maintain enough speed to avoid a stall as he eased his right foot forward a little to turn the landing skid into his line of motion in order not to tip the fragile aircraft with a side-skid. Rushing sounds announced the touch of grass before the bumps and scrapes of the actual landing. He knew that if he pushed the stick forward a little more he could halt the slide sooner but he wanted it to last as long as possible so let the machine slither to a halt in its own time. He wobbled the stick from side to side to hold the glider on an even keel in the slight breeze until the kadetts arrived at the trot to take hold of the wings once more.

It would be someone else’s turn next, whilst he pulled on the rope, but he already thought ahead to his next turn which, to his enthusiasm, seemed a long way off. As they retrieved the glider to its start position once more they cast glances across the field’s slope to where the Hitler Youth members conducted their own training sessions. It would not do to appear less enthusiastic or skilled compared to those fanatics so it melded the kadetts into a closer-knit unit, immensely proud of their Air Force connections. Already there were promises of service in the new Luftwaffe for the kadetts that showed most promise, once they reached the minimum age.

Chapter Two

A beginning. 5th August 1936

A s each athlete cut a small depression in the red cinder track, confirmed his toe in it for size then half-knelt, the stadium assistants retrieved the trowels then vanished from view.

The oval stadium echoed to the voices of supporters as they chanted their favourites’ name.

As the official strode up to his position, the starting-pistol in his hand trailing cable from the electronic timer, the crowds hushed then waited as the runners settled into their crouched stances.

The vast scoreboards above each bank of seats announced the next event together with the names of the runners in their respective track lanes. Huge loudspeakers burst into life to confirm the electrically exhibited information.

Attention! The next event is the two-hundred Metre dash.

Owens glanced up at the overcast sky as the voice announced the names of the participants. He tried not to shiver in the chill air as he cooled from his warm-up. Just time enough to register that the colossal silver cigar, that was the airship Hindenburg, still thrummed deeply as it circled slowly overhead where it trailed the five-ringed Olympic flag. He spread his fingers at the painted start-line then dropped his head as the starter raised his arm.

From the high seats in the huge stadium it was impossible to hear the starter’s warnings, only witness the athletes lift their posteriors prior to the small puff of smoke as the pistol sounded. Before the report reached them, as if they acted upon the same signal, the crowd went wild and the oval bowl of grey stone resounded to the roar of one hundred thousand voices. The seven small figures below seemed to fly along the ground, their legs pumped at a furious pace as the crowd’s favourite already pulled ahead.

At the centre of the east side straight lay the loge, before the Tribune of Honour, where the officials sat. The centre of attention was easily observed, flanked as he was by Joseph Goebbels in a white business suit on one side with the sky blue uniform of Air Minister Hermann Göring on the other. The drab contrast of his Storm Trooper’s uniform with its high leather boots accentuated his importance without ostentation. Adolf Hitler, Chancellor of the Third Reich, organiser of the Eleventh Olympiad, Berlin, August, Nineteen hundred and thirty six.

He scowled down at the runners as he willed his countrymen to take the lead.

Jesse Owens had earlier won the hundred-metre dash, now it seemed that the rest of Germany willed the Ebony Antelope to repeat his triumph.

Unable to pronounce his name the German orthographical equivalent left their mouths as "Yes sa Ov enss!" which is how they repeated it for every second of his run. It built in pace and volume the nearer he got to the finish line.

Other contestants names were drowned out by the sheer volume of supporters, everyone loved a winner.

As he crossed the line the crowd changed his shouted name to a vast cheer that drowned even the loudspeaker announcements of a twenty-point-seven second win by Owens, U.S.A. A new record. Second place Robinson, U.S.A. Third place Osendarp, Holland.

As the athletes recovered their breath, were congratulated and in turn congratulated each other, the three winners turned toward the Tribune of Honour to receive their medals. None failed to notice that the brown uniform was now absent.

Hitler stormed out of the stadium; his eyes stared maniacally from under the peak of his cap as he headed for his vehicle on the official’s car park.

A figure hurried from the chauffeurs’ area in order to reach the door of the Mercedes ahead of his Führer. The black-uniformed SS Obersturmbannfüehrer Erich Kempka, fleet chief and primary driver since the death of Hitler’s favourite driver, Julius Schreck, the previous May. He gave the Nazi salute as Hitler stepped up into the black convertible where he sat and glowered straight ahead.

Kempka ran around the car to slide behind the huge wheel. Would you like the hood down, my Führer? I only raised it as it looked as though it would rain.

The figure did not move. No, I do not wish to be distracted.

As you wish my leader. The Reich Chancellery Palace?

Yes. Kempka turned the key and pushed the starter. The eight-cylinder engine purred into life and the armour-plated Nürburg limousine nosed out of the car park to head for the autobahn. Nazi salutes from bemused Olympic officials, who had dashed from the ceremonies at their leader’s unexpected departure, were acknowledged by the lackadaisical lift of a hand in response.

The Via Triumphalis was almost deserted as the bullet proof tyres hummed on the new surface. The zoological gardens had given way to the Brandenburg Gate before the Führer spoke again. A negro!

Kempka was thrown by the remark for a moment, checked that the car still travelled in a straight line before he glanced at his passenger. My Leader?

Hitler turned his head to face him as the blue eyes flared within the shadow of his cap’s peak.

Not only are German athletes beaten by Americans but a black one to add to the insult.

Untermenschen! Kempka growled as he turned his attention back to the road.

Hitler turned his own gaze back to the huge edifice as the car swung right before the gate.

I was damned if I would give a medal to one! he grimaced.

Kempka merely nodded, when his master was in such a mood it was best not to speak unguardedly.

A few moments later the sentries at 16 Hermann Göring Street snapped to attention, clicked their heels to present arms as the twin Führer and Nazi Party standards above the front mudguards announced the early return of their Chancellor.

Kempka hurried around the car to open the door for his passenger who swiftly entered the old Palace. As Hitler strode along the hallway he recalled how the building had appeared when he had first decided to use it as his base. Damp and mouldy with water everywhere, he had renovated it at his own expense.

He glanced out of a window as he passed, his Chancellery was a great improvement, until it was time for something better. ‘Soon, soon!’ He thought to himself.

As he approached the doors of his office the guards sprang to attention to salute as a figure in civilian clothes raised his right arm in salutation.

Hitler bent his right arm in an open palmed response but did not feel disposed to speak to anyone now, besides, he did not know this man, did he? A distant memory struggled to emerge as he strode on into his office. A voice followed as the guards closed the doors.

My Führer! It works!

The doors thumped shut as the Chancellor removed his cap to relieve the restrictive tension he felt in his head. He was half way to his desk before the memory emerged.

A scientist, he works for the Reich. What is it? Secret rocket work, yes that is it. He had successfully sent a rocket ten kilometres high in thirty-one, I am sure. He stared out of the window as he gathered memories. Yes, his designs outstripped both Dornberger and Braun’s so he had been set up in a programme of his own.

With the hope that whatever the man had got to work might improve his day he lifted the phone, rattled the receiver switch then ordered his secretary to send the man in.

The doors opened to admit the serious faced man who approached the desk to salute once more.

My leader, Wolf Jemand, formally Rudolf Ritter, reporting progress.

The man’s face reaffirmed his suspicions as Hitler subconsciously scolded himself for this unusual lapse in his memory but it had been some time since their previous brief introduction.

Please be seated, Mister Somebody, an amusing choice especially as death seems to agree with you. A sudden concern thrust itself into his thoughts. No one recognised your arrival here I trust.

The scientist settled his hat on his lap as he shook his head.

No, my leader, I waited until the majority of people attended the games then entered from the rear of the building. My chauffeur will pick me up there again with my curtained car.

The Führer nodded in satisfaction as images of the carefully laid plot filled his memory. This man, together with two colleagues, had officially ceased to exist when their secret proposals had exceeded the A-3 design now under development by the Army Weapons Office and German Society for Space Travel at Kummersdorf. Their deaths had been faked two years previously by the substitution of three bodies in a detonated rocket explosion during tests at the old artillery site.

The scientist reached into an inside pocket of his coat to withdraw a sheaf of papers which he placed on the desk between them. As the folded sheets partly unfolded the Chancellor noted the typed heading, ‘STAATSGEHEIMNIS’. He smiled slightly in anticipation of what he was about to learn from this ‘State Secret’.

I believe you said that it works, Herr Jemand. The details if you please, I would prefer to hear the story first hand, rather than read it later, when I do not have you to hand for questions that may arise.

The scientist smiled nervously.

All went as planned, my leader, we were secreted away from the test site by your specialist troops as the substitute bodies were placed next to the rocket.

Hitler leaned back and interlaced his fingers as he watched his guest intently.

"We had prepared the rocket to miss-fire then advised everyone else to remain in the bunker whilst we inspected the cause. Once clear the rocket was detonated whilst we were secreted aboard your personal aircraft at the airfield, flown to

Swinojscie then by fast launch to Greifswalder Oie Island."

The Führer nodded, He recalled the general plan but had left the detail to his chief of security. Jemand continued.

A temporary base had been set up with barracks and workshops. A small contingent of Luftwaffe personnel, who make experiments with missiles, are kept nearby as a cover for our activities. Four months ago some Army personnel joined them.