Simon-Benet stared at him in amazement. ‘My God, boy, I find it hard to believe… I thought you had been married once before….’ He shook his head. ‘Look here, you need straightening out and badly. I’ve been married three times. I am also considered an expert in the psychology and training of combat soldiers, and I served in the first war. In fact, I survived twelve months on the Somme. So I think I know what ‘I’m talking about. You left England, guilty over your problems with Janet, fell into the clutches of. a nubile and probably oversexed teenage girl. What could be more natural than your reaction? From the way you describe her, she would have tempted Christ himself. There is nothing wrong in that, or in your taking advantage of the situation. If you hadn’t, I would have been worried. I would also think that under the circumstances, Janet, if she should ever find out, would be the first to dismiss it for what it was — mutual need. Now, as for being able to perform with this little German girl and not, afterwards, with Janet, you told me yourself that you stopped sexual relations after reaching the village because there was too much to do.
‘If you think back, you will probably find that your desire for sex had diminished. The young lady’s remained high because she, as you yourself maintain, did not appreciate the danger of the situation.’
The brigadier pushed himself away from the rock. ‘Look here, Jan. This isn’t simple cocktail psychology. The effects of stress on the human body have been carefully studied. Certainly this damnable war provides no end of subjects. One thing we know for certain — stress is cumulative over time and can and does cause temporary impotency. We are also finding that its cure is often quite simple, requiring nothing more than the patience and help of a woman who loves you.’ He hesitated, then decided that it was all or nothing.
‘I want you to run this operation for me, but only if you feel completely up to it. I suspected something like this after speaking to Janet, although certainly not the extent of the problem. Before I left London, I made arrangements to have you transferred back to my command, if you were willing. The only condition I now impose is that you speak to a certain doctor in London. I think he can help you appreciate what I’ve told you. Think about it. If you decide yes, ring me in Glasgow at this number.’ He handed Memling a card on which he had scribbled a telephone number.
‘If you decide no — well, then no hard feelings. But I must know within twenty-four hours. Otherwise it will be too late to get things organised properly.’
Simon-Benet punched him lightly on the shoulder and strode away, knowing that he had best have time alone.
As they walked along the path leading from the tiny Peenemunde cemetery to the waiting car Wernher von Braun caught Bethwig’s arm and steered him away from the others so that they were screened by the pines.
‘Franz, you know how sorry I am about this. I just wish…’ His voice trailed off, and he glanced around at the dripping branches and hunched his shoulders against the rain.
Bethwig nodded but did not reply, and after an awkward moment they resumed the walk to the car. The SS officer who had accompanied Bethwig stared sullenly as they approached, oblivious to von Braun’s glare; he opened the rear door, and once settled inside, Bethwig leaned against the seat, face carefully composed even though he was still clutching Himmler’s telegram expressing sorrow at his loss.
Bethwig was long past either sorrow or anger; both had ended with Inge’s death. The Peenemunde staff physician, an old friend, had offered no hope from the beginning.
‘‘I’m sorry, Franz, but there is nothing I can do other than to make her as comfortable as possible. She has advanced tuberculosis. A week, perhaps a month. Certainly not more. Since the war began, there are just not the medicines available, not that they would be of much use at this stage. The Allies are said to have a drug that will help but…’ He shrugged in helplessness.
