In fact, what he could not explain was the bitterness he had felt ever since being rejected by the German amateur rocket society, the VfR, whose members included not amateurs, as the t.i.tle implied, but most of the leading rocket experts of the day. Also known as the s.p.a.ceship Travel Club, the VfR had come into being in 1927 when a group of brilliant s.p.a.ce-travel enthusiasts had taken over an abandoned threehundred-acre a.r.s.enal, which they called their RaketesjfggIplataz, or Rocket Flight Place, in the Berlin suburb of Reind.i.c.kerdorf, from where they actually shot some crude, liquid-fueled rockets skyward. Intrigued by the success of the VfR, which by 1930 included rocket experts Rudolf Nebel, w.i.l.l.y Ley, Hermann Oberth, and Klaus Riedel, the Ordnance Branch of the army's Ballistic and Weapons Office, headed by General Becker, had appointed Captain Walter Dornberger to create a rocket development project at the army's firing range at k.u.mmersdorf, about flfteen miles south of Berlin. It was now widely a.s.sumed by those involved with rocketry that as soon as. .h.i.tler came to power (which almost certainly he would today), the VfR would be disbanded by the n.a.z.is and become part of the k.u.mmersdorf program.

Ernst had desperately wanted to be part of the VfR, irrespective of who controlled it. After his rejection because of his lack of practical experience, his bitterness had been made more acute when Wernher von Braun, a fellow pupil at the university, had been accepted. Thus, when Ernst was persuaded by a friend that working with the SS technical intelligence group would at least give him the opportunity to keep in touch with the rocket program and perhaps, in time, even give him authority over it, he had not been able to resist asking for the transfer.

'Listen,' he said to Ingrid, covering his anger with a broad smile and taking hold of her hand again, 'I can't wait any longer. Let's go and see what's happening at the Chancellery. There's bound to be a decision soon and I want to be there when it's announced.'

Ingrid's smile, though still loving, was also slightly mocking. 'You want to be a part of history, Ernst?'

'Yes, Ingrid, I do.'

She acknowledged his enthusiasm with a defeated shrug of her shoulders. 'Then let's go!'

As they hurried along the snow-covered Unter den Linden, past its elegant shops and many pedestrians and the noisy flow of traffic, Ernst glanced frequently at Ingrid's flushed face, its beauty now emphasized by the raised fur collar of her black overcoat and broad-brimmed hat. He loved her dearly, though they often disagreed, particularly when they talked about politics and general morality. They seemed opposites, then. She came from a good family in the wealthy Berlin suburb of Wannsee but she didn't believe, as he did, in the National Socialist Party. She was a liberal, like his father, believed in her own cla.s.s, and could not be convinced that Hitler would create a new, better Germany. Even now, when they were supposed to be in love, she and Ernst fought a lot about the issue, and this wounded him deeply.

As they approached the corner of Berlin's finest shopping street and heard the sudden roaring of the crowd that had filled the Wilhelmstra.s.se, Ernst knew that they had just missed the announcement he had wanted to hear. Nevertheless, he practically dragged Ingrid around the corner, into the Wilhelmstra.s.se, where, between the Kaiserhof and the Chancellery, the great crowd was tramping the snow to slush while roaring approval.

Stopping by the Ministry of Justice, facing the Presidential Residence, Ernst received confirmation from a jubilant fellow citizen that Hindenburg had resigned and Adolf Hitler had just been sworn in as Chancellor of Germany.

Ernst whooped with joy, swept Ingrid up in his arms, and spun her around on the pavement.

'Wunderbar!' he exclaimed.

Any doubts about love or compatibility were swept away in the fervour of the rest of that memorable day. Ernst had no sooner released Ingrid from his embrace than he saw Adolf Hitler standing upright in the back of his open-topped car as it crept slowly through the ma.s.s of cheering, waving people in the Wilhelmstra.s.se, taking him back to the Kaiserhof. Shouting himself hoa.r.s.e like all the others, Ernst watched his hero being driven past, then embraced Ingrid again, kissed her pa.s.sionately, and realized that the excitement was contagious and finally getting through to her.

Excited, they went for lunch, got drunk on beer and schnapps, then took a room in the Adlon Hotel, where their faces were known. They made drunken, pa.s.sionate love, uninhibited by doubts, and Ernst thought that he would die in Ingrid's body, with its smooth, burning skin, perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and sublime, enfolding legs. Eventually, they broke apart drenched in sweat, breathing harshly, exhausted, and he felt that he had died and been reborn and could never stop loving her.

'You're magnificent,' he told her.

Then he had to leave her temporarily to take part in the torch-lit parade that spelled the end of that great day.

Darkness was falling on the city when, with thousands of other troops, all in uniform and with many wearing their swastikas, Ernst commenced the march from the Tiergarten. Accompanied by the beating of drums and the blare of martial music, they pa.s.sed under the Brandenburg Gate, and then continued down to Wilhelmstra.s.se, where hundreds of young men were hanging from the railings or perched like birds in the trees.

Raising his voice, as did thousands of others, in the 'Horst Wessel Lied' and other patriotic songs, Ernst soon found himself in the torchlit darkness outside the Presidential Palace, where a weary Hindenburg raised his hands in salute. Then the crowd moved to the Reichchancellery where, to Ernst's immense joy, Hitler appeared at a window to look down fondly on his men and acknowledge with a smile their triumphant chanting of 'Heil, Heil, Sieg Heil!'

When Hitler smiled and raised his right hand in salute, the ma.s.sed troops cheered and clapped frenziedly in acknowledgment. Then Hitler went back inside and Ernst lowered his gaze away from that lighted window, from the fluttering red-and-black flags, from the torches that had formed a river of fire in the Wilhelmstra.s.se and saw Ingrid emerging from the crowd, her eyes bright with excitement, her arms outstretched as the drums continued pounding and the noise became deafening.

She threw herself into his arms and clung to him as he stroked her blonde hair.

'Oh, Ingrid!' he said pa.s.sionately. 'A great day! The future is ours! Let's get married at once!'

'Yes!' she whispered, clinging to him, part of him. 'Yes, Ernst, let's do it!'

Their hearts beat like the drums.

CHAPTER THREE 'Yes,' Mike Bradley said, thinking about Gladys Kinder instead of the facts as he gazed out the window of General Taylor's office at the other buildings being constructed on the sloping green fields of Langley Field, Virginia. 'I told him we were about to form a National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics and were considering a team that would include him and other aeronautical geniuses, such as Charles Lindbergh and Orville Wright and the legendary Robert H. G.o.ddard still showed no interest. He just doesn't give a d.a.m.n.'

'Why?' Taylor asked pragmatically. 'Because he doesn't trust anyone,' Bradley replied with a frustrated shrug of his broad shoulders, remembering the polite, suspicious voice he had heard over the telephone when he had called from his office on Wall Street. 'Reportedly he patents every d.a.m.ned thing he invents, is notoriously secretive and uncooperative with his fellow scientists, feels that many of his ideas have been stolen by them, notably those in Germany, and will take help only from organizations like the Smithsonian Inst.i.tution, which lets him do whatever he wants. In fact, he's even refused the a.s.sistance of the California Inst.i.tute of Technology Rocket Research Project and has been relying instead on the inadequate funding of Clark University in Worcester, where he teaches physics when he's not working on his rockets.'

'Though according to Charles Lindbergh,' General Taylor pointed out, 'whom I met here just yesterday, G.o.ddard has recently accepted some other help.

'True enough,' Bradley said. 'With Lindbergh's recommendation he was recently able to get a Guggenheim Foundation grant for $2,500, which enabled him to leave Clark and return to Roswell, New Mexico.'

Where Gladys Kinder lives, he thought. He'd been unable to stop thinking about Gladys Kinder ever since their brief meeting. It's ridiculous, he thought. You're being ridiculous. She's just a sharptongued lady from a cow town and you're imagining things. Though he couldn't help wondering...

'Is that where he was when you phoned him? Back in Roswell?' 'No,' Bradley said. 'He hadn't returned there yet. He was still at Clark.'

'If what you say is true, he thinks that if he joins our proposed

National Advisory Committee on Aeronautics, he'll have to share his

precious ideas with us.'

'That's my bet,' Bradley said.

General Taylor smiled laconically. 'He sounds like a burgeoning

crackpot.'

'But a brilliant one, General and one you could do with on your

side. Since a major function of the committee will be to a.s.sess the

military possibilities of aeronautical developments around the world, a