A Thousand Suns

Chapter 25 Schenkelmann

Dr Hauser stood in the middle of the lab and stared at the device. It looked like a small beer keg surrounded by a frame of scaffolding.

This is my creation, MY creation.

Hauser felt the need to remind himself regularly that this thing was his work. Of course, the Jew had made a contribution, but in the end it was just a different way of calculating the same process, and it was obvious now, looking back. Hauser knew he’d have figured it out for himself sooner or later.

This was the fruit of all his hard work; the Jew had merely helped.

Without him the project would never have been put before Albert Speer and consequently would not have received the go ahead.

To be fair, the Jew, Schenkelmann, and his two assistants had done a good job assembling the device, but Hauser had designed the mechanics of the bomb and had drawn out the schematic; after all, he’d spent enough time poring over Heisenberg’s bomb designs to know what the best configuration would be.

If he was going to be totally honest about the distribution of credit, the Jew deserved something for his calculations on accelerating the critical mass, but it was he, Dr Karl Hauser, who had really made this project happen.

Hauser admired the compact device, taking pride in the efficiency of the design.

Such a small, beautiful thing to cause so much destruction.

He approached his bomb and tenderly ran his hand along the metal casing, sensing the kinetic energy inside, the explosive monster lying inert, asleep, waiting.

‘Dr Hauser?’

Hauser felt his skin crawl at the sound of the little Jew’s voice. He turned round to face Joseph Schenkelmann. He was a short, slight man in his late forties, thick dark hair, greying at the temples.

‘What is it, Joseph?’

‘Sir, d-did you speak with the Führer?’ the small man stuttered nervously.

‘Of course I did.’

‘And you explained the… the p-problem to him?’

Hauser found his temper quickly fraying at the mention of the ‘old issue’. He forced a smile at Schenkelmann and consoled himself with a little truth.

I won’t have to put up with him for much longer.

‘He is aware of the risk, but is still keen to have the bomb readied for removal tomorrow, Joseph.’

Schenkelmann looked incredulous. ‘He knows?… and still he wants to p-proceed?’

‘Yes, I explained the risk, and he and I agree it is marginal. Now if you don’t mind—’

Schenkelmann seemed to turn a shade paler than his usual complexion. ‘M-marginal? Please… Dr Hauser, you’ve seen the c-calculations for yourself… you’ve seen it. The danger of an infinite reaction is—’

‘—is acceptable given the current situation. Now, we have discussed this I don’t know how many times and I am growing tired of hearing—’

‘The danger of the infinite reaction is f-fifty per cent. Dr Hauser, sir… we are gambling the world on a one in two chance!’

Hauser felt something in him snap. He reached out and grabbed Schenkelmann by the arm and spoke in a low, menacing voice. ‘Now listen. The bomb will be readied for the journey tomorrow and you will also prepare the arming codes tonight. There will be no more talk about this infinite chain reaction. Your calculations on this are exaggerated, and they always have been.’

Hauser knew Schenkelmann’s figures were right.

They were right when first he came across the theory papers and they remained unchanged now. The theory, quite simply, was pure genius. Schenkelmann had shrewdly proposed accelerating the chain reaction by firing two uranium bullets at opposite ends of the mass. The advancing ripples from both ends would cause overlapping shockwaves to quadruple exponentially the rate of acceleration. A reaction like that would require so much lower a critical mass of U-235 than had previously been thought. Heisenberg had calculated that tons of U-235 would be needed; Schenkelmann’s technique required only ounces.

The danger, as far as Schenkelmann was concerned, was that such an accelerated chain reaction might cause enough immediate energy to be released to split the nuclei of non-fissile material. The man’s figures convincingly demonstrated the probability to be high, as much as fifty per cent, that the weapon would vaporise not only its target but also an unquantifiable range beyond it.

The mathematical implication was simple, an infinite chain reaction… a doomsday bomb.

‘The figures are right, Dr Hauser.’

‘If you do not shut up now, I will have you shot, Schenkelmann. Do you understand?’

Making the threat felt good, powerful. Like throwing a punch. For a fleeting moment he felt like following through on the threat and issuing the command to one of the guards, just to enjoy the thrill of issuing an order and seeing it carried out automatically, without question. He suspected he would have made a fine officer if his expertise hadn’t prevented him from being recruited. He found giving orders so easy, so natural.

Hauser had been assigned half a dozen SS men to guard the small laboratory and keep an eye on Schenkelmann. It had been Speer’s idea. He had been worried about Schenkelmann attempting to commit suicide, sabotage or even flee from the claustrophobic confines of the small underground lab. The men were always present inside and discreetly placed outside the inconspicuous corrugated doors of the building.

Hauser regarded the soldiers as his own private army, to command as he pleased. The novelty had yet to wear off.

The lab had been built into one of the arches of a railway bridge that ran parallel to a small cobbled back street. Behind this unassuming façade, which could easily have been the premises of any small, one-man business, the stairs descended to a cellar that had once been used to store wine. Here, in a space little bigger than a generous living room, Schenkelmann and two lab assistants had been given the task of assembling Germany’s atom bomb. This cellar had been Schenkelmann’s prison since the project had begun; the Jew hadn’t seen daylight in months.

‘P-please, Dr Hauser.’

Hauser felt his face flush with anger, first his cheeks, then his forehead and his ears. He knew he looked as crimson as a baby screaming for milk.

If threatening his life isn’t going to work, then there are other alternatives.

‘This conversation ends now, and you will proceed with preparing the bomb for tomorrow morning or I will see to it that your sister and your mother are visited by one of my men.’

Schenkelmann’s family had been found working alongside him in the munitions factory. It had taken very little string-pulling to have all three extricated from the factory and the women held in ‘care’ while Schenkelmann was put to work. With Albert Speer as the Armaments Minister providing the authority for these arrangements, there had been absolutely no red tape to cut through to move these three Jews. Equally, while they were useful to Speer and Hauser they would never be shipped off to an extermination camp, nor casually executed on the street by some over-zealous Gauleiter. With the rubber stamp of Speer, these three people were perhaps the safest Jews in Europe. They had been lucky to find his sister and mother alongside him in the factory, for now Schenkelmann was beginning to care little about his own miserable life; they still had the leverage of his loved ones to play around with.

Hauser smiled, aware that the threat had worked and that this troublesome little man had been silenced.

‘There, I’m glad we have that unpleasantness behind us, Joseph. Let’s finish the job here, shall we?’

Joseph Schenkelmann stared bleakly at the ground, aware that he had been a stupid, weak man for allowing the project to have progressed this far.

What have I done?

He knew his only consideration now should be to think of some way to sabotage this bomb before it was taken away from him and used in whatever way these barbaric animals had planned. He had hoped all along that the unpredictable nature of his bomb’s design would eventually make it a redundant development. He had thought no one would be stupid enough to use a weapon like this, except of course that twisted man, Hauser. He’d known, from the first conversation with the German, that his tunnel vision would let him see nothing but the glory he would bathe in after its successful deployment. The risk of global devastation had been tidied away somewhere in his distorted mind behind some assurance that the risk was grossly exaggerated. Schenkelmann had been holding on to the hope that at some point someone higher up the chain of command would be made aware of the appalling risks of this project and put an end to it immediately. He’d desperately hoped that the meeting with Hitler, the one that Hauser had been dreamily looking forward to for days, would see the project abruptly terminated.

But clearly now that hadn’t been the case. Hitler was as insane as Hauser.

He could perhaps attempt to sabotage the bomb somehow; God knew why he’d left such a decision so late. But he knew he hadn’t the strength of will to carry out such a bold act; it would certainly guarantee the death of all that remained of his family. At least co-operation ensured their continued survival, and if the bomb failed to trigger the infinite chain reaction he so feared, then there was a chance that all three of them would emerge from this nightmare alive.

‘So? Why are you still standing there? You have a lot to do tonight.’

‘Yes, Dr Hauser.’

‘The arming code for the altimeter trigger will need these values set.’ Hauser handed him a manila envelope. ‘The arming code is in there, and I will test the code when I come back later.’

‘Where are you going, Dr Hauser?’

Hauser raised an eyebrow, annoyed at Schenkelmann’s impertinence. ‘I am arranging to have an escort for our little device.’

‘Yes, Dr Hauser.’ Schenkelmann watched the German leave. He looked around: a soldier stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the lab and one of the two technical assistants was working on sealing the uranium casket. The other one was asleep on a cot in the corner of the room. He looked down at the envelope, still open, and shortly due to be sealed.

He saw a possibility.

He tucked the manila envelope under his arm and approached the bomb. He picked up a notepad, clipboard and a pen.

The lab assistant looked up at Schenkelmann. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Schenkelmann?’

‘Fine thank you, Rüd, I’m just going to run through my checklist, before you and I finish assembling the altimeter trigger.’

Schenkelmann looked down at the notepad and the pen he held in his left hand. He realised the next words he wrote down would be the most important he’d ever written, or would ever write. With only a minute’s thought, he began to scribble furiously, aware that Hauser might return at any time. This was perhaps the last window of opportunity he had left to try and undo his work.

He wrote swiftly for over a minute and stopped only when he became aware of his assistant looking up curiously. Rüd was no Nazi, but he was German. Any suspicious behaviour exhibited by Schenkelmann now would be reported to Hauser. In fact, Hauser had probably asked Rüd and Jürgen, the other assistant, to keep an eye on him now that the project was reaching its end.

These few dozen scribbled sentences were all that he had to prevent this insanity progressing to its apocalyptic conclusion. Schenkelmann could only pray that the man who would activate this bomb, whoever he was, was someone capable of thinking beyond an order. And he prayed with all his heart that it wasn’t some simple-minded soldier who would be activating this weapon, that it wasn’t an insane creature like Hauser who would risk the entire world for his own twisted ambition.

He turned his back on the lab assistant and slid the note into the manila envelope, then, turning back to face his assistant, he pulled out a slip of paper with four digits handwritten on it. Dr Hauser’s handwriting.

‘The arming code and arming instructions,’ he announced.

He read the four digits at the top and then slid the paper back inside and sealed the envelope.

‘I will set the code on the altimeter now,’ he said calmly to the assistant.

As he worked, he discreetly wiped away sweat from his brow, beads of fear and despair. If Hauser were to open the envelope and find the note, then death for certain faced Zsophia and Mother.

It is done. As long as the code tests correctly, he will have no need to examine the contents of the envelope.

Joseph Schenkelmann realised his attempt at sabotage was too little and probably too late, and doomed to failure if Hauser should decide to read once more his carefully worded instructions, but at this stage it was all he could think to do.

He completed setting the code on the altimeter, and then together he and his assistant Rüd began to prepare the bomb for its journey.