The Bomb That Never Was: A Novel About World War Ii

The Bomb That Never Was

A Novel of World War II

Copyright © 2011, 2015 J.R. Shaw Publications, Inc..

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed

did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names,

and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel

are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.If there are

only a few historical figures or actual events in the novel, the disclaimer could name

them: For example: Edwin Stanton and Salmon Chase are historical figures… or "The

King and Queen of Burma were actually exiled by the British in 1885." The rest of the

disclaimer would follow:However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters,

names, and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this

novel are either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-7061-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7063-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7062-3 (e)

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iUniverse rev. date: 10/20/2015

Contents

Appreciation

Maps and Drawings

Prologue

Part I

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

18.

Part II

19.

20.

21.

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.

27.

28.

29.

30.

Part III

31.

33.

34.

35.

36.

37.

38.

39.

40.

41.

42.

43.

Epilogue

Characters

Appreciation

The Author

Excerpt from the Next Book: The Pieces

In Memory Of

J. L. Oehlsen, S. Oehlsen, H. Walker, N. Walker, L. C. Love, and H. D. Love

Appreciation

To all of you who helped me and counseled me while I wrote this book, thank you.

J. Kendrick, H. Love, Joseph P. DeSario, Robert L. Aaron, Ken Krom, James Yagelski, Larry Simon, William Cooper, Allen Klein, Dan Heagy, Sarajoy Pickholtz, Arden Orr, Theodore W. Grippo, the folks at Ruben & Goldberg, LLC, The Silich Group at Morgan Stanley Wealth Management, Krebs Custom Guns, members of the Barrington Writers Workshop, Joel Platt, Dr. Colman Seskind, Dr. George Burica, Osvaldo Leandri, and the staff at iUniverse, Sarah Disdrow, Amy McHargue, Nolan Estes, Holly Hess, Tracy Anderson, and all the others.

To the Glenview, Skokie, Wilmette, Morton Grove, and Lake Forest Public Libraries for pulling articles and recommending books to read so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by making too many mistakes.

To the authors and publishers of books I bought and read for research purposes, and to Al Gore for inventing the Internet.

Maps and Drawings

Maps

North Africa-1941

Manhattan Mission-1943

Route of BV 238 Flying Boat-1943

Tanker Routes-1943

Drawings

The Walter Drive

U-Barge and Tug

Second-Generation V-2 Rocket

U-Barge with V-2 Rocket Inside

Photograph

BV 238 Flying Boat Towed by S-100 Schnellboot

T oward the end of the 1930s and into the 1940s, the Nazis tried mightily to develop nuclear weapons. Everything that’s been made available to the public by the Allies since the war indicates the Nazis were never successful in building those types of weapons.

But governments don’t always tell the truth, do they? This was demonstrated once again in 2003 with claims made about Iraq’s possession of weapons of mass destruction. So can it be said with certainty that the Nazis were not the first to enter the atomic age?

And if the Nazis did build such weapons, what happened to them?

Prologue

C lutching her much-loved doll in one hand while holding onto the bedcovers with the other, the little girl swung her legs over the edge of her big person’s bed and used the tips of her little toes to find the floor. Tiptoeing as quietly as she could down the second-floor hallway to where the balustrade overlooked the first-floor parlor, she hid behind the posts, watching her big sister, Karin, tidy up the parlor.

Hey, you! Karin called out, catching a glimpse of the child peeking through the posts. I thought by now you’d be in dreamland.

We’re not tired, little Elsa told Karin, holding up her doll as she ran back to her bedroom.

Karin went up to Elsa’s room, hoping to find a way to bring sleep to the little girl. She lit a kerosene lamp, making the room cozy. While they read about dancing rabbits and prancing horses, the child watched in fascination as the shadows cast from the kerosene lamp danced on the walls. Seeing the child’s eyelids grow heavy, Karin picked up the little girl, careful not to wake her. She softly kissed the child good night and, for the second time that evening, carefully placed her in her big person’s bed.

Karin heard loud knocking on the front door downstairs. She was concerned the racket might wake the child. The young woman raced out of the bedroom. She ran downstairs and, without looking to see who was making all the noise, opened the door. A man in a faded fedora bulled his way past Karin into the foyer. He threw her against a wall.

Who are you? she demanded. What do you want?

Gestapo! the man barked as two other men entered the house.

Get out of here! she yelled, panic mounting as she backed away.

Quiet, Jewess! the first man said, smirking.

I’m not a Jew, she told him, confused by his remark. She had barely spoken when a second man backhanded her, knocking out a tooth. The force of his blow caused Karin to lose her balance and fall to the floor. Immediately the first man, the one in charge, reached down, grabbed a handful of her beautiful blonde hair, and yanked her back to her feet.

Don’t lie to me, Jewess, he ordered. This morning your daughter was seen parading around a park with a Star of David hanging from her neck.

She’s not my daughter. She’s my little sister, Karin sobbed, the pain in her mouth causing her eyes to tear. She was given the Star by a little girl she met in—

But before she could finish explaining what had happened, the leader slapped her again. Suddenly all three men stopped and looked upward. A shrill scream was coming from Elsa, who was perched at the top of the stairs. Get up there, Bruno, the leader said to one of the men, pointing to Elsa. Lock that screaming little bitch in her room. Hugo will stay here with me, and we’ll have some ‘fun’ with the mother. We’ll let you have her later. Turning his attention back to Karin, the man in the faded fedora started dragging her around by her hair, yelling, Where is your husband, Jew?

I’m not married, Karin said, barely managing to stay conscious. I told you before, she moaned. The child upstairs is my sister. Karin found it difficult to speak because of the pain in her mouth. Slurring her words, she managed to say, We’re here in Munich, visiting friends of my parents. The family that lives here went to the theater this evening. Why are you doing this to me?" she cried before slipping into semiconsciousness.

Left you both here by yourselves, did they? Such poor hosts, the man said, sarcasm dripping from every word. You know Jews aren’t permitted to attend Reich productions. Now, where’s your husband? he demanded. Getting no response, he released her hair, grabbed the front of her blouse, and pulled Karin’s now-unconscious form upward and toward him. Forming a fist with his other hand, he struck her in the face, breaking her nose. As she fell backward, the weight of her body ripped open the buttons on her blouse.

Well, what do we have here, Hugo? the man holding Karin asked his henchmen. Let’s find out. And with that he lecherously yanked off one of Karin’s bra straps. Without the strap, her breast became exposed. Before he touched it he spat out orders: Hugo, go upstairs and find out what Bruno’s doing. Before we entered the house, I thought I saw a lamp burning upstairs. Bring it down.

What about her? Hugo asked, pointing at Karin.

The man in the fedora smiled. I’m sure she’ll be here when you get back.

The flames from the shattered kerosene lamp quickly engulfed the house’s first floor. Outside, the three Gestapo hoodlums watched as the fire burned its way to the second floor. When the ruffians heard the sound of fire engines in the distance, they briskly walked away into the night.

When Elsa heard the front door slam shut, she crawled out from under the bed. The bad men are gone, Dolly. It’s safe to come out. Karin will give us cookies and milk. Tears were streaming down Elsa’s cheeks. She gripped her precious doll to her tiny heaving chest and ran from her bedroom toward the stairs, crying out for her sister. The flames were licking their way upward, blocking the stairway. Elsa first smelled the smoke. Then she saw the fire. Becoming confused, she ran back to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers up over her head. Don’t worry, Dolly, we’ll be all right, she murmured, cradling her doll in one hand while clenching the Star of David pendant in the other. Elsa was given the Star by her new friend Sarah that afternoon in the Marienplatz while they fed the pigeons.

Part I

1.

O n the last day in January 1943, Hitler along with members of his inner circle were cloistered behind closed doors. The mood was grim. The subject under discussion was how to keep Stalin’s Slavic hoards from taking back what the armies of the Reich had won in the East and what to do about the Americans and British about to do the same in the West. No one proposed a solution the others would support. The debate dragged on for hours. As usual none of the Reich’s top military leaders, her Field Marshals, Generals, and Admirals—the ones that were actually fighting the war— were present to make suggestions. The exception was Leave it to my Luftwaffe Göring, head of the Reich’s Air Force. At this stage in the war Göring was nothing more than a placeholder due of his dependency on drugs.

Every one was tired. Most were bored, having had the same discussion a hundred times before.

No one took the time to look out the room’s giant picture window to view the beauty and tranquilty beyond the slightly frosted panes of glass. The mountains in the distance cast blue-gray shadows on the newly fallen snow. The shadows were starting to lengthen, signaling the day was coming to an end. Smoke was curling up from the chimneys and lights were twinkling in the windows in the homes in the valley below. It was a perfect picture of a winter wonderland.

One thousand miles to the east the winter picture was not so wonderful. There the snow was red with the blood of two opposing armies. There the sun never broke through the smoky haze of war to cast shadows. The place was Stalingrad and the German Sixth Army under General Friedrich was losing, badly.

The conference room, where this no-resolution discussion was taking place was at the Berghof, Hitler’s alpine retreat high in the mountains of southern Barvaria, a cozy place, far away from the dirty business of war. In the hallway, outside the conference room two men waited for the giant doors in front of them to open. The younger man, the soldier in uniform, was waiting to tell his Führer that the Reich had a new wonder weapon, a weapon so powerful that its use practically guaranteed the Reich’s victory in the war. Naturally there was a caveat and that was if everything worked out as planned. The young man making the presentation was Karl Strassburg.

Before being wounded in 1941, during Operation Merkur, the German airborne invasion of Crete, Strassburg had been a Major in the Fallschirmjagers, the German paratroopers. Due to wounds he received on Crete, Strassburg was no longer on active duty. He only wore his uniform for interviews, photography sessions, occasions like today. Strassburg could have passed for a movie star. He stood just over six feet tall, was broad shouldered, and had a full head of dark hair, with hints of gray sprouting around the temples despite being only twenty-five years old. Worry lines were etched at the corners of his mouth and crow’s feet were taking shape at the end of his eyes; they were telltale signs of the price he paid for his Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords, the award that hung around his neck on a red, white, and black ribbon, an award equivalent to the US Medal of Honor. Strassburg was a Hero of the Reich.

He also was a physicist. His university studies began in the fall of 1936 under the famed chemist Otto Hahn and his two assistants, Fritz Strassmann and Lise Meitner. They were the first scientists to discover when an atom of uranium is bombarded with neutrons it splits, releasing energy. At the end of his third year, Strassburg decided to experience life outside of Germany, so he transferred to England’s prestigious Cambridge University for half a year. Then he returned to Germany, resuming his studies at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for chemistry, where he earned high honors in applied physics before joining the Fallschirmjagers.

The man standing next to Strassburg was his mother’s cousin, Dr. Wilhelm Ohnesorge, Minister of Post for the Third Reich, a long-time friend and confident of Hitler. Their friendship went back to the 1920s, when the two were inmates at Landsberg Prison in southwest Bavaria. Those were dark days but nowhere as dark as the days ahead if the Reich failed to get one of the three major Allies, aligned against them, out of the war—soon. The two friends were sentenced to five years at Landsberg, punishment for the unsuccessful 1924 Beer Hall Putsch, the plot to overthrow the elected German government. In Landsberg, Ohnesorge worked with Hitler on his political manifesto, Mein Kampf. This act endeared Ohnesorge to Hitler and when Hitler became the Führer, Ohnesorge became Minister of Post.

It was Ohnesorge who got Strassburg his job at Baron Manfred von Ardenne’s laboratories at Lichterfelde-Ost after recovering from the wounds he received on Crete. Ohnesorge and the Baron were good friends. Their friendship started when Ohnesorge, with Hitler’s approval, diverted huge amounts of Reich postal funds to finance the new wonder project at von Ardenne’s laboratories under the supervision of General der Waffen SS Dr-Ing Hans Kammler, Strassburg’s boss.

It was Kammler who suggested using the Baron’s facilities as the place to build the wonder weapons, knowing that Allied Intelligence never bothered monitoring von Ardenne’s facility because Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr, Nazi Military Intelligence, had skillfully spread the word that the Lichterfelde-Ost laboratory was focused solely on medical research.

Hitler liked presentations made by Heroes of the Reich, especially when they delivered good news, which lately rarely happened. However, today’s news was extremely good. Kammler should have made the presentation, but for reasons unknown to Strassburg he was given the job.

Although you’re still slumping a bit, your back seems a lot better, Karl, Ohnesorge commented, hoping to strike up a lighthearted conversation that would help take Strassburg’s mind off his upcoming presentation.

Strassburg’s mood darkened. "You do realize those boneheaded nitwits at the Air Ministry’s Technical Equipment Division—the ones who came up with the design for our chutes—are partially responsible for what happened to me on Crete, don’t you? Who in their right mind would design a chute where the jumper has no choice but to land on his knees and fall forward? Before they ever put those shrouds of death into production, they should have talked to the Fallschirmjagers who’d be using them. Whoever designed those things, should be shot!"

This obviously was not the lightedhearted banter Ohnesorge sought. Realizing now was not the time to make small talk he stopped talking and instead looked up, pretending to admire the coffered details of the ceiling.

Free from unwanted conversation Strassburg focused on more important issues. Namely the complex personalities of the men he’d be presenting to: Hitler and the top Nazi leaders he nicknamed The Committee.

Adolf Hitler was the only one who could approve or disapprove Strassburg’s proposal. The Führer had met Strassburg at a Hitler Youth rally years ago. According to Ohnesorge, Hitler had followed Strassburg’s Fallschirmjӓger exploits with great pride and interest.

Then there was The Committee.

Dr. Joseph Goebbels was the Reich’s Minister for Propaganda and Enlightenment. He had met Strassburg during a photography shoot for Signal magazine, the propaganda publication of the Wehrmacht, the German army.

Albert Speer, the Reich’s Minister of Armament, was the only member of The Committee Strassburg collaborated with on development of the Reich’s top-secret wonder weapon. He enjoyed working with Speer and their solutions to problems typically were successful. The thing Strassburg and Speer found annoying was Kammler’s almost constant flow of sarcastic comments.

Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring—second only to Hitler in the government, head of the Luftwaffe, the German Air Force, and the Fallschirmjӓgers—had presented Strassburg with his Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords. Göring was an acclaimed fighter pilot during the Great War, now referred to as World War I. He was awarded the Pour le Mérite, commonly referred to as Blue Max, the German World War I version of the US Medal of Honor.

Martin Bormann was Hitler’s obsequious personal secretary. He administered an enormous fund, The Adolf Hitler Gifts, a kitty to which German industrialists contributed money in order to receive state and military contracts. Bormann used the contributions to build Hitler’s Berghof, the Eagle’s Nest, the mile-high teahouse atop the Kehlstein, and the huge Obersalzberg complex up the road from the Berghof.

Heinrich Himmler—ex-chicken farmer, Aryan racial purity zealot, and head of the feared SS—was Kammler’s boss. One of Himmler’s assignments was the overseeing of construction, staffing, and operations of the Reich’s internment camps. Strassburg figured, from what Ohnesorge told him, that if Hitler had a favorite on The Committee, it most likely was Himmler.

Feeling the need to resume their conversation, Ohnesorge told Strassburg not to worry because everyone behind the doors had met him, knew about the weapons, and with the exception of Hitler, knew about his target proposals. Nothing would go wrong. They all liked his proposals, pending Hitler’s blessing, of course. Don’t worry, Karl, everything will go smoothly. You’ll see.

Pointing to the film canister under Strassburg’s arm, Ohnesorge smiled and said, "I can’t tell you how pleased Hitler will be when he sees that film. Today will be remembered as the turning point in the war. Once Hitler approves the targets you’re recommending, the real work will begin."

Hearing Ohnesorge say, you’re recommending, Strassburg knew his neck was on the chopping block if Hitler didn’t like what he saw or heard. Strassburg, like his father, never liked Ohnesorge. Willie’s a snake, his father repeatedly told him when the two were alone. Strassburg rubbed the back of his neck. Life had been so much simpler before my mother received that damn letter.

You feeling all right, Karl? Ohnesorge asked.

Never better. You know, Willie, I had nothing to do with the weapon itself, Strassburg reminded Ohnesorge. Kammler and Houtermans were the geniuses behind it, especially Houtermans. He was the one who came up with the moderator to enrich U-238, natural uranium, to weapons-grade material, U-235.

Moderator smoderator. Who cares who did what at this point! The only thing that matters now is that with this new weapon we’ll win the war, Ohnesorge gleefully told Strassburg, throwing his hands up, exuding ecstasy. Stop worrying, Karl. You’re beginning to sound like your mother.

Before Strassburg could address Ohnesorge’s tasteless remark, the conference room doors swung open, courtesy of the pudgy hands of Reichsmarschall Göring.

Crossing the threshold, Strassburg was taken aback. He didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. The conference room had all the trappings of some huge theatrical set.

Directly behind Göring was an oversized oak conference table with Hitler at its head. The men sitting around the table seemed dwarfed by its size.

On one side sat Bormann and Goebbels. Next to Goebbels was an empty chair. On the table, in front of the empty chair, was a huge plate of food. Behind the food were two plates piled high with cleanly picked chicken and beef bones, obviously Göring’s place at the table.

On the other side was Himmler, standing and finishing his presentation. Bormann sat next to Himmler, and next to Bormann was a place for Ohnesorge.

The long sideboard, hugging one of the walls, contained the latest gramophone, along with hundreds of classical music recordings by the Berliner Philharmoniker on Deutsche Grammophon. To Strassburg’s surprise, tucked amongst the classical music collection were many British and American jazz and show-tune recordings.

The conference room walls were oak paneled from the marble flooring up to the chair rail. A giant clock with a massive bronze eagle crouching on top sat against the far wall. Huge paintings—contemporary and classic nudes, along with Gobelin tapestries—hung above the chair rail. The heavy velvet curtain dividing the room into two areas—the conference area and the living area—were tied back. Hitler’s beautiful Alsatian dog, Blondi, Bormann’s birthday gift to his Führer, was sprawled out in front of the great stone fireplace, enjoying the fire’s warmth.

Behind the men was, what Strassburg thought had to be, the world’s largest picture window. Outside the window was a scenic background of epic proportions and spectacular beauty. A mile or two in the distance, nestled in the valley, was the beautiful, tranquil alpine town of Berchtesgaden surrounded by majestic snow-covered mountains as far as the eye could see.

Our Führer lives well, Strassburg thought.

Everyone in the room looked fatigued. From the look on Hitler’s face, it was obvious to Strassburg the previous discussions had not gone well.

Himmler, finishing his report, continued looking at his notes as he nervously polished his glasses, ignoring the entrance of Strassburg and Ohnesorge. As you can tell from the report, Himmler started to summarize, the January 20, 1942, Wannsee Conference was a total success. Now we have agreement from all parties involved on the best way to exterminate all the Jews in countries occupied by the Reich.

Pausing to gauge the reaction of those around the table, Himmler continued, Now we can execute the Final Solution to our Jewish problem, and do it without causing undue trauma to those running the program and be sure the children of these undesirables will not be around to avenge their parents.

Strassburg was stunned by what he heard—so shocked—he forgot to salute his old boss. Reichsmarschall Göring attributed Strassburg’s error to pre-presentation jitters, having never before given a presentation to Hitler and The Committee.

Relax, Major. We’re all friends here. We’ve just been fed, so we’re not hungry for young red meat, Göring whispered in a jovial voice.

Strassburg saluted.

"Thank you, Reichsmarschall. That’s good to know."

Watching Strassburg’s eyes as they gazed around the room, Göring said, Impressive, is it not, Major?

"Yes, Reichsmarschall, impressive doesn’t begin to describe it."

Actually it scares the hell out me, Reichsmarschall, Strassburg thought. Hitler lives in a fantasy world advised by people Freud would have given his eyeteeth to put on a couch.

Strassburg kept staring at the conference room’s coffered ceiling, with its massive dark wooden beams and carved panel inserts. In the center of the ceiling was a massive wheel-shaped chandelier, its outer ring sprouting twenty to thirty electric candles projecting a sense of drama and foreboding.

Beautiful, yes? Göring asked, noticing the Major’s fascination with the ceiling. It’s modeled after a ceiling at Neuschwanstein, the fairy-tale castle built by Ludwig II, the mad king of Bavaria.

Hearing Göring mention Ludwig II, and then looking at Hitler and The Committee, Strassburg couldn’t help but think that acorns really don’t fall far from the tree.

Seeing Strassburg and Ohnesorge enter the conference room, Hitler smiled and stood, motioning the others to follow suit.

Please, please, Major, come in, a pleasure to see you. I think the last time we met you were a young boy in lederhosen. I’ve followed your heroics for the Reich with great interest. I’m told by everyone here you have good news.

My Führer, Strassburg replied somewhat stiffly, "you now have the most powerful weapon on the planet, a nuclear bomb. In fact, you have two of them!"

Hitler beamed. At last! he cried, shaking his fists triumphantly over his head as his eyes became moist. "Can this be so? Those weapons I’ve heard so much about—are finally mine? Now, I can finally bring my enemies to their knees? Tell me, Major, how do you know these new wonder weapons of yours will work? Whenever I talk with Heisenberg and the others in charge of our official program, they tell me we won’t have such weapons before the end of 1945."

Before Strassburg had a chance to answer, Göring barged into the conversation. As you know, my Führer, these bombs were developed outside of Heisenberg’s organization. Let me assure you Germany has two of these weapons, and they work! The Major here will tell you what targets to use these weapons against in order to bring this dismal war to an end—a plan we know you’ll agree with.

No sooner had the words we know you’ll agree with passed Göring’s lips than anger clouded Hitler’s face. No one said a word. Everyone was waiting for the hammer to fall. Göring immediately realized in his excitement he had overstepped—badly. Lowering his head, as a dog does in submission, the Reichsmarschall said, "My apologies, my Führer, a plan we hope you’ll consider."

Hitler said nothing.

You’re such a damn fool, Hermann. If you keep using those painkillers, we’ll surely end up losing the war, Speer thought, his elegant hands toying with his platinum cigarette case left unopened in deference to Hitler’s adamant no-smoking policy.

Göring’s addiction to painkillers was due to wounds he received during World War I. Hitler knew about the problem and refused to do anything about it, because their friendship went back to the founding days of the Nazi movement.

Speer raised his hand to be recognized. He feared if someone didn’t step in immediately—and take Hitler’s mind off Göring’s faux pas—Hitler might scuttle the presentation, explaining why the bombs would work.

At one of the many conferences held in the years before the war, Speer had met Jun Noguchi, the driving force behind Japan’s industrial empire in Korea. After the two got to know and trust each other, they discussed areas where they might be able to help one another. One of those areas was nuclear-weapons development and testing. Under their agreement, if Germany developed a bomb, Noguchi agreed to let her test it near Konan in northern Korea, where the Soviet Union (USSR) and the United States couldn’t monitor the test. In return, Speer agreed to keep Noguchi informed about the work being done by Heisenberg and others in Germany’s quest to build a bomb.

What Speer didn’t know until later was that Kammler had hired Dr-Ing Fritz Houtermans to create a bomb in a project parallel to Heisenberg’s and that Heisenberg and his team knew nothing about this.

Don’t forget mentioning how Kammler got the ore to build the bombs, Minister, Himmler piped up, in effect, ensuring Hitler wouldn’t forget the SS’s key role in the bomb’s development.

Thank you, Heinrich, for reminding me, Speer courteously said but obviously annoyed at Himmler’s self-serving interruption.

When Houtermans told Kammler how much uranium ore would be needed to build the bombs, Kammler searched for an appropriate source. He couldn’t take the