Title: WOLVES AT OUR DOOR
Author: Soren Paul Petrek
Publisher: Editions Encre Rouge/Hachette Livre
Pages: 319
Genre: Historical/Action/Adventure
The Allies and the Nazis are in a deadly race to develop the ultimate
weapon while supersonic V-2 rockets rain down on London. Madeleine Toche and
Berthold Hartmann, the German super assassin who taught her to kill, search for
the secret factory where Werner von Braun and his Gestapos masters use slave
labor to build the weapons as the bodies of the innocent pile up. The Allied
ground forces push towards Berlin while the German SS fight savagely for each
inch of ground.
Finding the factory hidden
beneath Mount Kohnstein, Hartmann contacts his old enemy, Winston Churchill and
summons Madeleine to his side. While she moves to bring the mountain down on
her enemies, Hartmann leads a daring escape from the dreaded Dora concentration
camp to continue his revenge against the monsters who ruined his beloved
Germany.
Together with the Russian
Nachtlexen, the Night Witches, fearsome female pilots the race tightens as the
United States and the Germans successfully carry out an atomic bomb test.
Germany installs an atom bomb
in a V-2 pointed towards London, while the US delivers one to a forward base in
the Pacific. The fate of the Second World War and the future of mankind hangs in
the balance.
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CHAPTER ONE
Mid-August 1943
Peenemunde
Research Facility
Northern
Germany
In
Northern Germany on a remote peninsula, jutting into the Baltic Sea, the Nazi
government maintained a covert research station. Hoping to turn the tide of a
stalemate war back in Germany’s favor, Adolf Hitler had become fascinated with
the development of superweapons. The larger the weapons, the greater his
interest and the Peenemunde facility was producing the biggest and most lethal
ones ever conceived.
It had
required ten thousand workers to build the twenty-five-square-kilometer
compound. Schools and living quarters were erected for the families of the two
thousand research scientists who had worked to produce weapons to satisfy Adolf
Hitler’s desire to crush the enemies of the Third Reich. Liquid oxygen
production plants sucked 70 percent of the electricity the on-site power
station produced. Peenemunde was the largest military facility in the world.
The work being done there had nothing to do with the development of atomic
weapons; rockets were built and tested. Missiles that could reach cities and battlefields
far away from where they were launched. Once perfected, their range could be
increased to reach, potentially, anywhere on earth.
***
Late
evening August 17, 1943
Peenemunde
The car
that pulled up to the front gate was met by a security detail. As he stepped
out of the passenger side, German rocket scientist Werner von Braun flicked his
cigarette butt onto the gravel drive; he then reached into his pockets for his
identification papers. He had been put in charge of the entire complex, and he
was only thirty—an enormous achievement for someone who had been fascinated
with rocketry since childhood. His area was liquid-fueled rockets, which he
hoped would one day take men to the moon. For now, the research was used to
develop a weapon that would flatten London. And he had produced one. A
forty-six-foot monster: the V-2 Rocket. Most of the prototypes detonated on the
launch pad or quickly skirted into the sea, but some of the missiles achieved
altitude before crashing farther out. It was enough to keep his funding and the
research moving forward.
Von Braun
walked up to the main gate, where he was welcomed by a guard who took his
papers. According to his orders, all visitors to Peenemunde were required to
produce the necessary documentation. The facility was top secret, and, at least
so far, the Allies hadn’t determined its purpose. Von Braun hoped that would
continue until he had a reliable working model. With a flick of his flashlight
and a smile, the guard checked von Braun’s face against his identification. It
was hardly necessary. Tall and fit with a thick head of black hair, von Braun
came across as a man of both position, thanks to his bearing, and wealth,
thanks to his suits. It would have been difficult to impersonate a man the
guards saw every day.
The main
gate was one of the few access points to the sprawling compound. It was
surrounded by two layers of fence with barbed wire and overlooked by several
high guard towers. One hundred kilometers from the nearest town, there was no
one around. Vast stretches of beaches along the Baltic Sea were deserted. There
were no fishing boats or industry of any kind there except for Peenemunde.
Von Braun
walked along one of the paved roads that crisscrossed the south end of the
research and manufacturing campus. Reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he
glanced up at the sky. Even though the night was clear, motion stirred the sky.
But what was it? He heard the whine of a large falling object.
He barely
had time to react when the first bomb hit. He stood dumbstruck as masses of
clustered bombs followed the first. Buildings around him popped open, spilling
people from their dormitories and offices. Groups of men and women ran for the
nearest fallout shelter. Detonations tossed torn-apart vehicles and bodies into
the air. Against the backdrop of crumbling buildings, incendiary bombs set off
raging fires that sucked in oxygen from everywhere. A firestorm raged through
the compound, torching everything in its path. My research, von Braun
thought as he ran toward his own office. Nearby coworkers raced after him to
save the documents. The fire had not yet reached the second floor as he and his
coworkers sprinted up the stairs to salvage what they could.
They were
headed toward the records room when a flash of fire burst through the doorway.
Von Braun dashed through the flames, shouting, “Throw it all out the window!”
He picked up a file box and tossed it out an open window. Two men shoved an
entire file cabinet out another window, and others followed suit, collectively
rescuing months of work. Somewhere in the paperwork lay a clue of why the tests
weren’t yet successful.
Waves of
heat intensified as the men’s clothing started to scorch.
“Get out!”
von Braun screamed, pushing his men ahead of him and out of the room. Had he
missed anything? Only the fire drove him from the room.
He charged
down the stairs and through the blaze on the first floor. Outside, he watched a
guard, who’d had the presence of mind to shelter the research, loading the
boxes into a truck.
The people
who weren’t already dead crawled, bloodied, through fire and burning rubble.
Screams of pain and yells for help compounded the chaos, coupling with the
smell of burning flesh. The acrid stench of cordite hung in the air, left after
the concussive blasts. What little oxygen there was fed the fires.
Von Braun
watched silently as his dreams burned.
***
Dawn came
as the broken buildings smoked. Walls crumbled under their weight as workers
tried to find bodies in the rubble.
Notified
of the bombing, the first of the Nazi officials showed up on the scene to
assess the damage. A motorcade came through what was left of the main gate.
There were no guards posted. There was little left to protect.
Stepping
out of his staff car, SS General Hans Klammer looked over the compound. He held
a Ph.D. in civil engineering and could easily see beyond the surface damage.
The overall structural impact on the buildings was significant. A few fire
trucks continued to spray water in an attempt to keep other fires from spreading,
but there were too many of them. Most of them were allowed to burn themselves
out as long as they couldn’t spread to the nearby forests and grassy areas.
Klammer thought the Allies must have used thousand-pound bombs. And they
certainly weren’t concerned with accuracy. The goal was to decimate the
facility, and it was easily achieved.
Large bomb craters left the
landscape pockmarked, as though an angry giant had pummeled it with a hammer.
All of the buildings were damaged, some reduced nothing but piles of concrete
and twisted metal. Even the ones still standing had scorch marks and shrapnel
scars from bombs that had narrowly missed them. Crews of prisoners moved bricks
and pieces of concrete manually, while bulldozers and tractors lifted the larger
sections. It was beyond repair.
As von Braun walked across the
compound, Klammer thought he looked like a stricken man, and he vowed to help
sooth his nerves. After all, von Braun was a civilian and a scientist to boot,
someone they needed for the project—someone they needed calm, level-headed.
“I’ve lost my main design engineer
and several other key scientists,” von Braun said, lighting a cigarette with a
shaky hand. His drawn face appeared to have aged years in a matter of hours.
“One hundred and seventy key personnel killed and the extent of the damage
hasn’t been calculated. We were able to save most of my most important
documents. I almost died pushing files out windows with my staff,” he said,
throwing his hands in the air. “This is a scientific facility. And then this.”
He gestured. “Most of the men aren’t even in the military.”
“Herr Doctor, I know you're upset
and feel partially to blame.” Klammer placed a gloved hand on von Braun’s
shoulder. “You’re not to blame. We are at war and would have done the same to
the British if they had been building rockets. Your project is too important to
let this dissuade you.” Klammer gesticulated passionately against the
ash-colored sky. “Clearly the facility needs to be moved beyond the range of
their bombers. We can’t rebuild this, and even if we did, they’d just bomb it
again. No, clearing away all of this debris and tearing down the buildings will
cause an unacceptable delay. We will find a more suitable location, somewhere
in central Germany.”
“We’ve also lost five hundred
prisoners,” Von Braun added. “Some of them were highly skilled at assembly.”
“The survivors will work when we
locate an appropriate site. We’ll have work for many others as well,” Klammer
said with a smile. “Don’t worry, Doctor; you’ll be back in business in no time.
Just leave it to the SS. We’re very efficient at construction. Down to the last
Mark and Pfennig.”
“I worry about using new unskilled
labor to build the rockets,” Von Braun confessed. “Each one is individual to
itself. With three thousand independent parts, consistency is vital. Conditions
have to be optimal for assembly and testing. Do you know what kind of location
you are considering?”
“Underground,” Klammer told him,
“where bombers can’t do any more damage. We have already begun an exhaustive
examination of potential sites within Germany, and we’ve narrowed it down to a
few. The Fuhrer wants no more delays caused by destruction. He has great
expectations for the use of rockets against England. He hopes to fire at least
a dozen per day at London with no loss of German lives. When they land, only
the British will die. We’ll test their resolve to keep on fighting with London
in flames.”
“But construction of another factory
will take months,” von Braun argued.
“Three or four, if everything goes
according to plan.”
“Three? Isn’t that a bit
aggressive?”
“The Jews will build it. They’ll
work day and night. We will find a suitable location that won’t require an
enormous construction budget.”
“When can we relocate?”
“We will move the equipment that can
be salvaged to a temporary location. Your testing and experiments can continue
there. Don’t worry,” Klammer assured the scientist, “I’ve built several work
camps under budget and ahead of schedule. I know what I’m doing.”
“We will determine what equipment is
viable and catalog it immediately,” von Braun said, nodding his head. “Several
rockets survived, and testing can continue as soon as we can relocate.”
“Fine, the future of your project
depends on continued progress. The Fuhrer often grows impatient and loses faith
when things don’t go according to plan. As a fellow engineer, I have the utmost
faith in you, Dr. von Braun. I’ve rarely seen a man so driven to succeed.”
“Thank you,” von Braun said. “This
research could win the war. My hope is that we can settle this nonsense on our
terms. So that we can pursue the real goal, Germany’s conquest of space.”
“We all want that. Everyone is tired
of war, but we must win a decisive victory. Now I must get back to Berlin. Keep
me abreast of your progress, Werner.”
“I will, sir. Thank you for lifting
my spirits.”
“We’ll be up and move forward in no
time. You do the science and leave the rocket building to me.” With that,
Klammer climbed into the back seat of his car. He waved at von Braun and
motioned for his driver to leave.
Von Braun watched Klammer depart. He
felt better, but the design problems with the rockets nagged him still. He
walked back to his makeshift office to begin the cataloging project. No doubt
with enough cruelty and loss of Jewish life, the SS would accomplish their
task. A new factory was one thing, but he had to find out why the rockets
weren’t achieving altitude. With the structural design team in tatters, what
would von Braun have to do? Stand underneath one of the things as it crashed
back down to earth?
***
Half of the Jews forced to work at
the Peenemunde installation were killed or wounded. Those with superficial
wounds were herded among the other men. Those too far gone were shot where they
lay.
The survivors were crammed into
cattle cars in which hay and dung littered the floorboards. They were pushed
inside until it was standing room only. Many pairs of lungs competed for the
thin and stifling oxygen.
As they
left the Peenemunde facility, those men near the sides of the car tried to see
through the tiny slits serving as windows. Other than briefly glimpsing
civilization as the train passed a town, the men saw nothing but trees and open
fields; they had no idea where they were going. Hungry and tired, they
gratefully took turns sitting when they could no longer stand, though sitting
room diminished as the train meandered down through the middle of Germany,
picking up other prisoners as it headed south.
In the late afternoon of the first
day, the train stopped. The men were offloaded and given some weak soup and
water. They were permitted to sit as the food was distributed. The guards had
been given orders to deliver them alive; dead workers were useless. They were
allowed to relieve themselves at the side of the tracks, long ago having lost
the privilege of privacy. Few of them looked at one another, and none spoke.
They were jammed back onto the
train, and there were no more stops. On the second afternoon, the train reached
its destination. With Mount Kohnstein looming above them, their rail cars were
opened by SS guards. As they were herded toward the face of the mountain, they
were handed pickaxes and shovels. They moved toward a small track railway that
led into what looked like a mine entrance protruding back into the dark
recesses of the mountain. A guard hit a switch, and a string of dim lights
illuminated the tunnel farther than sight could follow. Men were already
chipping away at the Gypsum rock that lined the walls. Metal clanging against
rock echoed. It was a soft mineral and came out in large chunks that were
immediately loaded into metal carts and pushed by hand out of the mine. No
indication was given to the workers as to what they were supposed to do, other
than keep digging.
Inside the mine, there were no
mechanized engines, only manpower. If a cart tipped over, the prisoners were
beaten until the car was set upright and the rock reloaded. The dust choked the
workers and made it hard to see. Fumes from blasting perpetually hung in the
air.
They
worked around the clock, and the shifts changed every twelve hours. Afterward,
the prisoners were taken to an area where wooden bunks were stacked four high.
The thin mattresses brought no comfort and allowed for little sleep. Stale
bread and a thin foul tasting soup gave little nourishment. Over the weeks and
months, as many men died from dysentery and Typhus as were executed or worked
to death. The lack of proper nutrition gave the prisoners violent diarrhea; a
bucket was their sanitary facility. Every straw filled mat they slept on was
stained with excrement and vomit. Lice, scabies and other insects, tormented
the men constantly.
The passageways were widened, and
the ceilings made higher. The main tunnels needed to accommodate fully
assembled rockets as they were put together. Scaffolding was necessary to reach
the roof. Men fell on every shift. Some died while others were injured. The men
who could no longer work were shot. Their bodies tossed on rail cars laden with
rock. Outside, they were transferred to piles of human corpses. Every day and
night, the piles of dead grew.
The
progress was rapid despite the inhuman conditions. The two main S-shaped
tunnels ran parallel and snaked through the mountain. Forty-six connecting
passageways had to be dug through rock walls. Storerooms and barracks for the
prisoners and guards were hollowed out along one of the main tunnels. A small
hospital was constructed and various workshops and laboratories. The pace was
brutal. When a prisoner died, there were always replacements coming by train
from concentration camps all over Germany, Poland and elsewhere.
About the Author
Soren Petrek is a practicing criminal
trial attorney, admitted to the Minnesota Bar in 1991. Married with two adult children, Soren
continues to live and work in St. Paul, Minnesota.
Educated in the U.S., England and France
Soren sat his O-level examinations at the Heathland School in Hounslow, London
in 1981. His undergraduate degree in
Forestry is from the University of Minnesota, 1986. His law degree is from William Mitchell
College of Law in St. Paul, Minnesota 1991.
Soren’s novel, Cold Lonely Courage
won Fade In Magazine’s 2009 Award for Fiction. Fade In was voted the nation’s
favorite movie magazine by the Washington Post and the L.A. Times
in 2011 and 2012.
The French edition of Cold Lonely
Courage, Courage was published January 2019, by Encre Rouge
Editions, distributed by Hachette Livre in 60 countries. Soren’s contemporary novel, Tim will
be released along with the rest of the books in the Madeleine Toche series of
historical thrillers.
Genre: Memoir 
