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The bombing stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and Bethwig lifted his head, trying to penetrate the absolute darkness. A flashlight went on, and its beam swung around the interior to reveal a fog-thick haze of dust and plaster. Figures appeared in the beam as it swept past — ghostly, staring beings, many with mouths open in soundless screams. He had a glimpse of Hanna wiping a dark stain from her lips and realised that the hot gush he had felt when the bomb exploded was blood from his nose. The concussion had ruptured blood vessels.

Twice more, bombs fell across the island, although none came as close as the first wave. The bombers seemed to be concentrating on the very northern tip and the south-eastern coast, midway along the island’s length, where staff housing was clustered. By design or luck? he wondered bitterly.

The shelter door was hammered open and lamps flashed into the interior. ‘All men outside now!’ The angry shout sounded far away. ‘Women and children to remain inside until the all clear.’ Bethwig had been holding Hanna’s hand, and she gave him a quick kiss as he stumbled to his feet. An SS squad was checking each man for injuries and forming them into work parties. Bethwig found himself in one composed entirely of Russian prisoners.

The SS officer flashed his light over Bethwig’s face and clothing. ‘You, are you German?’

Bethwig, still partly stunned by the violence and terror of the past few hours, could only stare at him. The officer shouted the question once more, and he nodded then, understanding.

‘You damned civilians,’ the officer stormed. ‘You should all serve on the Russian front for a month…. Take this group to Building Fourteen. Put out any fires, rescue anyone caught inside, and save what you can. Go on now, damn you!’

He pushed Bethwig towards the building and raced off with his squad to the next shelter. Franz stumbled through the trees, the Russians following apathetically until they broke out on to a rubble-filled square in front of the two-storey building housing the measurement labs. The area was deserted, with not even a soldier in sight, and when Bethwig turned, struggling to shake off the effects of the bombing, he found that half or more of his prisoners had disappeared. It makes no real difference, he thought, and ran up to the front door to find it locked. A tall Russian in a filthy striped prisoner’s pullover and trousers shouldered him aside as he shook the door, and, with a delighted grin, smashed the glass with a stone. They pushed into the hall, coughing in the dense smoke. The fire seemed confined to the first floor, and they raced up the stairs to the corridor above just as the ceiling fell in. A jet of flame lashed the corridor, and the Russians ducked and beat a hasty retreat. They began to kick open doors and rush around gathering up armfuls of equipment. Bethwig, his wits returning with activity, pointed out the most important pieces to be saved. They had gone little more than half-way along the hall before the ceiling burst open with a crack like a cannon shot. As one man, they raced from the building only seconds before it collapsed.

The next building, housing the chemistry development laboratories, was also in flames. Bethwig led them across the lawn at a run to repeat the performance, and this time they managed to bring the fire under control with the building’s own fire-fighting system. While three men played hoses the length of the hall, some prisoners broke into the labs to salvage what they could while others covered equipment and files against water damage. Time after time Bethwig was astonished at the risks the prisoners took to fight the fire or to salvage equipment. He was also struck by their gaunt, wasted appearance and the rags they wore. Most were barefoot or had only the poorest cardboard sandals.

As dawn approached and the fire came under control, he had time to look around. With the exception of the Measurements Building, which had been destroyed, relatively little damage had been done to the area in which the laboratories were clustered. To the south-east the sky above the pine forest pulsated with the reddish hell of raging fires ignited by incendiary bombs, while to the north, in the direction of the test stands where the first strike had been centred, there were only a few isolated columns of smoke visible against the dawn sky. To the west, at mid-island, there was no smoke or flame visible at all, and Bethwig felt momentary relief. Apparently the immense test facilities for the A-10 were well enough camouflaged to have escaped detection.

With the fire out, Bethwig decided to send one of the prisoners to look for transport to take them south to join those fighting fires in the housing areas, but before he could do so, SS troops burst from the trees and with kicks and blows rounded up the Russians. Bethwig grabbed the non-commissioned officer who seemed to be in charge.