Night Sky (30 page)

I must look just as old, thought David. He too had lost weight so fast that the skin around his body was loose and wrinkled.

‘In!’ It was one of the SS men.

They filed into the hut and looked about them. The inside was clean and well fitted, the wood bright and new and sweet-smelling. Along the sides of the hut were wide benches with chairs in front of them. There were also three desks, a filing cabinet, and several typewriters. An interrogation centre? An office? It could be anything.

‘Be seated!’

The prisoners looked around in surprise. You were not usually asked to sit down. One prisoner sat on the floor. The SS sergeant snapped, ‘On the seats! The seats!’

When they were sitting down, an officer came in, and behind him, a soldier carrying a heavy object under a cover. The object was placed on a bench.

The officer faced them, his body erect, his manner efficient. ‘Under the direct orders of Reichsfuehrer-SS Himmler, this laboratory is to function forthwith! You, as prisoners of the Reich, are to serve in it to the fullest of your ability.’

David stared, dumbfounded. They were to
work
here! It was incredible. The significance of Meyer’s presence suddenly dawned on him. Another top scientist … It must mean
scientific
work. Incredible!

The officer was saying, ‘You will work on projects that will be assigned to you. Your first is here.’ He indicated the object on the workbench. ‘We have obtained a device from an enemy aircraft. You are to dismantle it, examine it and analyse your findings. We must know what it does, how it does it, and the way to produce it.’

David’s heart lifted with hope. This was a genuine scientific project, requiring careful analysis … And by skilled scientists like him and Meyer. That meant they would be treated as special prisoners and not returned to the main camp.

Yet a part of him waited, listening carefully. Nobody who survived in this place ever believed what they were told. One must always wait and see. There could be a catch somewhere. There usually was.

The officer continued, ‘Now, you are all qualified in this type of electronics, is that correct?’

Nobody was likely to admit they weren’t, David thought wryly.

‘Your leader will be—’ he looked at his list ‘– Meyer. You will work under him. You will obey him. Is that understood?’

They stared blankly. No-one dared to speak.

‘You will ask Sergeant Klammer for any equipment you may need. This project is of great importance. Herr Himmler himself is in personal control, you understand. You will work with all speed and concentration. You will produce results that will be of the highest excellence. Any questions?’

There was silence. Questions were not usually encouraged, they had got out of the habit of asking them. The officer nodded and was turning to leave, when a voice said, ‘Yes, I have a question.’

David looked round nervously. It was Meyer. He was standing, looking straight at the officer. Silly old fool, David thought, why did he have to open his mouth! All eyes swivelled back to the officer. But there was no irritation on his face, no anger. Instead there was a slight pause and the officer said, ‘Yes?’

Heads turned back to Meyer. The old man said, ‘To work efficiently, we will need better quarters and better rations. I cannot have half my team down with disease and malnutrition.’ His voice was steady and surprisingly clear.

David thought: My God! You amazing old man. What a nerve.

The eyes returned to the officer. He was nodding. ‘Agreed.’

Just like that.

Then they were left alone to make a list of their technical requirements.

They sat in a group round Meyer and looked at each other, searching each other’s faces for confirmation of what they couldn’t yet believe. One man – his name was Richter – was sobbing violently, his head down on his knees, overcome by the improbability of it all.

David was still looking for the catch, and at last he had it. When they had analysed the device, when the work was done, suppose there were no more of these projects? What would happen then? They wouldn’t be kept here. No, they would be taken back to the main camp, back to the quarry. It would be twice as bad, having to go back.

And yet … the work would take several weeks, maybe months … And a month in this place was a very long time indeed. Long enough to start hoping that it would last for ever …

It didn’t occur to David that there was anything wrong in wanting to work until Meyer said, ‘Whether or not we feel it is
right
to be involved in this project, we have no choice—’

The moral aspects hadn’t entered David’s mind. Here in this camp matters of principle were irrelevant, ridiculous even. You didn’t consider whether things were right or wrong: if you did you would die of outrage. Wrong—? The idea had never occurred to him. Did it bother him, that he would be aiding the Nazis against their enemies? Did it matter when Jews were fighting for their very survival?

The answer was very simple. It came to David when his clean new uniform was issued to him, when he was able to take his first real shower in a year, when he had his first decent meal in as many months, and when he saw the sleeping quarters – clean, fresh, with individual bunks and a flushing lavatory. Then everything was very simple. You knew what you had to do: you had to survive. If you refused to work, someone else would take your place. A single gesture of defiance would change nothing.

That night, as he lay on his clean, sweet-smelling bunk in the sleeping quarters, he wept a little. Mainly from relief, but also from pity, both for himself and for his fragile pathetic hopes for the future, rekindled after so long. He thought of Cecile and Ellen and tried to imagine what their lives were like without him. It was more than a year since he’d seen them.

When finally he fell asleep he dreamed that he invented a magical device which would win the war for Germany. Suddenly he was a hero, he was freed from the camp and given the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves. But when he looked at himself he discovered, with horror, that they had given him an SS uniform. He told them it was a mistake and tried to tear it off, but the black cloth was stuck to his skin and as he tore at it, his flesh came away in his hands …

He woke with a start, his heart beating wildly. He thought: Is what I’m doing so bad? But no, it couldn’t be, it really couldn’t be. What would be bad would be to give his secret away; the small package of microfilm:
that
would be unforgivable.

The next morning, after roll call, David asked to collect something from his old hut. It was a request that would have been inconceivable two days before, but now they let him go.

When he got to the hut it was empty; the able-bodied had left for the quarry and the night’s sick had been taken to the infirmary, euphemism for the hut which housed the rank stench and hopelessness of death and disease.

When he was sure he was quite alone he went behind the door and, using an old metal food bowl, scraped at the hard earth floor. He didn’t get the right spot at first and had to search over a wider circle until, at last, his hand closed over the small package. He pushed the earth back into the hollow and stamped it down. Then, wedging the package under his arm, he walked back to the special compound. He hid the package behind the lavatory cistern in the sleeping quarters.

Then he went to work.

It was some sort of radar jamming device, that was obvious. But determining how it worked, and which type of German radar transmitter it was designed to jam, took longer. They split the device into twenty units and each took some pieces to analyse.

After two weeks they were getting somewhere. The device seemed to be aimed at the Freya early-warning system, which worked on a frequency of 125 megacycles and was capable of detecting enemy planes at a distance of seventy-five miles. David knew all about it. He should do – the Freya had been developed by the Gema Company.

As he worked on his section of the device David began to wonder how the British had discovered the existence of Freya and its frequency. Freya was a large unit fixed to the ground, it was not something that could be captured or examined by spies. They must have more sophisticated detection equipment than anyone had thought. But then, David realised, he was out of touch …
everyone
here was. It was a year since long-term research had stopped, a year since scientists had been called up or sent away to camps.

But David’s thoughts went further: if the British could detect radar, then they themselves must be capable of developing it … The conclusion was inescapable. He discussed it with Meyer.

The older man said briefly, ‘Yes, I expect they have radar by now.’

‘To stay ahead Germany should have continued her research, then,’ David said.

‘Yes, in this business to stand still is to fall behind.’

‘But there is still some development going on?’

Meyer exclaimed, ‘No! As far as I can gather, we’re all they have. Ironic, isn’t it?’

David turned to him, amazed. ‘Surely they’ve kept some laboratories going?’

‘Oh, very few. And nothing of importance. I asked for detailed reports of any work that had been going on while I – in my absence. They were not able to give me anything. I tell you, we are Germany’s principal electronics development laboratory now.’ And Meyer laughed drily, ‘We’re cheaper this way, you see. No salaries to pay.’

David stared at the bench. For the first time he began to appreciate the importance of what they were doing. He asked, ‘What are we going to tell them? I mean, when we give them our findings?’

Meyer said simply, ‘We’re going to tell them what we’ve found. But—’ he lowered his voice ‘– we are not going to draw their conclusions for them. Let them discover the hard way that the British have radar. I am not going to tell them. Nor are you.’

David shook his head. ‘No, I won’t tell them.’

The knowledge made David feel better. It was only a small act of omission, but at least it was something positive, some small act of defiance.

David looked up from his work again. ‘By the way, who are we reporting to? Is it really Himmler?’

‘I believe so. But copies also go to other departments, including the Chief Scientist’s.’

‘Who is—?’

Meyer looked at him in surprise. ‘Why Schmidt, of course.’

Nothing changes, David thought. He wished it didn’t matter to him that it was Schmidt, but it did. It made his stomach twist.

After a month they handed over their second stage results. David began to wonder how much longer they could spin out their work – another two weeks, four at the most. The lab had the air of permanence about it, yet it was impossible to believe that anything was permanent in Dachau …

The thought of returning to the main compound haunted him, as it haunted everyone. The seven of them were relatively healthy now. They had warmth and security. They had hope. It was terrifying, to have so much.

There were several other laboratories, David discovered, one was run by the SS Health Institute, another by the Luftwaffe Research Bureau. You didn’t know what was done in them: you didn’t ask such things in case the answer sickened you. These labs also seemed permanent, but you never knew about that either …

David remembered that Himmler had a passion for specialised knowledge: that explained all the different labs. Before the war Himmler had organised archaeological digs, to prove some obscure theory, David couldn’t remember what exactly. Something about purely Germanic races being the forerunners of the Teutonic knights. The man was crazy. That he’d reached such high rank said a lot about the system.

A week later the workload was growing lighter and the scientists grew nervous. It would be difficult to spin things out much longer. Then, like manna from heaven, another object was delivered to the laboratory. This time they all exchanged smiles.

Like the first device this object was to be taken apart and analysed. With delight David and Meyer realised that it was something quite new, something they could only guess at. It would take weeks to understand properly.

They had been reprieved.

Sergeant Klammer shouted, ‘Assemble!’

David looked up from the bench and felt a jump of alarm. Sergeant Klammer never interrupted them when they were working. It must be something out of the ordinary.

Sergeant Klammer waited impatiently while they got up and gathered in a group in front of him.

When he spoke, it was with such emphasis that spit flew from his mouth. ‘You will cease work for the time-being, and tidy the laboratory. Within an hour it must look perfect. Then you will prepare answers to any questions that might be put to you concerning your work. Is that clear?’

Meyer nodded. They were dismissed. When Klammer had gone they turned questioningly to Meyer.

Meyer shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me.’

David thought: It must be Himmler. It was the only person it could be. He had been to the camp before. It was his creation: he liked to take a personal interest in it.

When the preparations were done they waited. They were denied permission to collect their midday meal, so they went without. Nor were they permitted to carry out any work which might make the lab untidy.

By three in the afternoon David felt faint. His stomach had got used to having food regularly, and it didn’t like going without. His ulcer started to throb dully: soon the throb would grow into an angry pain.

At four they were still waiting.

Finally Klammer burst in. ‘Attention!’

They stood up and stared fixedly at the opposite wall. One tries to look anonymous, David thought: faceless but servile; unimportant yet valuable. You look like they want you to look.

There were voices and the noise of feet on the steps. A group of men entered the hut. David stared at the wall, but from the corner of his eye he saw the black uniforms of high-ranking SS officers.

The group advanced into the hut. Someone laughed loudly. David thought: They’ve just had a good lunch.

As they came into his field of vision, David took a surreptitious look. Most were senior officers: he did not know their faces. Except – yes, Himmler. He recognised him from photographs. He was small, with close-cropped hair and a weak chin. His eyes were pale and cool behind rimless spectacles. He looked harmless, like a bank clerk.