Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  ‘No more tears?’

  ‘No,’ she laughed, ‘I promise!’

  ‘Julie, four days is a long, long time!’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ She kissed his mouth and his cheek, then his ear and his forehead …

  ‘Julie, if you go on like that—’

  She paused and pulled back, uncertain.

  ‘No!’ he laughed. ‘What I meant was – go on! Please don’t stop!’

  But she did because she didn’t know the rules and she still felt a little awkward about the order of things. She wanted him to tell her, to whisper to her …

  And then it was starting all over again and he was touching her in a special way, and she felt the beginnings of that extraordinary warmth, that quite incredible pleasure.

  Later, much later, she lay in the darkness and thought that, whatever happened – even after he’d gone – she’d never feel completely alone again.

  Chapter 20

  IT WAS A triumph.

  Output had risen to fifty units a week – and fifty working units at that. David walked slowly round the despatch room and peered at the packing cases. Each was labelled ‘Tested and passed’, and each label had been stamped and countersigned with the initials of the Technician-in-Charge. It was a new idea, to have one person testing and sealing each unit before despatch. David had introduced the system because it was one which had worked well before. He had asked for – and got – a German naval technician for the job because he’d wanted someone he could communicate with. He hadn’t wanted a German for any other reason – and certainly not because he didn’t trust the two Frenchmen who’d done the job before. It hadn’t occurred to him not to trust them.

  Another new idea had been introduced, too. It was Kapitanleutnant Geissler’s idea this time, though David had endorsed it and put it into operation. Each device was now the responsibility of an individual on the assembly line. If a Metox was faulty it was returned to the man concerned. If the fault was not rectified within a day, then the man was summoned for an explanation. If the fault was still not cured, the man was fired and the special exemptions on his military papers removed. Everyone knew what that meant: you could be called up for forced labour.

  In the six months that David had been with the company no-one had been fired. At the same time output and quality had shot up. Yes, it was a triumph. Kapitanleutnant Geissler was pleased. Presumably the Navy were also pleased. And doubtless the submarine commanders were grateful now that they had their Metox receivers to warn them of enemy planes.

  A triumph. And, thought David, the worst thing I’ve ever done.

  He paused in the doorway of the main workshop and stared at the line of men working at the bench. There was a gap in the line. David closed his eyes. Only yesterday a man had stood there, brave and alive. Today he was dead.

  And it was David’s fault. David’s.

  He had been too taken up by the challenge of the problem-solving, too intoxicated by the freedom of action to see what had been happening.

  The workers had been sabotaging the Metox, from the very beginning.

  There had been nothing obvious – no extra wires or smashed valves. Instead, for no apparent reason, small components had failed to function or valves had burnt out. David could see now that too much current must have been forced through them or reverse polarity applied.

  He should have realised of course. It should have been obvious. But he hadn’t wanted to see. When small suspicions had begun to enter his mind he’d dismissed them. No-one would dare to do such things, he had decided. The penalty, after all, was death.

  Then David’s new measures had come into operation. The subtle forms of sabotage which had been so successful were no longer effective. The men had been forced to use more open and dangerous methods. Yesterday one of them had been caught.

  The penalty was death, and the man had died.

  And, whichever way David looked at the event, he couldn’t help feeling that it was his fault.

  He stared blankly at the gap in the line of working men. One of the technicians glanced up and David looked quickly away. He couldn’t meet the man’s eyes; he couldn’t look at any of them. They thought him as bad as the rest: just another Nazi. Him! A Nazi!

  David turned away, full of shame.

  In the passage he almost bumped into someone. It was Gallois, the French chief technician. Gallois nodded and, stepping aside, waited for David to pass. David almost spoke but changed his mind. It would be no use. Gallois must despise him. He must think David worse than a mere German – he must think him a traitor!

  David walked quickly towards the front of the building, muttering angrily to himself. He went down the front steps and out into the road in full view of the guard. He had permission to do that, to walk the short distance to his quarters under the eye of the guard. Why? Because they trusted him. And why did they trust him? Because he had shown himself to be such a good German, that was why! He laughed bitterly. What an irony.

  He should have died back there in the camp. It would have been better for everyone.

  He walked rapidly along the road until he came to a compound surrounded by barbed wire. He walked in past the guard and along the side of a large warehouse. The warehouse served as a barracks for the East European labourers who worked on the U-boat pens. At one end of it was a long wooden hut where the guards lived. David had a cubicle to himself there. Geissler had arranged it. David had been very pleased with the cubicle. It was infinitely better than the solitary room in the naval barracks. Here, at least, he had company. He often chatted with the guards; he enjoyed talking German again. They baited him, of course, but for much of the time they overlooked his race because it was convenient to them – they sometimes needed a fourth at cards. He, in his turn, ignored the fact that they were soldiers and beat up Poles every day.

  David went into the box-like cubicle and closed the door.

  He lay down on the bed and, drawing himself into a ball, covered his eyes with his hands. He was a disgrace. A disgusting disgrace. A deeply selfish and despicable man without principles or integrity. All those scruples he had pretended to have back in the camp laboratory. All the concern for whether he was doing the right thing. And what had he done? He had done as he was told. As time had gone on he had even been happy to obey. He had worked with all his heart and soul. What had happened to him, that he could have forgotten? Where had he lost his way?

  He could see now that it had happened slowly, so slowly. His greed for security had pushed all other thoughts out of his mind. He had thought only of himself, his health, his next meal, and of the vital need to survive and preserve his life at all costs.

  I have betrayed everything and everyone. My race. My Cecile. Most of all I have betrayed myself. I am not a proud man.

  After a while, when the self-pity had passed, he lay and thought about the future.

  Then he had the idea. It came to him quite suddenly, but the moment it appeared he knew it was the answer.

  He sat up and, dropping on to his knees, put his hand underneath the metal frame of the bed. He touched the familiar flat shape of the small package and, pulling it out, held it tightly in his hand.

  They had travelled so far together, he and this package, that he had almost forgotten the real meaning of it. He’d tucked it away in the back of his mind as something for the future: his passport to Britain or America when the war was over, a sort of insurance policy for his old age.

  But now …

  He held it in his hand and remembered the pages of plans and specifications for the secret device.

  Shortwave radar. Germany would never be able to develop it, not while her laboratories were closed and her research programmes at a standstill. And if she didn’t have shortwave radar she couldn’t defend herself against it.

  Certainly the Metox would be useless against it. He smiled a little.

  It would only be a question of getting the plans to the British. They should be able to develop it fairly quickly.
>
  It would be the perfect act of sabotage. The U-boats would be defenceless against it and, in a single blow, David’s work here would be undone.

  He hugged the small package to him. Then he looked up and said gently, ‘Dear God, you are looking now at a miserable worthless old man. But one who is going to try to do his best. Give me the strength to succeed. And, if You should also deign to give me positive assistance, I thank You. If not – then, dear God, I will have done my best!’

  He lay down and thought to himself: What better thing can a man do than be brave just once in his life?

  David often came into work early, at about six so that he could enjoy two hours of peace and quiet before everyone else arrived. In the calm of the early morning he could think more clearly than later in the day. This morning he had arrived well before six – and yet he still couldn’t make up his mind what to do.

  Gallois. He should try Gallois.

  It was the obvious choice. David couldn’t be sure that he was involved in the sabotage, of course, but he must know. Even if he himself was not involved, he must have guessed.

  Yes, he would try Gallois.

  He rose unsteadily from his chair and went next door to the drawing office where a young trainee was standing at a high desk. ‘Go and ask Monsieur Gallois to come to my office, would you?’ The young man nodded and went off in the direction of the main assembly shop.

  David went back to his desk and sat down unhappily.

  There were footsteps in the corridor. A bead of sweat trickled down David’s forehead and he reached into his trouser pocket for a handkerchief. He mopped his brow and looked up. Gallois was already in the room, watching him. David started with surprise and, half rising, smiled a little and indicated a seat. ‘Do sit down, please.’

  The door was still open and David got up to close it. ‘Well, well. Lovely weather we’re having, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  David sat down again. ‘It always makes life pleasanter, doesn’t it, if the sun is shining?’

  The Frenchman nodded, but David could see he wasn’t in the least interested in the weather.

  David drew breath and began again. ‘I – wanted to talk to you about a rather delicate matter …’

  The Frenchman stared back across the desk, his face blank and uninterested. He was not going to give David any help, that was obvious.

  ‘It’s … Well, it must seem to you that I have had every sympathy … every desire to make a success of this project … Indeed, I did at the beginning. I saw it as a wonderful opportunity to use my skills and to – give meaning to my life again. Do you understand that?’

  Gallois made a gesture which seemed to indicate: If you say so.

  David leant forward. ‘Please – do you see that?’

  ‘Yes—’ He shrugged. ‘I know you had no choice.’

  ‘But I worked hard, didn’t I? For success.’ David frowned and looked down at his hands. ‘I forgot, you see. I put my own satisfaction above … other considerations.’ He looked up again. ‘But now – I can see I was mistaken. I should not have done what I did – so wholeheartedly. I was wrong.’

  Gallois was watching carefully now, studying David’s face.

  ‘The point is …’ David went on, ‘… I want to help.’

  There was silence. He was suspicious, and who could blame him? David leant forward urgently. ‘Look, I am well aware of what was going on in this place when I arrived. Most of the devices were being deliberately sabotaged. I know that now. But I have said nothing. So you see – despite what you may think – I am in sympathy with your cause.’

  Gallois had not moved a muscle. He sat as still as stone.

  David wished the Frenchman would give him a sign, some indication of encouragement. The sphinx-like silence was – difficult. ‘Look, I realise it’s hard for you to say anything … After all, why should you? I can only tell you that I do wish to help … and that I am in a position to do so in a very definite, a very concrete, way.’

  Suddenly Gallois moved. He sat forward in his chair and cleared his throat. ‘Monsieur Freymann, I cannot imagine where you have obtained these strange ideas. For one thing, there has never been any sabotage at this company. It is, if I may say so, an absurd idea! And second, I really cannot be involved with any activity against – the interests of this company. I don’t know why you have approached me, monsieur, but I assure you I cannot help.’

  He was getting to his feet. David sprang up and hurried round the desk. Gallois said, ‘I think it is best if we do not continue this conversation. Really, monsieur, I cannot help you. Nor can anyone here. We are straightforward working men. We keep out of trouble.’ He turned and reached for the door handle.

  For a moment David was frozen with indecision. Then, just as Gallois was opening the door, he lunged forward and grabbed the Frenchman’s sleeve. ‘Please, you don’t understand!’ David looked nervously into the open passageway to see if anyone had heard, then stared imploringly at Gallois.

  Very slowly, Gallois closed the door again. ‘What exactly don’t I understand?’

  David thought miserably: I am going to have to tell him! In all this time he had never told a living soul.

  As he stared up at Gallois, searching for the words, acid bit into his stomach and suddenly a piercing pain hit his abdomen. The room seemed to move in on him and he gasped for breath. He felt as if he was falling and reached out. A firm hand took hold of his arm and suddenly there was a chair under him and he was leaning forward with his head between his knees. ‘My tablets … They’re on the desk there …’

  The bottle was thrust, open, into his hand. He took out three tablets and chewed them hard because they worked quicker that way.

  Gallois’ voice said from close by, ‘Are you all right?’

  David nodded. ‘I’ll be better in a minute. In just a minute … Don’t go, please.’ He reached out and gripped the other man’s arm for a moment. After a while the pain eased a little and David leant his head on his hands and whispered, ‘Don’t judge me too harshly. I just ask you now, please, to listen to what I have to say …’ He sat up slowly and leant back against the chair with his eyes closed. He felt very faint and his heart was thudding like a drum. ‘I need your help …’ He smiled gently. ‘Not the other way round.’

  He paused to take a few deep breaths. It often helped the pain. ‘The thing is … before they made me leave my job in Germany – before the war – I stole something. A secret. A secret that could be very, very important – in the war. I am the only one who knows about it – it was my idea, you see.’ He stopped to look at Gallois, to see that he had understood. He thought: Now is the moment of belief or disbelief. He pulled himself upright and grasped the Frenchman’s arm again. ‘I have always wanted to get the secret to the British, so they can use it. But … there was never the opportunity. And then, I came here and it seemed easier to carry on and do my job … You see, I was so happy just to be alive. This place, it seemed like heaven after … the camp.’

  He sighed deeply. ‘But now … Now I must do something about it, do you understand?’ He shook his head. ‘I just cannot do nothing – like before. If you knew what the camps were like! I must do something for them, do you see? I must in some way help them. And this is the one thing I can do.’ He looked anxiously into Gallois’ face. ‘Tell me – do you understand what I am saying?’

  Gallois looked down, as if making up his mind what to do. When he looked up again his expression was guarded, worried. He sighed and whispered firmly, ‘Dear Monsieur Freymann, I am so sorry that you are unwell. I know you have been through a lot. I only wish there was something I could do to help but, really, there is nothing.’

  ‘But I just want to take my secret to England …’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The Frenchman’s tone was cooler now. ‘There is really nothing I can do.’

  A terrible tiredness came over David and he slumped in his chair. It had all been for nothing.

  Gallois looked
over his shoulder and lowered his voice. ‘Really, I think it is very dangerous to talk about this … Forgive me, but it really is unwise.’ He moved towards the door. ‘You’re all right, are you? Do you want me to send someone along?’

  David covered his face with his hands and shook his head. He heard the door close and got off his chair and lay on the floor. It often helped his stomach. But nothing, he knew, would remove the dull ache in his heart.

  One week later a new project was announced. Goulvent, Pescart et Cie was to build larger radar detection devices suitable for ships. The pioneering work had been done elsewhere; all that was required was to assemble components which would be sent from Germany.

  For David, however, there was still a lot of work to be done, developing test programmes and equipment. He worked long hours but only because he couldn’t bear to go back to his room any more. He had stopped playing cards with the guards. He had stopped talking to them – or indeed to anyone. He just wanted to be left alone. Whenever there was a discussion, he cut it short. He even barked at Geissler.

  He didn’t bother with meals; he hated having to go to the canteen to collect them. He knew it wasn’t doing him any good – he felt awful – but he didn’t care.

  He hated his work. He hated his life. He hated himself.

  Then Geissler summoned him to his office. ‘It seems that they want you elsewhere, Herr Freymann.’ The Kapitanleutnant picked up a letter from his desk and examined it. ‘They don’t say when … However,’ he smiled coolly, ‘we need you more, so we are protesting at this proposed transfer. We have put in a request through the appropriate channels and expect to hear shortly.’

  David was looking past Geissler to the window. Between a gap in the buildings it was just possible to glimpse the sea, misty today, but still beautiful. David said quietly, ‘Where?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Where do they want to send me?’

  ‘Ah! Let me see … It’s not a naval project, that I do know.’ He examined the letter again. ‘All I have here is a code number and prefix. Perhaps … Wait one minute …’ Geissler picked up the telephone and asked for HQ. He spoke for a few seconds then replaced the receiver. He coughed nervously. ‘I cannot unfortunately tell you where exactly – we do not have details – but apparently the prefix denotes an SS establishment …’ He added unhappily, ‘That is perhaps another reason why it would be best for you to stay here.’