I understood. I accompanied him to the counter to collect my breakfast of good-quality bread, a kind of roasted muesli, butter and jam, a slice of luncheon meat, a small piece of cheese.
For the first time in months I wondered about the things I had hidden in Signor Frau’s barrel organ. Where, I wondered, was the family now? And were my papers and keepsakes still safe? With SS help, I thought, I might find them again.
As I left the dining hall I was met by an SS man and told to go with him to an unmarked door. He knocked and stood back to let me pass. In a neat office was a large, tidy desk and behind the desk a plump, pale man in pince-nez, his black uniform jacket opened and his tie loosened. He stood up, buttoning his tunic, giving the raised-arm salute. Obersturmbannführer Ludwig Wolfowitz was our SS commandant. He welcomed me to the camp, which he called the Institute. Ordering me to sit down he presented me with the list of questions I had already answered. By now I was a little bolder.
‘You understand, Herr Obersturmbannführer, that I am first a scientist?’ I told him humbly. ‘You know, of course, that I am among other things an engineer. Before my arrest I submitted certain plans to Reichsmarschall Göring.’
‘Those ideas are what brought you here, Professor Gallibasta.’ Wolfowitz frowned. ‘You wish to serve the Reich. We are here to be served! We are interested in your designs, especially your one-man airship, what you rather fancifully call your flying infantryman. We would develop the idea for observational purposes, equipping the flyer with a radio. We will help you in any way you need. You now have a special rank, a new number. You are an F prefix, which means you are the Führer’s prisoner. Only our leader can have you moved from here. You will take your orders directly from his office. You will be further rewarded if your work significantly helps the Reich.’
‘I am honoured,’ I said. He dismissed me.
Everyone at the Institute was equally well treated. We had an opportunity to redeem ourselves, some chance of eventually regaining our former lives. If we did well we could look forward to status, honour and freedom in the community. I had the use of a fully equipped drawing office staffed by highly skilled men and women. Anything I needed was requisitioned for me. My old drawings, the ones I had sent to Göring, were brought in to remind me of my original ideas so that I could prepare a practical design for my one-man airship.
My men and women would rise into the air like spiralling smoke. They would fly like birds between golden cities travelling the skies in orbit above our abandoned globe.
The Institute was a dream, not a positive experience of the real world but at least a temporary release from the nightmare. It offered hope. It returned a future. I laboured hard and swiftly, knowing if one idea were successful I would be allowed to work on others. Always uniformed SS came and went, reminding me that I was F2106 and could be returned to Dachau or worse at any moment. This meant that I kept obsessively to the rules. The facility had many workrooms and sheds I was never allowed to see, just as other inmates were not permitted access to me or my designs. I saw them in the canteen, but only the minimum communication was permitted us. I had a closer relationship with my radio, which broadcast the German programme, chiefly consisting of light classical music and some news broadcasts which kept me apprised of the nationalist struggle against the republicans in Spain and the achievements of Hitler and the Nazi Party in rebuilding a modern homeland.
The only people I talked to at length were the SS and technicians who came to learn how to build the first prototype of what we were calling my LWIX, the hydrogen-filled wing-shaped one-man airship which within months sat tethered in her hangar waiting to be tested. The ship’s construction had gone rapidly, for it was a fundamentally simple design. I was very proud of her. The harness below the wing held a small but powerful engine, the aerofoils and the airscrew. Suspended from the wing in a mixture of canvas and plywood, the pilot would be buckled in, using various instruments together with his own arms, legs and feet to steer the little vessel through the air. We called her the Luftgeist. She could glide silently through the clouds undetected once her engine was switched off. Then, when necessary, she could become a darting hawk, attaining a height of over five thousand feet. Hovering above a desired location, the pilot, by means of a radio apparatus attached to his flying suit and helmet, also integral parts of the machine’s design, could send messages back to base. I had originally planned for her to be armed, but for the moment the Führer wished only to see a non-combative version.
In the hangar I was able to demonstrate the machine to visiting groups of air staff. Surprisingly respectful, they often called me ‘Herr Professor’ and asked insightful questions. Some were particularly interested in the power/weight ratio, wondering how she would behave in high winds. I believed her light motor, the latest Heinkel could produce for us, was more than capable of propelling her against anything but the most powerful hurricane. Clearly my ship would be better able to perform in conditions where high winds rarely prevailed, such as the European theatre.
I began at last to emerge from the nightmare. Even the SS, impressed by what the air generals had to say, subtly changed their attitude towards me. The Luftgeist was certainly a good-looking machine. Her silver wing-shaped airbag was shaped like an aerofoil suspending an empty atmosphere suit capable of protecting the pilot against the worst weather conditions. Swinging from the ceiling of the hangar my Luftgeist resembled nothing so much as a gigantic moth.
She was ready for her tests.
The morning of 5 May 1937 I was disturbed at my shaving by a knock on my cell door. Behind his sallow adjutant stood Obersturmbannführer Wolfowitz. He was almost cheerful, waving a piece of paper. ‘Good news, F2106. We have been given clearance. The Air Ministry is ready to try our Luftgeist out!’
My soul, repressed for so long, began to come to life again. ’Where are we going, sir?’ I expected him to name a nearby airfield.
‘I must stay here with my duties. But you, F2106, are privileged to be going at once to Burgos by special train. The Führer wishes the Luftgeist, which does not officially exist, to have immediate trials in the Spanish arena. A matter of secrecy. We do not want the world to know too much about Germany’s business. Your great moment is almost here. I envy you. You will have a chance to meet those filthy Reds at first hand!’
FIFTY-FIVE
I think we first met Moorcock in 1965. We had been to see Mrs Cornelius’s children in their pantomime for Holland Park Comprehensive. Mr Auchinek the impresario convinced the school to revive a harlequinade from the turn of the century. The show was very colourfuclass="underline" faded golds, scarlets, deep blues and greens, with plenty of stage tricks and people in big heads. I supplied the old costumes. I bought them in Hastings as bankrupt stock. Auchinek was in love with Mrs Cornelius and so he put all three of her offspring into starring roles. Jerry played Pierrot, Frank was Harlequin and Catherine was Colombine. We expected them to go on to successful stage careers in those days. Even Miss Brunner thought Jerry would be the next Dick Bogarde.