Cold War

David gave in and sat down. Christian sat opposite him. “So, how can I help you?”

“Charlotte has probably told you that it looks as though we will be receiving compensation from the Americans for our medical evacuations out of Berlin, and we have also made progress in getting permission to base the aircraft at RAF stations. However, my British groundcrews refuse to live and work in Berlin under the blockade. Indeed, they might not receive permission to return to Berlin from the Allied authorities, even if they were willing to do so. In short, I’m looking for experienced aircraft mechanics already resident in Berlin.”

There was a moment of silence as Christian absorbed this. “Meaning you would be willing to employ former Luftwaffe aircraft mechanics?”

“Yes.”

To David’s intense disappointment, Christian did not respond with the enthusiasm he had expected. Instead, nothing but silence followed.

After several seconds, Charlotte shifted in her chair and burst in anxiously, “Surely you know someone, Christian? David would be able to pay in hard currency.” She looked to David for reassurance as she said this, and he nodded confirmation.

“That’s not the issue,” Christian told them. “I don’t doubt this would be a wonderful opportunity, but I flew single-engine fighters throughout the war. I don’t know any mechanics who serviced bombers.”

“Engines are engines,” David countered. “The Merlins that powered our Hurricanes and Spitfires also carried the Lancasters.”

“Merlins? Is that what your ambulance has?”

“No, Hercules VIs.”

Christian shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of them, and no German mechanic will know anything about them either.”

David had been so sure German mechanics were the solution to this particular problem, that this answer left him speechless and deflated.

“Christian, don’t you want to help?” Charlotte asked her cousin reproachfully.

He looked over at her surprised. “On the contrary. I would very much like to help but let me be frank. I don’t maintain close contact with Luftwaffe associations and networks because I’m viewed by most of them — or at least key elements in them — as a traitor. So, I don’t have a large network I can fall back on. There is one man who might be able to help, though. He was a first-class mechanic, and he had natural curiosity and an interest in new challenges. Then again, he was a Socialist in constant trouble for insubordination. After I became a POW I lost track of him. If anyone I know could help you it would be Axel Voigt, but I must be honest with you, Mr Goldman, I don’t even know if he survived the war, much less where he is now.”

“I understand,” David answered numbly, telling himself that operating from Berlin was not essential. If they had to, they’d manage to fly in from Bizonia. Alternatively, he could try putting an advertisement in a newspaper. He hesitated to do that, however, because the Luftwaffe had been the branch of Germany’s military most widely infected by Nazi ideology, and David didn’t want Nazis working for his company. Because Christian was so anti-Nazi himself, he’d presumed that Christian would not recommend anyone ideologically unsuitable. He’d failed to anticipate the problem Christian had indicated: because of his brother’s prominent treason, he was himself persona non grata in Luftwaffe circles. To Christian, David simply said, “I would appreciate it if you would try to get in touch with this man Voigt.”

“Yes, of course.”