Complete Works of Nevil Shute

by Nevil Shute

  Major Carter rose to his feet. “May it please your Lordship,” he said, “I have no witnesses with the exception of the accused man, Douglas Theodore Brent, who I propose to bring forward as a witness on his own behalf. I have no hesitation in proceeding in this way because I am convinced that he has nothing to conceal from cross-examination by my learned friend, and because by doing so I shall convince the court not only that no question of murder is involved but also that the deceased man met his death due solely to the circumstances of the war in which this country is engaged.”

  The Judge raised his eyebrows. “Very well.”

  Major Carter said: “Call Douglas Theodore Brent.”

  Duggie Brent was taken from the dock by the escort and put into the witness box; he was in uniform and bareheaded. He moved with the quick grace of perfectly developed muscles; his red curly hair was as untidy as ever. In spite of his serious position, he looked tolerably cheerful.

  He took his oath, and his counsel started to interrogate him. He gave his age as twenty-two, and the court heard that he had joined the Army at the age of seventeen, in 1938. After the preliminaries, his counsel said:

  “Now, Corporal Brent, when you were called up in 1939, were you fully trained?”

  “No, sir,” the corporal said. “I didn’t know hardly anything.”

  “I see. What weapon were you taught the use of first, after you were called up?”

  “The rifle, sir.”

  “Yes. Were you taught to shoot with it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What at?”

  “Targets, sir.”

  “What sort of targets?”

  “Pictures of men advancing in open order, or behind a tank, or that.”

  “Yes, pictures of men.” He paused. “Now after that, corporal, what did they teach you to do next?”

  “To attack with the bayonet, sir.”

  “Yes. What did you attack?”

  “Dummies, sir. Dummies representing enemy soldiers.”

  “Yes. What did you have to do with these dummies?”

  “Run at them, ‘n run them through with the bayonet, sir.”

  “As if you were trying to kill them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see. How long did this bayonet training go on for?”

  Brent hesitated. “About three months, I think — off and on.”

  “And at the end of it, were your instructors satisfied that you could kill a man easily and quickly with the bayonet?”

  “Yes, sir. I passed out top of my platoon.”

  The counsel said dryly: “They must have been very pleased with you. How old were you then?”

  “Eighteen, sir.”

  Mr Justice Lambourn raised his head. “Mr Carter, is all this relevant to your case?”

  The major said: “If I may have the indulgence of the court, my Lord, I shall show presently that all this is extremely relevant to the case that is before us.”

  The Judge leaned back in his chair. “Very well, Mr Carter.”

  The counsel said: “Now Corporal Brent, what did they teach you to do after that?”

  He took the corporal step by step through his whole military education, with a furtive eye upon the jury watching for the first signs of boredom. For twenty minutes he displayed to them the processes by which the corporal had been trained for four years to kill men, to kill them with grenade and flamethrower, to kill them with the Sten gun and with the beer bottle that went off. And when at last the jury began shuffling and coughing, he said:

  “Now, Corporal Brent, you volunteered for the Commandos, did you not?” Mr Constantine Paget sat up in sudden protest at the lead, and sank back again, watchful of his colleague. It was all wrong, but it would save time.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When was that?”

  “In June last year, sir.”

  “What unit were you sent to?”

  “Number Eleven Commando Training Unit, sir.”

  “What was the first thing you were taught to do there?”

  “Fight with knives, sir. You remember that — you took the course.”

  The major said smoothly: “Well, yes.”

  Mr Constantine Paget rose to his feet; he could not let the defence get away with that. “My Lord,” he said, “I really must protest. The actions of my learned friend in another place and in another capacity can have no bearing on this case.”

  Mr Justice Lambourn raised his head. “Mr Carter?”

  The counsel said: “My Lord, I did not seek the evidence to which my learned friend objects. But since the matter has been mentioned, it is right that you should know I serve the King in two capacities. I assist in the discovery of the King’s justice in these courts. In another capacity and in another place, by order of the King passed to me through his officers, I teach men such as Douglas Theodore Brent to kill other men with knives. I cannot dissociate my two responsibilities to the Monarch, and it is right that this court should know the full extent of the duties that I carry out for him. Moreover, if I may have your indulgence, I shall show my learned friend that this evidence is not irrelevant to the case before us, in its wider aspects.”

  There was a long, slow silence in the court. The jury sat tense and alert; there was no boredom now. At last, the Judge inclined his head, smiled faintly, and said: “Yes, Mr Carter?” Mr Constantine Paget shrugged his shoulders testily, and sat down again.

  The counsel turned to the prisoner. “Yes, I taught you to fight with knives. Were you taught to do this noisily or quietly, Corporal Brent?”

  “Quietly, sir.”

  “Yes. Were you taught to approach your victim from the front?”

  “No, sir. We was to creep up behind him in the dark and stick him in the back.”

  “How many ways of doing this were you taught?”

  “Three ways, sir.”

  The counsel said: “Yes. I taught you three different ways of creeping up behind a man in the darkness to stab him in the back.” There was dead silence in the court. “How old were you then, Corporal Brent?”

  “Twenty, sir.”

  The counsel with supreme artistry bent down and shuffled with his papers, searching for a document; there was a long, painful pause. The foreman of the jury whispered something to the man next to him. Mr Constantine Paget whispered to his junior: “Fancy letting him go on like this! Lambourn is just giving him the case.” Presently the major straightened up, a paper in his hand.

  “Now, Corporal Brent,” he said, “when you left that course, what course did you go on?”

  “Unarmed combat, sir.”

  “Yes, you went on to a course in unarmed combat. What did they teach you to do there?”

  “We was taught how to attack an armed man just with our hands and feet, sir.”

  “Yes. Were you taught to treat him gently?”

  “No, sir. We was taught how to kill him.”

  “Yes, you were taught how to kill a man with your bare hands, assisted by your feet. How did you get on, Corporal? What grade did you receive on passing out from this course?”

  “I was graded ‘satisfactory’, sir.”

  “Who signed your grading certificate?”

  “Captain Willis, sir.”

  The counsel held up the paper in his hand. “My Lord, I have this grading certificate here, signed by an officer who holds the King’s commission, stating that he has trained the prisoner in the form of attack that you have heard described, and that his progress was satisfactory. If my learned friend desires, I will call Captain Willis tomorrow morning to prove this document in evidence, but on account of his urgent military duties I am anxious to avoid that course. If my learned friend can consent to treat this document as if it had been proven, it will assist the progress of the war.”

  It was passed up to the Judge, who glanced at it and passed it down to the prosecution. Mr Constantine Paget glanced at it, and nodded. The Judge nodded to Major Carter, who turned to the prisoner, and said:
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  “Corporal Brent, did anybody ever teach you boxing?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Apart from this course of unarmed combat, did anybody ever teach you how to fight with your hands, at any time?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Was this course the only sort of instruction you have ever had in fighting without a weapon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, Corporal Brent, take your mind back to the night on which this man, Mr Seddon, met his death. When you attacked him on the pavement outside the public house, what were your feelings towards him?”

  The corporal hesitated. “I was kind of blind mad,” he said at last. “I just went for him.”

  “You were very angry with him?”

  “Yes, sir. I was.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Well, sir, on account of what he said about my young lady, and picking on me all evening, and then kicking me up the arse.”

  “Yes. Now after he kicked you, did you stop and think what you were going to do?”

  “No, sir. I just went for him.”

  “How did you go for him? What exactly did you do?”

  “I went at him the unarmed combat way, sir, like we had been taught.”

  “Yes, like you had been taught. What did you do first?’

  “Well, sir, he was facing me, so I gave him a kick in the — in the lower stomach, you might say.”

  “Yes, you kicked him in the lower stomach. What happened then?”

  “It worked all right, sir, and he bent double, so I could get behind him and get him up against the wall, with my elbow under his chin and my knee in his back.”

  “Yes. Where did you learn to do this?”

  “On the unarmed combat course, sir.”

  “Yes. Now when you applied the pressure with your elbow and your knees to pull his head back, what did you mean to do to him?”

  The corporal said: “Just give him a bit of a tweak, sir. That’s all I meant to do. Just hurt him a bit, for saying that about my girl.”

  “Yes, you just meant to hurt him slightly. In your instruction at the school of unarmed combat, had anybody told you when to stop the pressure if the man’s back was not to be broken?”

  “No, sir. We was taught to use all the strength we’d got and finish it.”

  “Did you use all your strength on this occasion?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you quite sure of that?’

  “Yes, sir. I could have pulled him a lot harder than what I did.”

  “Was he struggling?”

  “Yes, sir. He was a big chap and much stronger than me. I don’t think I’d have stood much of a chance against him in the ordinary way.”

  “Now, corporal, when you applied the moderate pressure that you did, what happened?”

  “Well, he kind of collapsed, sir, and stopped struggling, so I let him go. And he fell down.”

  “Were you surprised when he collapsed?”

  “Yes, sir. I couldn’t hardly credit it.”

  “Why were you surprised?”

  “Well, he was a great big chap, sir, about three stone heavier than me. And I wasn’t pressing very hard.”

  “After he fell down, what did you do next?”

  “I went to see if he was all right, and he was sort of breathing hard and groaning.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, sir. He didn’t say nothing that I heard.”

  “And what did you do then?”

  “I went off to a telephone box and rang up the pub, ‘n told them there was a man ill on the pavement outside.”

  The counsel turned to the Bench. “My Lord,” he said, “I have no more questions to ask the witness.”

  Mr Constantine Paget got briskly to his feet. He had little hope now of a murder verdict, and he had no intention of prolonging his cross-examination so that the case would stretch out and occupy another day; he was too busy a man for that. At the same time, he had his duties to perform, and one of those was to make quite sure that if this corporal got away with it he would at any rate remember the case. He said:

  “Now, Corporal Brent, when you kicked this man in the lower stomach, did you know that that was a very dangerous thing to do?”

  There was an uncertain pause. “I can’t rightly say,” the corporal said at last. “I didn’t think.”

  “You didn’t think! Do you know that such a kick could quite easily kill a man, in itself?”

  “Yes, sir. We was told that on the course.”

  “You were told that on the course. Did you know before this fight that such a kick could kill a man?”

  There was another pause.

  Mr Constantine Paget stared at the prisoner. “Will you please answer the question. Did you know before you had this fight that such a kick could kill a man?”

  “Yes I did. I told you.”

  “When you kicked him in this way, then, did you mean to kill this man?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t think.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, sir, he kicked me, and I kicked him.”

  Mr Constantine Paget shifted his papers. “There must have been an interval between these kicks, was there not?”

  Major Carter rose to his feet. “My Lord,” he said. The Judge said: “If you please, Mr Paget.”

  Mr Constantine Paget said testily: “I will repeat that question in another form. Corporal Brent, was there any interval of time between these kicks?”

  The corporal said hesitantly: “I don’t really know. I don’t think there was.”

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “I was sort of mad, I suppose.”

  “Corporal Brent, remembering that you are giving witness upon oath, do you really mean to tell the jury that when you kicked this man you had no idea of killing him?”

  “Yes, sir. I didn’t go to kill him.”

  Mr Constantine Paget wrapped his gown around him, and sat down. Major Carter got up.

  “Now Corporal Brent, when this man kicked you, did it hurt?”

  “Yes, sir. He got me right on the spine.”

  “Were you in pain, then, when you went for him?”

  “Yes, sir. It was hurting something cruel.”

  “Is that why you cannot remember quite what you did?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How long did this pain go on for?”

  “I dunno,” the corporal said. “I remember it was pretty fierce when I was telephoning.”

  Counsel glanced at the Judge. “My Lord, I have no more questions.”

  Mr Justice Lambourn glanced at the clock, and left his seat murmuring: “Till two o’clock,” and vanished through a door behind his chair. The clerk said in a loud voice: “The court is adjourned for one hour and ten minutes.”

  After the lunch adjournment the defending counsel addressed the court. He said:

  “My Lord and members of the jury, very few of the facts in this case are matters of dispute. We have heard evidence from a number of witnesses that there was a quarrel between these two men, and we have heard from the witness Phyllis Styles the words which the deceased last uttered, which brought the stinging repartee from the defendant, which caused the deceased man to launch the kick which was the first blow in this fight. If I may have the indulgence of the court for a very few moments I would like to speculate on what would have happened if this matter had occurred in peacetime, if Douglas Theodore Brent had never learned the terrible crafts that we have taught him to use against the enemy.”

  He glanced up at the Judge a little anxiously, to see if he would be allowed to go on with this line. The grey wig inclined slowly. He went on with more confidence.

  “I have little doubt in my own mind that a return blow would have been struck, and normal reasonable men might well agree that such a blow would have been merited. But I have little doubt also that it would have been an unskilled blow, a blow with the hands directed at the face or body. It would not have been the terr
ible blow that in fact occurred, the fierce, well directed kick at the lower stomach that disabled the deceased. We have heard evidence to the effect that the accused man has had no training whatsoever in the art of fighting other than that provided by the Army. In peacetime, any blow that he might have struck would have been a feeble blow, unlikely to maim or even seriously to inconvenience his powerful opponent, more than three stone heavier than himself.”

  He paused. “I want you to imagine that scene, quite a common one in certain parts of our great cities. There would no doubt have been a return blow from the deceased; there would have been a fight outside the public house that night. There might have been a black eye, a nose might have bled, and both parties might well have appeared before the magistrate next morning upon a charge of disturbing the peace. If that had happened the accused, who now stands before you in the dock upon a charge of murder, might have been fined five shillings, though in view of certain words of provocation which have been repeated in this court it might well be that he would have been convicted and bound over to keep the peace.”

  He looked up. “Members of the jury, I have done with speculation now; the matter did not take that course because at the time of Munich, at the age of seventeen, Douglas Theodore Brent joined the Territorial Army to submit himself to military discipline and training. This very young man volunteered and joined the Army before he was called up because he deemed it was his duty, being vigorous and strong, to serve his country in a time of need. The Army seems to have accepted him without any very great inquiry, and they proceeded to train him in the duties of a modern soldier.”

  He paused. “Well now,” he said at last, “we have heard in this court today something of these duties. All soldiers are trained to kill men quickly and efficiently; we cannot overlook that this is the very substance of war. Corporal Brent was trained as an infantry soldier; he then volunteered for Commando service, and later for service in the Parachute Regiment. In those units of the Army it is necessary to teach men certain ways of killing the enemy, certain deadly and ruthless ways of ending human life, which are beyond the education of the ordinary soldier. For many months, by the delegated order of the King executed through his officers, this immature young man has learned these deadly crafts.”

  He stood in silence for a minute, staring at the foreman of the jury, marshalling his thoughts; in the court there was a long, tense pause. “I speak of what I know,” he said quietly. “I have come here to defend this man for other reasons than because I want to take the fee marked on the brief. You have heard it stated in the evidence that I myself taught Douglas Theodore Brent to creep up in the darkness behind an unsuspecting man, and stab him with a knife, and kill him. I taught him to do that in three different ways, so that whatever method of approach was forced on him by circumstances he could kill his man immediately and without noise. I taught him more than that. With other instructors I endeavoured to secure that Douglas Theodore Brent, the man on trial before you, would act instinctively to choose the one of the three methods he was taught which would serve him best in his assault. We reasoned, we instructors, that in desperate circumstances he would have no time to stop and think. He must know his craft so well, the knife must be so familiar in his hand, that he would act instinctively in what he had to do, without the least hesitation, without any thought. Members of the jury, those are the principles that I have endeavoured to instil into the man before you.”