by Pirate Irwin
“So he was a traitor?” asked Sebastian brutally.
“No, he wasn’t, he was just doing what he felt was best. Misguided, perhaps, but not a traitor, never!” replied von Schlabrendorff forcefully.
“Like me then?” chirped Sebastian.
Von Schlabrendirff frowned.
“How so?” he asked.
“Well, Henning wished for a Communist victory and made a plan as to how that would be accomplished, while I, misguidedly as I would concede, believed the best way of beating the Bolsheviks was to sign up to the German army. Wouldn’t you see the parallels?” he asked sarcastically.
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied von Schlabrendorff in a not altogether convincing tone.
“So, based on that logic, would you then call me a traitor?” asked Sebastian, convinced he had trapped the witness. Von Schlabrendorff tapped his fingers impatiently on the ledge of the box, rubbed his nose and again mopped his forehead.
“No. Based on that, how can I condemn my lifelong friend and comrade in arms, no matter how much it pains me to place you in the same bracket. No, Murat, you are not a traitor,” he sighed, while the rest of the courtroom went into uproar and it took the judge several loud bangs of his gavel to bring them to order.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sebastian returned home that night happier than he had been for a long time, delighted that he had wrung out of von Schlabrendorff his admission that he was not a traitor, however reluctantly it had been given, and even if he was a German he had not cut a sorry or bitter figure like the previous witnesses called by Steiner. He did not know what had given him more pleasure, the nod of appreciation from von Schlabrendorff as he passed him in the dock on his way out, or the look of fury on Steiner’s face at the conclusion of the cross examination. Whatever, Sebastian felt it was time to celebrate and cracked open a bottle of champagne, though he wished he had someone to join him in his self-congratulatory party. As if he had been answered by divine intervention, his bell rang and setting down the bottle he made his way to the door – having given the butler and the maid the night off – and there standing on the doorstep were Darbyshire and Smithers with two other men, who were shrouded in darkness.
“Hallo, Sebastian. We’ve got your witnesses for you,” smiled Darbyshire, and out of the darkness emerged Lieutenant Oates and Private Michael Herzog.
The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different at Steiner’s household. He had used up his last witness and he had lost that round, of that he was sure, though whether the stigma of wearing German uniform would still outweigh Sebastian’s evident collaboration with the resistance and the admission by von Schlabrendorff was still very much open. However, he was in a foul mood as he saw his reputation so carefully built up during the difficult years disappearing into mediocrity and any hopes of a quick rise to judge and then Law Lord could be discounted. Mirabelle had briefly passed through into his study to ask him what he would like for dinner but he had dismissed her without a word, just one of his majestic waves of the hand as he contemplated how he was going to handle Sebastian when he came to give evidence, for surely that was the crux of the case now. He had to grudgingly concede that the cross examination of Von Schlabrendorff had been a masterpiece and worthy of him at his peak. Perhaps, Steiner surmised, he really was too close to the case and it would have been wiser to stay out of it, but then his long-avowed intention to avenge his betrayal had got the better of him. In any case, he reflected, it is too late now; I have to carry on and I still have a better than even money chance to bring him down. For he may now slide into his normal persona of being too confident and arrogant and then he will open himself up for the kill. At that Steiner felt a whole lot better and thought he might go out and dine at his club before seeking out one of those high class hookers that frequented Claridges bar and one of whom, Ellen Braskowitz, he had a particular penchant for because of her favouring sado-masochistic sex, leather masks and whips – even the thought of it made him hard and ready to come.
Sebastian called Herzog to the witness box the next morning and noticed that Steiner looked rather the worse for wear, he had black bags under his eyes and what looked like whip marks on his cheeks – but he thought it might just be the shadowy light falling on his foe. There was little for Herzog to divulge, really, only how kind and discreet Sebastian had been in their days on the front together and that they had kept each other company, united in their own guilty secrets. Sebastian had spent a most enjoyable night with his friends, learning from Herzog that of the original company only 10 had made it back to Germany alive, including unsurprisingly the ever-resourceful Berthold.
They had ended up under General Walter Wenck’s command in the 12th Army, though it hardly resembled such a grand title. He recalled how he had been used as a radio operator and the frequent calls from Berlin by the mad dictator that Wenck should come to his rescue and the dismissive way his commanding officer had replied, sometimes unprintable, and how he had smiled wearily at Herzog and declared the only people he was going to save were the poor wretches under his command. In the end, one of the most daring and brave manoeuvres of the war turned into a success, albeit a retreat, as Wenck dragged and cajoled the majority of his troops to the side where the Americans controlled and saved his men from certain death at the hands of the Soviets. Herzog remembered how the General had toasted his staff and how he had confessed to him that his faithful radio man was in fact a Jew, to which Wenck had replied he would rather have saved a Jew than a mad Austrian. All this Herzog related, emphasizing that the greatest kindnesses he had received throughout the war had been from this Engländer and his hero of a General, who had proved that not all German generals were indoctrinated by ideology.
Steiner rose rather laboriously to his feet, his back aching from the battering it had taken the night before, as Ellen had been in enthusiastic form to put it mildly and he had not been able to persuade her to release him till dawn rose. Hence he was not feeling at his most agile, mentally or physically and he had also to cope with returning to Mirabelle that night to apologize for slapping her on his return to the house at seven o’clock in the morning, though he was certain she was no nun as well.
“So, Mr Herzog, you say the defendant was understanding of your guilty conscience?”
“He was, yes, sir.”
“Do you think that was more to do with how he felt about his own actions in switching sides or do you think his feelings for you were genuine?”
“I don’t know if I am qualified to answer such a question as I am a cameraman and not a psychiatrist,” he replied politely, though Steiner misinterpreted his tone and with his injuries from the evening’s entertainment it produced a lethal cocktail – for the prosecuting counsel at least.
“Don’t be so tart in your responses,” he said sharply, drawing a stern look from Mainwaring.
“Isn’t it true that you are just speaking up for the defendant because you feel enormous guilt at betraying your family and your fellow Jews by fighting for their oppressors?” he asked in a savage tone.
Herzog looked startled at this brutal attack on him and saw himself once again having to explain away why he had survived and none of his family, plus the five other million or so Jews who had perished, while he fought vainly on the Eastern Front.
“What would you have done in my place, sir?” he asked plaintively.
“Just answer the question, please,” said Steiner coldly.
“Why should I? I am not on trial. As far as I am concerned, I have already answered that question to the person it counts most, myself,” he replied determinedly.
“Why should you? Because, you brazen little coward, it is you in the witness box and I believe the court, nay, your fellow Jews, deserve just such an explanation as to why while they choked.to death or were stripped naked and raped and then burnt to death, you survived, wearing the uniform of the executioner,” screamed Steiner.
Sebastian couldn’t believe the savagery of the onslaught on H
erzog and sprang to his defence. “M’Lud, this is not questioning, this is sheer brutal character assassination of a witness, who has already lived through hell as I can testify to and he is being dragged through it again by a man – a Jew as well – who made his fortune while others were dying for their country,” stormed Sebastian.
“There is one word missing from your intervention, Mr Stuart,” said Mainwaring, frowning at Sebastian.
“What’s that?” asked a confused Sebastian.
“Well, I know you are not a professional barrister, Stuart, but you have used the word occasionally in this court. Let me help you, it begins with O,” smiled Mainwaring.
“Ah yes, of course. I apologize to the court. Objection, your honour,” laughed Sebastian.
“Sustained. And let me tell the prosecuting counsel that any repeat of such outrageous behaviour in my court and he will face the severest consequences. This witness is not on trial. As far as I am aware, he has been open and honest about how he felt about fighting for such a diabolical regime and the guilt he expressed to the defendant during their time in the company. I do not see how your line of questioning is going to enlighten us any more and your tone will do nothing but upset this witness, who has come forward of his own volition,” said Mainwaring in a stern tone.
Steiner winced at this telling off and allied to his sore face and back he wished this day to come to a sudden close. However he could not let such a matter rest.
“Very well, M’lud. Now, Herzog, did you and the defendant ever participate in the mass killing or executions of Jews or partisans?”
Herzog bit his bottom lip nervously, like he had done the day he had confessed to Sebastian that he was Jewish and how could he cope with such a burden.
“The defendant, no,” he stammered.
Steiner raised his eyes from his papers and waited for the second part of the response. There was none forthcoming so he pressed him again, and the previously large presence of a man filling the witness box seemed to have degenerated into a shrivelled prune.
‘I did, yes,” he sobbed.
“How many did you shoot?” Sebastian tried to intervene but Mainwaring overruled him and the whole court went deathly quiet, waiting for the response.
“Thirty. But I didn’t shoot them all on my own, there were others there, but I just lost control and it was as if I could see they knew I was Jewish and I had to wipe that accusatory look off their faces,” he stammered, tears streaming down his face in large droplets, staining his fawn-coloured suit. His hands were shaking so much he could not raise his kerchief to his eyes to stem the flow.
“How very Macbeth,” commented Steiner acidly. “Now, returning to the defendant. Did you ever witness any acts of brutality perpetrated by him? Obviously I accept that he never or at least wasn’t present when you decided to do your own bit for the eradication of Jewry. But were there any other instances of him being involved in summary executions or anything else that would be classed as a war crime?” asked Steiner, his physical pain ebbing away as he regained the initiative.
Sebastian leant forward, wondering whether Herzog had been there when he had finished off the wounded Soviets after the savage rebuke from the then company commander, whose very ordinariness had led him to forget his name.
“Yes,” answered Herzog, now a broken man and ready for the taking, surmised Sebastian, who muttered “Christ” as soon as he heard the response.
“What were the circumstances?” asked Steiner gently.
“He executed 15 Soviet prisoners.”
“Fifteen! What led him to do this?”
“They were wounded, some seriously, some less so. However, Lieutenant Murat wanted to send them back to the field hospital but his superior ordered him to dispatch them immediately,” said Herzog quietly.
“And did he?”
“Yes, but with great reluctance,” replied Herzog.
“I’m sure his victims bore that as some consolation on their way to heaven,” sneered Steiner sarcastically as he sat down, which drew appreciative looks and some laughs from the jurors.
Oates took the stand the next morning, which Sebastian was relieved about, as he had been shattered by the way Herzog had been so skilfully turned by Steiner and perhaps had contributed the decisive blow to his case. He had barely slept, taking a few phone calls from amongst others Mirabelle, who, her voice quaking, had asked him to deny the testimony, to which he had replied rather weakly that lots of awful things took place during war and he was sure there were similar tales from the Allies side. The line had gone dead, leaving Sebastian talking to himself, and at that point he decided to take it off the hook but it had done little to ease his stress and he spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. He was barely able to focus on what he should ask Oates the next day. His mind kept flitting back to the tragic sight of Herzog sobbing ceaselessly in the witness box and how he had to be escorted by two court attendants out of the room, turning briefly to Sebastian to beg forgiveness, to which the defendant had performed the extraordinary gesture of kissing his hand and planting it on his former comrade’s forehead drawing some admiring glances from the assembled crowd.
Having taken Oates through the boring routine of their life in the camp and the forming of their escape committee, he turned to the dramatic events surrounding their planned escape. Fortunately for Sebastian, Oates cut an impressive figure, beautifully dressed in a chalk stripe suit, adorned by a silk kerchief, well-cut shirt and finely polished shoes. The former intelligence officer had walked to the box aided by his cane, the sheen of the silver top practically blinding the jury as its reflection bounced off the windows, through which the autumnal sun poured. Sebastian surmised that having a half-blind and half-crippled war hero speaking in his defence might redress some of the catastrophic damage done by Herzog, though he had been mightily surprised to see him on his doorstep, having thought he was dead along with the others. Oates stepped up to the plate for Sebastian in every way as he admitted he had been wrong in believing he had betrayed them and that it had only been Johns’s testimony, which finally persuaded him of his innocence. Sebastian thanked him and handed him over to Steiner for the final cross examination of this part of the trial.
Adam sprung to his feet with newly found vigour, boosted immeasurably by his masterful destruction of Herzog, ready to perform a similar task on the one-eyed veteran standing rigidly to attention in the box.
“So, Captain Oates, why has it taken you so long to come forward?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you say you were only convinced of the defendant’s innocence, and I must emphasise innocent in only as far as betraying you and your fellow escapees and not in the wider context of the charges, once you heard Johns’s testimony, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, I would like you to explain, and I am sure the court would like to be enlightened too, as to why during all the time the defendant was a Minister you did not come forward with your accusation that he had betrayed you. Surely you couldn’t have thought at the time that Sebastian Stuart was fit for such an office, if as you believed he had been more a traitor than a hero during the time you knew him in the war. Isn’t that so?”
“Logically I would say you are correct in your reasoning, but to be honest, I was the only survivor that I knew of still alive at the end of the war and the events that day were so etched in my memory I wanted to try and rid myself of them. So in the first place I returned briefly to England and settled my affairs before emigrating to South Africa,” he replied gently.
“Understandable, I suppose. However, I still don’t see why you have now come forward if you wanted to exorcise all memories of what must have been a truly nightmarish experience. You could just as easily have avoided coming to England, at enormous expense and time to you, to speak up on behalf of somebody that is on trial for treason, and for which his part in your scrape with death is clouded in mystery. Please can you elaborate on why yo
u have changed your tune in a period of 12 years?” asked Steiner.
Oates sighed with exasperation. “It has been long enough to erase some of those memories and I am not one for allowing an innocent man be wrongly found guilty for some crime he did not commit. I always quite liked Sebastian; the others didn’t go for him in a big way, but I admired his refusal to be swayed along by the majority and instead put up a stiff defence of the argument that what they or rather we were doing was unwise. He was also, may I add, the one person who did not want Macready and the guard to be dispatched, whereas myself, to my utter shame, went along with the prevailing view that Johns must be right about them and they had to be got rid of,” he said sadly.
Steiner realized that this was not to be a Herzog job but if he could just cast some doubt on the witness’s character it would counterbalance the good impression he had given of Sebastian. He had one hidden card up his sleeve, which he was going to play now and pave the way for the grand denouement between himself and Sebastian.
“What did you do in South Africa, Captain Oates?”
“I’m retired and live on my disability army pension,” he replied calmly.
“That was not the question, with due respect. What did you do when you emigrated to South Africa?”
“I joined the South Africa intelligence service, obviously I was more in the backroom than on active duty, given my wartime injuries,” he grinned bitterly.
“Quite. And what did these backroom duties entail?”