Assignment Gestapo (40 page)

3. In spreading gossip and false rumours the Accused has aided and abetted the enemies of the Third Reich and acted in such a manner as to undermine the morale of the German people.

‘I ask that the Accused be condemned to death in accordance with Article 5 of the Law for the Protection of the People and of the State dated 28th February, 1933; and in accordance with Article 80, Para. 2; Article 83, Paras. 2 and 3; and Article 91b, 73 Stbg.

‘Incitement to murder of the Führer carries the penalty of death by decapitation under Article 5 of the Law of 28th July, 1933.

‘The following documents are enclosed:

1. Confession of the Accused.

2. Voluntary Statements by three Witnesses:

(
a
) A Garrison cleaner, Frau K;

(
b
) Lt. P. of the Military Political Department;

(
c
) Gefreiter H. of the Political Service of Military Security.

‘The above-named witnesses will not be called to give evidence at the trial. Their Statements shall be destroyed as soon as judgement has been passed, in accordance with Article 14 of the State Security Bill.

‘The entire matter is classified GEKADOS (secret) and all documents pertaining to it shall be finally lodged with the RSHA, Prinz Albrecht Strasse 8, Berlin.

‘The preliminary investigation has been carried out by SD-Standartenführer Kriminalrat Paul Bielert.

(Sgd.)
F. WEYERSBERG
Prosecutor General.’

Lt. Ohlsen walked across to the window. He stared through the bars, through the grey unwashed panes of glass, through to the unimaginable freedom that lay beyond. Seeing it in print for the first time, that monstrous request that he should be beheaded, he found himself suddenly unable to face the reality. It must surely be a black joke, one of the Gestapo’s sick attempts at humour. At Torgau, he knew, it was frequently their pleasure to arrange for ten executions to be staged and only eight to be carried out. They worked on the not unreasonable assumption that by the time the last two men on the list had witnessed their companions’ heads rolling into the basket, they would be willing to go to any lengths of collaboration to avoid the same fate for themselves. It was small comfort, but all he could think of.

‘That same day a letter from the Wehrmacht Kommandantur in Hamburg was sent to the Kommandantur at Atlona:

‘Wehrmachtkommandantur, Hamburg

TOP SECRET

‘This correspondence must be read by two officers and then destroyed. Receipt must be confirmed by telephone.

‘Subject: Executions following Sentence of Death.

‘It is anticipated that sentence of death will tomorrow be passed on the following four soldiers:

(
a
) Infantry Oberleutnant Karl Heinz Berger of the 12th Grenadiers

(
b
) Lieutenant Bernt Viktor Ohlsen of the 27th Tank Regiment

(
c
) Oberfeldwebel Franz Gernerstadt of the 19th Artillery Regiment

(
d
) Gefreiter Paul Baum of the 3rd Alpine Regiment.

‘Two of the above-mentioned will suffer death by shooting, the 76th Infantry Regiment to provide two firing squads, which shall comprise two Feldwebels and twelve men. A medical officer shall be present at the executions.

‘The two other accused shall suffer death by decapitation, and the 76th Infantry Regiment is instructed to call the executioner Rüttger from Berlin to carry out the sentence, which shall take place in closed courtyard B of the Garrison prison.

‘A minister of religion shall be present at the request of the accused.

‘It is the responsibility’of the 76th Infantry Regiment to provide the necessary four coffins.

‘The bodies shall be buried in the special cemetery, Dept. 12/31.

(Sgd.) A.
ZIMMERMANN
Oberstleutnant.’

Lt. Ohlsen was not to know it, but arrangements for his execution had therefore been made well in advance, even before the trial had started, even before the court had passed sentence.

Humanitarianism was a quality unknown and unacknowledged in the Third Reich, whose code of behaviour was based firmly upon a multitude of paragraphs and sub-paragraphs, and upon nothing so flimsy as humanity. The least infringement of any one of these myriad paragraphs carried a rigid penalty, taking no account either of the situation or of the individual. The term ‘extenuating circumstances’ was altogether too vague for even a sub-sub-paragraph and was therefore not recognized.

The room where the trials took place was as usual filled from floor to ceiling. All the public benches were occupied by soldiers, who came not for vicarious thrills, nor through a wish to learn, nor out of academic interest, but purely and simply because they were ordered to be there. The witnessing of military trials was held by those in authority to have a beneficial effect upon servicemen.

Gefreiter Paul Baum of the 3rd Alpine Regiment, white and terrified, was waiting to hear his fate. The court had retired to deliberate.

The Prosecutor rearranged his papers, preparing for the next case. He had already lost interest in the trembling Gefreiter.

Counsel for the defence sat playing with his gold propelling pencil. With his elbows on the table, he was twisting the lead in and out, and his thoughts were far from the courtroom. He was thinking of his mistress; and not so much of his mistress but of the meal she had promised him that night. A meal of beef and sauerkraut. Mistresses were ten a penny these days, but meals of beef and sauerkraut were something of a luxury.

A female shorthand-writer sucked the end of her pen and thoughtfully regarded the ashen Gefreiter: a sad, squat, peasant type, with thick features and great red hands. She could never sleep with a man like that. Not if all the rest were killed, she couldn’t. She would sooner retain her virginity.

The peasant Gefreiter sat staring at the floor. He began to count the boards with his feet: condemned to death, not condemned; condemned to death, not condemned . . . He finished up with an unfavourable verdict and for a moment he grew stiff with terror. Just in time, he remembered that there were more floorboards beneath the bench. He felt cautiously with his feet. Three of them . . . that made ‘not condemned’. Feeling slightly happier he raised his head and looked across to the white-painted door in the corner of the court. Through that door would come the three judges when they had decided on his fate. He sat with his eyes screwed tightly shut, willing them to listen to the verdict of the floorboards.

The whole of the proceedings against this boy of eighteen had taken no longer than ten minutes. The President of the Court had asked a few laconic questions. The Prosecutor had spoken a great deal and Counsel for the Defence had contributed one speech of a few seconds’ duration:

‘Law and order must, of course, be maintained at whatever cost, without regard for human emotions or human frailty. Nevertheless, I would ask the Court to show indulgence and understanding towards my client in this difficult situation in which they find themselves.’

From the point of view of military ruling, the case against the Gefreiter was cut and dried. There were no loopholes, no grounds for argument, and Counsel for the Defence made his brief speech and sat down again to dream of his beef and sauerkraut.

The Gefreiter was growing too nervous to sit still. He shifted up and down the bench, clattering his feet, tearing at his finger nails, clearing his throat. Why didn’t they come? Why didn’t the white door open? How much longer would they keep him in suspense?

And then it occurred to him – if they were taking so long to decide, it could surely mean but one thing? They were unable to agree on his case. And where there was disagreement, there was hope. That was why there were three judges, to make sure that the decision did not rest solely upon the whims and fancies of one man. Each prisoner must be given a fair chance.

In their antechamber, the three judges sat back in their easy chairs drinking kirsch. Kriegsferichtsrat Burgholz was coming to the end of a very funny story. They had been exchanging stories ever since they had retired to discuss the case. But the case was hardly worth discussing and none of them had even bothered to listen to the evidence. Their verdict had been decided for them in advance.

After half a dozen glasses of kirsch they reluctantly decided to return to the courtroom.

The white door opened.

The Gefreiter began shaking violently. The crowded ranks of soldiers craned their heads for a better view.

The President and his two fellow judges seated themselves with due majesty, smelling strongly of kirsch, behind their horseshoe table. The President delivered their verdict: found Guilty of desertion and sentenced to death by shooting.

The Gefreiter swayed forward in a faint and was jerked upright by the rough grip of a court Feldwebel.

The President calmly continued his speech, rejecting in advance any appeal that might be made against either the verdict or the sentence. He then patted his brow with a perfumed handkerchief, threw a quick glance of indifference at the condemned man and turned to the next case.

Number 19 661/M.43H, the State versus Lt. Bernt Ohlsen. The Gefreiter was led away and Lt. Ohlsen was sent for. The stage management was good and the show was being run with a precision to be proud of.

Obergefreiter Stever threw open the door of Ohlsen’s cell and called him out.

‘You’re wanted!’

‘Why? Is it time?’ Lt. Ohlsen walked slowly to the door, feeling as if his stomach had suddenly collapsed.

‘That’s it,’ said Stever, cheerfully. ‘You’re on next. Room 7, under Oberkriegsferichtsrat Jackstadt. He’s a fat stinking pig, if ever there was one,’ he added, by way of a snippet of interesting information. ‘He’ll be one of the first to go when the wheel’s turned full circle.’

Stever pushed Ohlsen along the corridor and down the stairs, where he was taken in charge by two military policemen outside the entrance to the courtrooms. Stever walked away, humming. Lt. Ohlsen was handcuffed and marched off through the long tunnel that led to room number 7. On their way they encountered the Gefreiter, making the return journey. He was screaming and struggling, and it required three men to hold him in check.

‘Will you flaming pipe down and stop bawling?’ shouted one of his guards irascibly. He fetched him a cuff round the ear. ‘Who the devil d’you think you’re impressing, anyway? Certainly not me, I’ve seen far too much of it already. In any case, what the hell, you’ll probably be far better off where you’re going than stuck here with the rest of us.’

‘Just think,’ added another, twisting the Gefreiter’s arm behind his back, ‘little lord Jesus is probably all ready and waiting for you. Probably got a party going in your honour. What’s he going to think when you turn up in this state? Bloody ungrateful if you ask me!’

The boy suddenly caught sight of Lt. Ohlsen, and in spite of bis guards he fell to his knees and called out to him.

‘Lieutenant! Help me! They want me to die, they’re going to shoot me, I was only gone two days, I swear it was a mistake! It was a mistake, I didn’t mean it, oh God, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it! I’ll do anything they want me to, I’ll go to the Russian front, I’ll learn bow to fly a Stuka, I’ll go down in a U-boat, I’ll do anything, I swear I will! Oh, Mother of God,’ he babbled, tears making rivers down his cheeks, ‘Mother of God, help me, I don’t want to die! Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler, I’ll do anything they want me to, but let me live, please let me live!’

He lashed out with arms and legs and succeeded in throwing one of his guards to the floor. The other two closed in on him and he screamed penetratingly as he struggled.

‘I’m a good National Socialist! I was in the Hitler Youth! Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler, oh, God, help me!’

He disappeared beneath three heavy bodies. There was the unpleasant sound of a head being thumped against the stone floor, and when the guards picked themselves up and continued on their way through the tunnel they were dragging an unconscious Gefreiter behind them.

Lt. Ohlsen hesitated a moment and turned to watch.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ One of his own guards jabbed him in the back, pushing him forward. ‘The court’s not going to wait all day, you know.’

Lt. Ohlsen shrugged his shoulders.

‘Getting squeamish?’ jeered the guard.

‘Call it that if you like . . . but that was a child they were dragging along by his hair just now.’

‘So what? He was old enough to know what he was doing, wasn’t he? They let one off, they got to let them all off, and before you knew it the whole bleeding Army’d be up and away.’

‘I suppose so.’ Ohlsen turned to look gravely at one of the men. ‘Do you have any children of your own, Oberfeldwebel?’

‘Sure I got children of my own. I got four of ’em. Three’s in the Hitler Youth and one’s at the front SS regiment – Das Reich.’

‘I wonder how you’d feel if one day he was dragged out to be shot?’

The guard laughed.

‘That’s not very likely to happen. He’s an SS Untersturmführer. Safe as bleeding houses.’

‘Even houses fall down in war time.’

The man frowned.

‘What d’you mean by that remark, then?’

‘Whatever you like.’

‘And suppose I don’t like?’

Lt. Ohlsen shook his head, wearily.

‘Please yourself. All I know is, I can’t stand to see them drag kids like that away to the slaughter house.’

‘Well, if I was you, mate, I’d save all your pity for yourself, because the way things are going you’re likely to need it.’ He nodded significantly and tapped the holster of his pistol. ‘And no talking once we get in there, eh?’

Lt. Ohlsen took his place in the courtroom with an air of apparent indifference, and his trial began. Dr. Beckmann, the Prosecutor, turned to him to ask whether or not he intended to plead guilty to the charges brought against him.