A Man Without Breath

Of course I could perhaps have said one thing to disrupt my trial, although I thought it would actually do very little to save my life. My unsubstantiated allegation – the tape was now destroyed, of course – that Adolf Hitler had paid a substantial bribe in return for Von Kluge’s loyalty was hardly likely to endear me to my judge, and the chances were very strong that he would have ordered my immediate execution anyway; especially as there also remained his probable involvement in the murders of the two signalsmen from the castle who might have overheard his conversation with the leader. Surely this was the very thing he was in a hurry to cover up. Would my mentioning any of this in court actually change anything? Who among the Prussian knights and barons of the Wehrmacht would believe a peasant like me, instead of a fellow aristocrat?

No, Judge Conrad was right. My only real chance was to admit a terrible mistake – to throw myself on the mercy of the military court and to confess that while I had indeed shot Alok Dyakov, twice, I had not actually meant to kill him. That much was true, at least. And surely even a field marshal could not order the execution of a German officer for merely wounding a Russian Putzer. Rape and murder was one thing; a simple case of bodily harm on an Ivan was another.

But it was soon clear that I was wrong. In spite of my plea, Von Kluge still intended to hear all of the evidence, which could only mean one thing: that he meant to hang me anyway, but needed to justify it with his Putzer’s evidence – the Russian’s story that I had actually meant to kill him.

Krivyenko, his left arm heavily bandaged and in a sling, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear, was, I have to say, a very convincing witness – as you might have expected of a man who was a major in the NKVD. From the way he talked, I had the strong impression that mine wasn’t the first show trial he had attended or given evidence in: he spoke with a show of probity that would have convinced the Inquisition. He even managed to look like he regretted having to tell the court how I had threatened and tortured him with one gunshot and then another. At one stage real tears rolled down his face as he told the court how he had genuinely feared for his life. Even I was convinced of my own guilt.

The Russian had almost finished giving his evidence when to my everlasting relief, the door at the back of the courtroom opened and Colonel von Gersdorff walked in. His entrance caused quite a stir, not because he was late but because he was accompanied by a small man in the uniform of a German admiral. Admirals were hardly common in that landlocked part of Russia. The man had white hair, a sailor’s ruddy complexion, bushy eyebrows and round shoulders. The only decoration on his rather shabby tunic was a first-class Iron Cross – as if that was really all that was needed. I guessed at once who it was, even if I didn’t recognize him myself. Von Kluge had no such problem, and he and the rest of the court stood up immediately, for the man was the head of the Abwehr after all – none other than Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. He himself was accompanied by two wire-haired dachshunds that stayed loyally at the heels of shoes that had seen better days.

‘Gentlemen, please, forgive this interruption,’ Canaris said quietly. He glanced around the room, which was now, to a man, standing at attention, and smiled gently. ‘Easy gentlemen, easy.’

The court relaxed. Everyone except Field Marshal von Kluge that is, who looked thoroughly bewildered by the arrival of Germany’s spymaster.

‘Wilhelm,’ stammered Von Kluge. ‘What a surprise. I wasn’t informed. No one – I had no idea that you were coming to Smolensk.’

‘Nor had I,’ said Canaris. ‘And to be quite frank with you, I nearly didn’t get here. My plane had to turn back to Minsk with engine trouble, and Colonel von Gersdorff here was obliged to come and fetch me in his car, which is a six-hundredkilometre round trip. But we made it, somehow. I can’t answer for the poor baron but I’m very pleased to be here.’

‘I’m fine, sir,’ said Von Gersdorff, and winked at me. ‘And after all, it’s a beautiful day.’

‘Yes, now that I’m here I’m very glad I came,’ continued Canaris. ‘For I can see that I’m not too late to play a useful part in these proceedings.’

‘You have the advantage of me, Wilhelm,’ said Von Kluge.

‘Nor for long, old fellow. Not for long.’ He pointed at a chair. ‘May I sit down?’

‘My dear Wilhelm, of course. Although if you have just travelled all that way by road then perhaps it would be better to adjourn, so that you may refresh yourself, after which you and I can talk in private.’

‘No, no.’ Canaris removed his naval officer’s cap, sat down and lit a small, pungent cigar. ‘And with all due respect, it’s not you I came to see, nor Colonel von Gersdorff, nor indeed this impudent fellow.’ Canaris pointed at me. ‘About whom I have heard a great deal during my journey.’