Tomorrow she would start her journey to Finland and prepare for a happy future. First, there was a pressing engagement. She needed to return to the court to hear the conclusion of Gerhardt Eicke’s case.
Chapter 29
Death and New Life
Next morning Hilda sat in the gallery of the vast arena as the prosecution began the closing statements. She could tell from the summary that her evidence had concurred with that of other witnesses who had testified before and after her.
The defence counsel’s summary was less encouraging. Much was made of Hilda’s work for the Reich and little of the contribution she had made to the Allies’ cause. Inevitably, the covert training at Baden-Baden was highlighted, and she was described as a German spy beyond doubt. It was also suggested that she should have been in the dock and not the witness box. She gulped at hearing that part of Eicke’s defence. She could not deny any of it; yet in truth, the information she had already supplied to the Reich regarding the airfields had hardly helped their cause. Then, of course, came the universal defence: Eicke claimed he was acting under duress, working from instructions issued by Heydrich himself. How could he not do, as he was told? After all, he was a happily married man, not a heartless beast; he could not put his family at risk.
The defence counsel concluded by describing Hilda as an unreliable witness, a woman with a grudge. A German widow, or more accurately a Scottish widow, with an axe to grind. It was no more than she had expected. The stakes were high for his client, and attacking the prosecution witnesses was any legal representative’s duty. On the plus side, however, Eicke might still have believed she was an imposter, but his counsel did not and Hilda did not believe anyone else in that court that day did either.
Oh how she wished to break the silence regarding her translation duties at Bletchley Park, but that information remained strictly confidential. It did not seem fair.
The closing statements lasted until midday. Hilda could not claim she took in every word; her mind kept wandering down darker alleys. First, she imagined the fear in Renate’s eyes when she was forced out from her home. How she must have starved and been abused as they herded her towards the gates of hell, through which she would never return.
Next, she saw the rifle being loaded by some young Russian sharpshooter. A soldier who was only doing what was asked of him to defend his country. In her mind’s eye, she watched the bullet’s trajectory and saw its death trail to where Otto stood.
Regarding Karl, however, she would never know the truth. Did he invite death in the heat of the desert, or was he obeying orders too? She saw him step forward into the path of a mine, which, in all probability, had been laid by his own troops earlier in the conflict. She set that aside; she had no wish to pursue the many unfathomable questions.
Hilda was not expecting the court to break for lunch when it did. That was when she realised the defence had concluded its closing statements and the jury of judges had retired to finally reach their verdict.
She took a walk during the lunch hour to get some fresh air and found that others had the same idea. No one spoke. The gravity of all the Nuremberg trial cases was such that the court observers felt it incumbent upon them to maintain a certain decorum. That was the least they could do.
Everyone walked smartly back to the gallery in good time to ensure they had a clear view of the afternoon’s proceedings. Not an empty seat could be found and those standing were asked to leave. There were far more men than women, and Hilda could not tell what nationalities were there. Some were obviously court-appointed journalists who continued to take shorthand notes of every utterance for their readership and for the State record. Photographers had descended during the recess to take photos of the courthouse from all angles, the pictures being intended for front page coverage the following morning at breakfast time. It was rather odd to think that her evidence might be read over marmalade and toast.
Many of the women observers were German. They all had that gaunt look of the dispossessed and defeated, while their faces seemed to ask why? Some were there to witness the end of the Third Reich and would not have attended otherwise. Why had the war end this way, they seemed to be asking. Why had all these atrocities been carried out in the name of ordinary German citizens? It was a heavy burden to bear, but perhaps it was a necessary healing process in order to prepare for a new era of peace in the land. At that moment however, they looked even more distressed than the accused, the latter maintaining stoic countenances that belied the gravity of their situations.
It was almost five minutes after three when the judges returned. The chairman of the judges asked Eicke to stand and the court fell silent.
The President of the Court cleared his voice.
‘The International Court of Justice finds you, Gerhardt Eicke, guilty of crimes against humanity. You are guilty in respect of murder, and complicity in the mass murder of Jews from Hamburg and elsewhere in the State of Holstein. The court sentences you to death by hanging. The court is adjourned.’
Hilda could not raise a smile at the verdict. It was inappropriate. Eicke looked up towards her with a smirk, and shook his head. He seemed ill prepared for this, his moment. She wondered if she should go to his cell and make her peace with him. Then she thought of Otto, and of Renate and Karl, and the millions of Jews who had died at this man’s hand. What would they have thought? Even if Eicke broke down in tears as he returned to his cell, he would deserve no compassion. He did not understand the words of truth.
Just before the prosecutor’s office closed, she went to make arrangements to leave Nuremberg that afternoon. She asked to be flown to Helsinki and did not have to wait long for an answer. Alas, there were no planes going to Finland at that particular time but they would fly her back to England.
That night she telephoned Francis to let him know of the satisfactory end to the trial. The line was both crackly and subject to intermittent garbling; she seemed to answer his question after the next one had been asked.
‘Darling, this is not a good line. I will get to Finland from London. I’ll do that as soon as I can. Do take care, my dear.’
‘Hilda, let me know when you will fly out from London. I need to know the flight number,’ he said.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘I said why? There will be only one flight from London.’
‘Yes, maybe. But I’ll be there, I assure you.’
The line faded again. ‘I send my love to you… Do you hear me?’
‘…What was that about love?’ she asked.
‘I’ve lots to give,’ he said but she never heard him. The line was dead.
She replaced the handset. What an enigmatic phone call. However, it was good to hear his voice again, and it had lifted her spirits. She had been seeking a purpose in life, and now she had found it.
When she returned to MI6, Dynes was eager to hear how the trial had gone. He was delighted with the outcome.
‘All in all a just verdict,’ she told him, ‘but I have one bitter regret.’
‘What’s that, Hilda?’
‘That set of coordinates I sent to Berlin will always be on my conscience.’ Dynes listened solemnly but offered no response for a few moments. He paced the room tapping his pen on the side of his forehead. Then he said, ‘You must be realistic, Hilda. The Athenia was one ship. If you had shown your cards too late, the U-boats would have gone on to sink many more. However, your timing was right. You were in a position to trap the Yanks when the evidence was there. Of that, I and the American authorities are certain.’