Any Survivors (2008) by Martin Freud Page A

the result that the muscles in his neck expanded and contracted like the bellows of an accordion. Then he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. It was on cheap lined paper, and he read out:
    Dear Mother, it is awful here, the air is foul, the food terrible, all this only so that the bigwigs can afford a bigger castle for their actress girlfriends and a newer Mercedes for themselves …
    He did not finish and started shouting at me: ‘Did you write this?’ At least I knew I had a mother.
    ‘No,’ I answered. ‘I'm not envious of those in power. They are perfectly entitled to their actress girlfriends and their castles, and if you don't believe me, you can check my handwriting. Here, I’ll give you a sample.’ This could have been a grave error but luckily it gave me the opportunity to get up and cross the room. When I first entered the room he had been ostentatiously looking in the other direction, and with me sitting down he would not have been able to see my Iron Cross because it was hidden from view under the table. Now his eyes clocked it. Because it's a black and white band, and it is not the done soldierly thing to wash or chemically clean it, even he could tell that my decoration was brand new. This made him stand up. After pocketing the miniature bayonet he pointed at me with his fat, now halfway clean fingers. ‘When was this fellow given the Iron Cross First Class?’
    ‘A few hours ago,’ the captain responded cheerfully. ‘The man is responsible for the torpedo that has made world history for the German navy.’
    The SS man was crushed. ‘You decorated this person,’ he repeated, ‘and you probably did not realise he was a political suspect. We have been watching him for months. The web was closing and now this!’
    ‘Military honours,’ my captain retorted with pride, ‘are not bestowed for political reliability.’
    ‘That's all very well,’ said the SS man, ‘but we will not win a war with such sentimentalities.’ He sat down again and I followed suit.
    For a few minutes no one spoke and I could hear the school's clock ticking. Then he started again, now antagonised and lacking passion: ‘You are already proven guilty. You did not even try to deny it and there is nothing for you to say because you have been under constant surveillance. I am unable to convict a newly decorated soldier, that would be a mistake and also distasteful. I'm not saying we have never executed a soldier with such an accolade, only normally there are at least a few years between decoration and justice. That means the army does not feel the lack of tact so strongly. I know you have committed treason but I do not feel I can put that into protocol. I would be grateful if you could help me to put together something credible I can account for. Your captain, whom I now understand better, has already tried to inform you and I will now finish the story with pleasure. I'm sure you know the facts better than we do but please do the honourable thing and explain to me the one point I am unable to understand. We know that the criminal came to visit you with a forged permit. When you were asked about the man, you said to let him through and that you were expecting him. He was with you for one hour. If he wanted to pick up something then surely he would have asked for someone else and then passed by your room so you could secretly hand it to him through a crack in the door. We know this method well but what can we prove? You sat together and discussed something quite complicated, that much we are certain of: a technical drawing and U-boat plans. Certainly your friend was a German sailor, the tattoos on the dead body leave no room for doubt. I'm not asking you what plans you received. You can even keep the money. I will not search your things. Just tell me one thing: where are the plans? Your friend is dead and there is no way you can compromise him. Just tell us what he did with the plans. The chauffeur you used