Wig Betrayed Read Free Page A

as the
rastplatz,
as was usual in Germany, possessed a large parking area. The accident occurred when they departed: they drove the APC back onto the main road and allegedly into the path of an oncoming BMW. This was driven by a Doctor Pridwin, the Head of Medical Services at Helmstadt Garrison, a civilian employed on behalf of the Ministry of Defence.
    The prosecution’s case was that the tank had been recklessly driven onto the main road and no proper check had been made to see whether there was any oncoming traffic. The defence was that the two soldiers had, in fact, checked the road but the car was some distance away and it had simply driven on, colliding with the rear of the tank. Dr. Pridwin had been thrown clear but the two women who accompanied him had died instantly. In his witness statement, he said that he had simply been driving at a normal speed of 100 km/h along the road when the tank, without warning, swung out into his path. He was unable to take avoiding action.
    The two soldiers, one a corporal who was the commander of the tank, and the driver, a private, were charged with causing death by dangerous driving. They were to be represented by separate counsel at trial. My perusal of the papers was interrupted by Margery, our formidable registrar, who ran our German office in the same way that her sergeant major husband ran his parade ground.
    â€œJudge Courtley, someone’s here to see you: Private Beet. He will be driving you up to Mafeking Barracks, Helmstedt, on Monday and will remain with you throughout. I’ve also booked you into a local hotel, the Hof Buscher.”
    â€˜
At least I shall see a bit of the real Germany, at last,
’
I thought.
    Then I espied a nervous young man standing behind her.
    â€œNumber 7990278 Beet, sir, Private, sir!” stammered this figure.
    â€œAh, all right, Private Beet. We’ll set off first thing at nine o’clock in the morning. I take it that you know the way?”
    â€œThink so, sir. Only been in Germany for two weeks but my corporal’s given me a brief.”
    â€œCan’t miss Helmstedt, young man,” Margery barked. “From Dusseldorf, it’s straight up the
Autobahn Zwei
and you have all day to get there. The case starts on Tuesday, ten hundred hours sharp.”
    My first journey gave me time to reflect on my new life. Living in Germany had seemed to be such a great adventure. After all, was it not a country of mountains, cities and towns with antique timber buildings, displaying their date of construction and name of original owner in Gothic script? That was the way it was described in the brochures but, of course, the reality was somewhat different, as I should have realized. Most of the country was as flat as a pancake, filled with industrial sites or dark pine forests and hurtling up the autobahn
was no more exciting than travelling up the M1.
    Being early March, the weather was reasonably mild. After crossing the Rhine at one of its broadest points at Dusseldorf, I was grateful for the books which I had brought with me for my sojourn away from home and the monotony of the journey soon sent me to sleep…

Three
    Most of the journey posed no real problem. After leaving Dusseldorf, we continued up the
Autobahn Zwei
which runs right across Germany from roughly west to east. However, fog began to descend as we approached Helmstedt and we were obliged to slow down to a crawl. Roadworks loomed ahead and we were directed off the motorway onto a side road. With the fog swirling around the car, all I could discern as we trundled along was the utter blackness of the thick pine forest on either side. Periodically, Beet slowed down as if examining a road sign and we began to talk.
    I had already discovered during our stops for refreshments that Beet was an intelligent lad, anxious to get on, and as interested as I was in this new country.
    â€œFirst time out of Brockendorf for me as well as you, sir. Moving Land Rovers