Title ~ The Trial
Pair ~ PrussiaxAustria
Rating ~ M
AN ~ None of this ever really happened. It's all made up in my head. But it is based on reality. During World War II, Austria was very, very enthusiastic about Germany's anti-Jewish laws. They enforced them with vigor. After the war, anti-Semitism burned for a long time. Austria helped many wanted war criminals escape Europe and make new lives in friendlier countries. It was rumored that the Vatican was also involved, though nothing has been proven.
I realize that this may be sensitive subject manner for some. You don't know anything about my family history. Please don't attack me for being a Nazi sympathizer or anything of the sort. Please keep my – and your – ethnicity out of your attacks on this little story of mine. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Raging hate mail is not.
Abschießen – Fire, as in shoot.
Doktor – Um... Doctor.
"Are you ready, sir?" Two men walked down a long hall, one in front of the other. The building around them was as cold and distant as the violet eyes of the man in the lead, glimmering under heartless steel-framed glasses. His hair was brown and softly waved, tapered around his ears and neck. He wore aristocracy like rich women wore diamonds – detached, as though it weren't a part of him, but still it glittered, an all-encompassing symbol to all observers that he was of the old order. He wore an old Austrian army uniform, it was tailored to fit and it did so very well, all sharp angles and smooth curves. The fabric was fine, but old, nearly threadbare in some places. He appeared only barely middle-aged, but the way he walked and the expression he bore were that of an old, old man, with the pressures of the world on his thin shoulders.
His accomplice, by contrast, exuded vibrant youth. Sapphire blue eyes and softly feathered blonde hair framed a bright and inquisitive face. He was tall and whippet thin, filled out with a champion sprinter's muscles. He could not be any older than twenty-two. In fact, however, he had just celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday, and still people were congratulating him on his apparently endless youthful good looks. The man followed behind at an unhurried pace, dressed in a suit of gray and a blue tie, his coat over his arm. It was he who had spoken, in Austrian-tinged German, his dark partner merely nodded coldly, as voiceless as he had been since young Alois picked him up from the airport. It did not discourage him from speaking though, as the endless doors seemed to pass by at a slow, leisurely pace.
"I think the trials today are going to be fascinating. I was told only a few unimportant prisoners would be presided over today. But still, they will all stand at Nuremburg too, won't they? So I wonder what the point of this is, really. Someone must have pulled some very high strings to have them released to us temporarily." He shrugged, his lovely blue eyes examining the stark building. "It is a shame they all have to go through this. They were doing such fine things for this country, the Nazis."
Only Austria could make the world believe that Beethoven was an Austrian and Hitler was a German.
Roderich actually laughed the first time he caught those words muttered on the streets of the French Quarter of Berlin. The speaker, an elderly German gentleman accompanying his wife, glanced over at him like he was a madman. A quick glimpse of the uniform adorning Roderich's slim frame was enough to put a mistrustful scowl on his face as he hurried his wife along into what once must have been a tailor shop, though now it was housing a few misplaced German families.
It was the aftereffect of the war, the swift and unexpected partition of Berlin allowed many Germans who would have preferred not to fall under Communist jurisdiction to flee to the West side. Where to put them all, well... That was the military's problem. As long as they weren't sent back, Roderich mused, they must have been willing even to sleep in the streets. But quickly it became apparent what was going on, and the wall was raised – and America's anger with it. 'It is for their own good', Ivan had insisted. Alfred's eyes had flashed in disquieting fury and Roderich would not have been surprised in the least if he had leapt over the table and punched the Russian right in his scheming face. He was held back with Britain's firm hand on his arm, the soft accented murmur (Calm, Alfred, we will work something out, please love, we can't survive another war right now...) soothed his ruffled feathers and he grudgingly accepted the terms, temporarily.
With the American conceding, Roderich felt the man beside him stiffen and start to tremble. He would not look over. He could not. It would break him.
"-accused of the torture and murder of up to six thousand Jews, Gypsies, and traitors to the Third Reich while serving as a warden at Dachau."
"Not Guilty."
"-accused of the rape and torture of approximately three-hundred and forty Jewish women and children under his control in one of the labor blocks at Auschwitz.
"Not Guilty."
"-accused of willful neglect resulting in death in the case of some eighty thousand Jews, Gypsies, and traitors to the Third Reich while serving as a corpsman in the hospital at Birkenau."
"Not Guilty."
Roderich did not flinch even once as he read the verdicts. All was as it was expected to be. In private, away from the ravening presses of the outside world, Austria acquitted his own. Men who had done nothing but follow orders like loyal soldiers deserved nothing less. Roderich would not let the grasping, greedy hands of the West throw filth at his children. He was too good, too proud for that. They could ruin his marriage as they wished, trample him through the mud as they sunk their poisoned claws into Germany, but his men would not suffer for it. As they stood in this mockery of a trial, passports and money and flights were being arranged for them. Paraguay, Argentina, Africa, Rome, even the United States. It really was a shame Austrian security was so lax and they would all escape. He was sure Alfred would be furious, but he had bigger people to focus on at Nuremburg. And he still hadn't found the biggest fish of all, it was rumored far and wide that Hitler had escaped the ruined, furious world with a bang. So to speak.
In a lull between proceedings, Roderich idly tapped his bottom lip. It was too bad. He had met Adolf too few times, as busy and paranoid as the man was. But perhaps it was better this way. Even Roderich's considerable connections could not have gotten him released into Austrian custody, nor prevented the inevitable death sentence. Instead, he was the monster in the dark, neither alive nor dead, denying the Allies the closure they all craved. Yes, he thought, settling his hands in his lap as the next 'prisoner' was escorted forward. Yes, it was certainly better this way.
And besides, Alfred deserved to lose something, feel incomplete, unsettled, afraid...
There were teeth at his throat, breath hot and desperate against his feverishly warm skin. He could not, would not deny the pleasured moans shaking his body. The sex was fast, rough, and demanding, darkening bruises and bright, stinging scratches claiming each other, leaving both parties breathless and clinging tightly to each other at the end, like frightened children.
"I heard what you did."
After hours of deliberation, the small crowds of prisoners were crowded down a long hallway, similar to the one that Roderich had traveled to get to the courtroom. Their faces reflected a mix of pleasure and smug satisfaction, a few remained as indifferent as they had been at their arrest, but a thread of confusion wound its way through the groups. If they had been pardoned, why weren't they being let go? Wasn't it, as it had been rumored, time to escape the country?
They were corralled into a long courtyard, separated into even smaller groups with two guards per group. Here, a worried murmur spread over the crowd. Many of them had seen this layout before, knew the results, and perhaps had even participated themselves. But it couldn't be, could it? Weren't they being released?
"I must say, I wasn't expecting it from you of all people. America is going to slaughter you if he ever finds out."
"Well, I'll make sure that he never does, then." Roderich's slim fingers pushed a lock of hair off his partner's forehead, violet eyes sad. "I only wish I could have done more." He let out a soft sigh as his hands were clasped in a larger, calloused pair. "I'm going to miss you..."
After a few minutes of standing about, tipped by a signal unknown to the prisoners, each guard drew an immaculately crafted Austrian handgun and, standing side-by-side in between the prisoners and the exits, aimed into their small groups. The click of Roderich's boots was the loudest sound in the sudden deadly silence that had descended over the prisoners. The Austrian strode to the center of the courtyard, standing amidst the guards, cool violet eyes examining the ragged groups standing before him.
After a moment's deliberation, he turned to the man by his side, who wore the trappings of a leader. "Kill them all. When you are finished, obliterate the faces. Dispose of the bodies by any means possible. I want no evidence remaining. Are we clear? None. These men never existed." The man saluted sharply, and then turned forward and shouted out a single command.
"Abschießen!"
"I know, babe..." Those rough hands left his own and petted him softly, swiftly followed by soft, comforting kisses on his cheeks and throat. "Get some rest. We've got a big day ahead of us."
He slept dreamlessly. When he awoke the next morning, it was a bleary struggle to consciousness, sleep dragging heavily at the edges of his mind. He realized after a moment that he was being gently shaken. His lover's usually mischievous claret eyes hovered over him, soft with sorrow and longing.
"I'm going now, Roderich."
The totality of the words shook him. He reached wordlessly, and the other immediately sank into his embrace. "I love you," He whispered, his voice roughened with sleep and inevitable tears. It sounded like a plea in his ears.
"I know, shh... I love you, Roderich. I'm sorry for everything. And I love you. Please remember." Gilbert pulled away.
He put the passport in the man's hand himself. Josef Mengele, a famous and respected doctor, forced to go into hiding. Roderich shook his head even as he shook the great doctor's hand. "I am very sorry about all of this, doktor. It should not be long until you are welcomed home with open arms. You will be well protected until then. You will meet with our contacts as one of the men I pardoned last week in our private trial. His name was Heinrich Lutz. They will provide you with a new identity. The name Lutz will be left behind as a false trail to mislead anyone searching for you."
"And Lutz," the doctor questioned, "What happened to the real Lutz? He won't be able to identify me?"
The smile on Roderich's face was chilling.
"Don't worry, doktor. We took care of him."
Mengele was only one of hundreds of German and Prussian war criminals being snuck out of the country on false Austrian credentials. He alone would keep Prussia's blood and memory alive, in his own country and in small protected sects in foreign governments. In this way, Prussia would not be wiped out, no matter what that damnable Russian would do to him.
Someday, one way or another, Gilbert would come back to him. No matter what it took.