Chapter 150: My Debut
Two days later, at Germany's Supreme Court.
On the second floor, Jörg sat with one leg crossed over the other, accepted the black tea Lia handed him, and quietly looked down at the courtroom below.
Hill stood in the defendant's box like a statue carved from dead stone. His iconic mustache had been shaved clean, and the sharp fanaticism that had once burned in his eyes had vanished. Now there was only emptiness as he watched the judge raise the gavel.
The gavel fell.
"Given the criminal's full confession, this court hereby finds the criminal Hill guilty of treason, armed rebellion, organized premeditated murder…"
The judge's hoarse voice echoed through the chamber, every charge landing clearly in the ears of those present.
As the long list of crimes was read aloud, members of the Social Democratic Party and the Center Party shifted visibly in their seats. Some lowered their heads. Some looked away. Some pretended to adjust their cuffs or examine the floor, as if afraid that their own faces might be reflected in the ruined figure standing in the defendant's box.
That was precisely the effect Jörg wanted.
Kill the chicken to frighten the monkeys.
He did not intend to deal with the Social Democrats and the Center Party for now. Those two parties were too deeply rooted in Germany's political structure. Pulling one thread could shake the entire web.
But that did not mean he lacked the ability to deal with them.
It merely meant he had chosen not to.
Only after Hill was led away did the politicians in the gallery quietly release the breath they had been holding.
Then came Thälmann's turn.
"Mr. Thälmann," the judge said, looking down from the bench. "Do you have anything to say?"
Thälmann, who had finally recovered somewhat from the blow of being abandoned by the workers, slowly raised his head.
He had not changed into the suit provided for him. He still wore his worker's coat, and traces of coal dust clung stubbornly to the fabric, as if he had deliberately chosen to carry that symbol into court.
For the first time in many days, he was allowed to say what he truly wished to say.
"I have nothing to defend," Thälmann said. "Wrong is wrong. The German Communist Party did maintain an ambiguous relationship with Soviet Russia. That is a fact. One could even say that control over the entire party had already fallen into Moscow's hands."
The judge clearly had not expected such a direct admission. He pushed his spectacles up and asked, "Mr. Thälmann, may I understand this as remorse? If you actively admit your mistakes, this court may consider…"
Before he could finish, Thälmann shook his head.
Then, strangely, he nodded.
"Remorse? Yes, I regret it. I regret surrendering our autonomy. I regret turning the German Communist Party into Moscow's echo chamber. I trusted others too much and forgot to trust myself."
His voice became steadier.
"But for the German Communist Party itself, and for the cause I have cherished all my life, I have never regretted anything."
He lifted his head.
A cold and stubborn vitality suddenly returned to his once despondent eyes.
"You may believe that the German Communist Party has been destroyed. You may believe that from now on, you can oppress the people and exploit the workers without resistance. But the red specter will not die beneath physical bullets."
His voice rang louder.
"Our cause is eternal. It will triumph one day. So long as exploitation exists, so long as the chains binding us have not been broken, resistance will never vanish."
"And you will be swept into the dustbin of history."
Thälmann suddenly turned his gaze toward the second floor.
"Herr von Roman, I know you are here."
Seeing Thälmann directly address the Chancellor, Vito, who was standing nearby, was about to signal the bailiffs to drag him away.
Jörg raised his hand indifferently.
"Let him continue."
Thälmann stared toward the curtain concealing the second floor, as if he could see Jörg's eyes through the fabric.
"As a German, I believe you may lead Germany to revival. Perhaps even to a glory this nation has never seen before. But how long will that glory last?"
His voice sank.
"Time will give the answer. History will prove that you were wrong."
Jörg took a sip of black tea.
He said nothing.
He simply watched as Thälmann's eyes swept across the courtroom, then met his own gaze through the narrow gap between the curtains.
Vito lowered his voice.
"Sir, should we speak to the court about changing the sentence to death?"
Jörg put down his teacup and stood.
"No. Lock him away somewhere secluded. I want him to see the future I build with his own eyes."
With that, Jörg left the courtroom with Lia.
Whether Thälmann lived or died no longer had much impact on the situation.
That morning, Soviet Russia had already sent a secret letter requesting a private meeting over the German Communist Party issue. But Thälmann's refusal to flee, his decision to remain in Germany and wait for arrest, had already proven that his trust in Soviet Russia had collapsed.
Ideals were beautiful.
Reality was thousands of times crueler.
The words Thälmann had spoken in court would certainly be interpreted by Moscow as a loss of control, perhaps even an open rejection of Soviet Russia and the Bolsheviks.
Even if Soviet troops fought their way to Berlin one day, they would not rescue him.
They would more likely treat him as a compromiser and end his life with a single bullet.
Reality possessed that kind of dark humor.
Friends who once shared the same ideals might, at the next crossroads, raise a rifle and take your life.
After getting into the car, Jörg fell into thought.
Then the system's voice interrupted him.
"Congratulations, Host. You have slightly altered Thälmann's fate."
"Rewards obtained: butyl rubber synthesis technology, oil extraction and refining technology."
If Jörg remembered correctly, butyl rubber synthesis technology would only appear several years later. As for the oil extraction and refining technology, the system had not described it in detail, which meant it was likely not cutting edge.
Still, since this was only a minor alteration to fate, such rewards were understandable.
The system continued.
"Congratulations, Host. You have significantly altered Hill's fate."
"Reward obtained: A 4 rocket research and development technology."
Hearing that reward, Jörg was momentarily startled.
The slight downturn at the corner of his mouth caught Lia's attention.
She had been reading Britain's agreement regarding the proposed Jewish Autonomous State in the Middle East. Noticing his expression, she looked up.
"Officer?"
Her slender hand settled gently on his shoulder.
Because of years of constant writing and diplomatic work, Lia's hand had long lost its former softness. There were faint calluses on her fingers now, evidence of a life spent with pens, files, and agreements rather than perfumes and ornaments.
Jörg moved her hand from his shoulder and gave her a look that said he was fine.
"It's nothing, Lia. I was only thinking that we may need to establish a new weapons research department."
Lia had once been indifferent to military affairs, but after years of exposure and study, she had gradually developed an interest of her own.
"What kind of weapon?"
Jörg opened the car window and pointed upward.
"A weapon capable of piercing the clouds and streaking across the sky."
"An aircraft?"
The wind rushing through the window stirred the golden hair at Jörg's temples.
"No."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Something unprecedented. You may call it a missile."
Meanwhile, in the reception room of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Soviet Russia's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Chicherin, repeatedly shifted the sweets on his plate. The black tea in his cup had already been refilled several times.
His tired eyes were bloodshot.
Not because he had slept poorly, but because before coming to Germany, he had been frantically occupied in Warsaw and Lithuania.
He had attended two banquets and argued endlessly with Polish parliament members and representatives of the Polish Communist Party, yet still failed to receive a satisfactory answer.
Originally, he had believed that Poland, having lost part of its territory to Germany, would certainly lose faith in the Western powers and list Germany as its greatest enemy.
That should have been a fine opportunity for Soviet Russia to draw Poland closer.
But clearly, he still did not understand the Polish mind.
Not only had the Polish Communist Party given him an ambiguous reply, but members of parliament had expressed strong hostility toward Soviet Russia. Their attitude could be summarized simply.
They did not want Germans.
They did not want Russians either.
Every conversation eventually circled back to the Polish Soviet War.
Lithuania, however, had gone much more smoothly.
After ceding Memel, Lithuania had immediately chosen to lean toward Moscow. An alliance was now only a matter of time.
Crack.
The sound from the door interrupted Chicherin's thoughts.
He raised his head.
.....
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