MyniQ

The autumn sun cast long shadows across the Palace of Justice in Nuremberg as I sat at my desk, reviewing yet another document for the upcoming trials. As a translator assigned to the case against Klaus von der Schulenburg, I had become an unwilling participant in history's darkest chapters.

Von der Schulenburg, once a respected military officer, now stood accused of ordering the execution of captured Allied soldiers. The evidence was overwhelming - photographs, testimonies, and intercepted communications that painted him as a ruthless war criminal. My role was to ensure every word of his defense was translated accurately, but in my heart, I knew the truth must come out.

As I worked late into the night, poring over documents and transcripts, I couldn't help but wonder about the weight of history we were creating here. These trials would become a benchmark for justice in a world torn apart by hatred and greed. And yet, as I looked around at my colleagues, each one carrying their own burden of conscience, I realized that sometimes the greatest crimes are committed not with guns or bombs, but with silence and indifference.