The Last Witness (2018) Movie Script

September 30th, 1939.
We were herded
onto prison trains near Grodno.
Conditions were
very cramped and damp.
It is very hard to sleep.
I don't know how long some of
the other injured men can last.
The icicles that form
on the window grill
provide the only drinking water.
October 9th, 1939.
We are off the train at last.
Now, apparently, we are
no longer prisoners but guests.
On several occasions,
NKVD officers
have summoned some of us for
interrogation during the night.
With this sort of madness,
it is little wonder
that we are at a loss
as to what should be done.
March 20th, 1940.
It seems the Soviets are taking
a softer line with us now.
Rumors are rife among the men
that our release is imminent.
April 15th, 1940.
At last. My prayers
have finally been answered.
My name was read out
this morning.
Spring is in the air,
and I have not felt this alive
in many months.
My hope is that
this is the last time
I will ever have to
travel like this.
No need to be so keen, lad.
Suicide, most likely.
Oh, wonderful.
Hopefully, that will be
his suicide note.
Poor sod.
- Right. Let's get him up.
- Yes, sir.
Mind your step.
British military
occupation ends in Iraq.
Western Post! British
military occupation ends in Iraq.
So... Sandy can cover the docks.
McCloud, the Redcliffe stuff,
and John gets the union story...
for his sins.
Nothing too controversial.
Underwood, the Cider Festival.
That's it.
Off you go.
Hey, I said no.
No one wants to hear
about suicide, Stephen.
Not now.
It's bad for circulation.
What if it's not suicide?
I have a contact up at the camp.
Stephen, dear boy,
did the police
give any indication
that they thought it might be
anything other than suicide?
So please don't try my patience.
War's a terrible thing
and many can't cope,
and there's the end of it.
There's no story here.
Do I make myself clear?
Right. Thank you. Off you go.
Can you file this, Maisie?
- Rose?
- Yes, Mr. Underwood.
Have you, er, ever been
to the Cider Festival?
Good evening, Mr. Underwood.
- Late again?
- I had to work.
I see.
- Goodnight.
- Goodnight.
Despite the passing of the Polish
Resettlement Act earlier this year,
the West Country is witnessing a growing
number of unexplained suicides.
The men are all ex-servicemen
from the Polish Second Corps.
A coincidence? Or could this be
something more sinister?
- Morning.
- Morning.
- Can I help you?
- I'm here to see the Captain.
- Good morning, sir.
- Good morning.
One moment, sir.
Sir, Colonel Pietrowski's arrived
with the two DPs from Stowell Park.
Once we're done here,
tell the Quartermaster
to make an inventory
of everything we're short of. Double
it, and put in a written order.
Yes, Captain.
- Thank you.
- Good luck.
This all seems to be in order.
If you'd like to
bring them in, Colonel,
there are just a few
signatures required.
Of course.
Colonel, perhaps you
and your man
would like a spot of breakfast
before the drive home?
We don't have much,
but it's hot.
- Thank you. That's very kind.
- Er, Jeanette...
once you're finished, would you drop
the Colonel's aide off at the mess?
Yes, sir.
I'll talk to you later.
- This way, Colonel.
- Colonel.
My name's Stephen Underwood.
The Captain is my brother.
I'm a journalist for
The Western Post.
Colonel Janusz Pietrowski,
formerly of the Polish
Second Corps,
Acting Resettlement
Corps Liaison.
- Colonel, pleased to meet you.
- And me you, Mr. Underwood.
Shall we?
I said no, Stephen.
Please, Captain.
Your brother's very welcome.
I was wondering if
you'd like to comment on the...
suicide of another
Polish soldier yesterday?
You don't look
very surprised, Colonel.
Well, Mr. Underwood,
it's always most distressing
when a proud man loses all hope.
And why
would that be, Colonel?
Men like Sosnowicz spent the war
fighting for their homeland, Mr. Underwood,
which is now part
of the Soviet Union,
which regards them
as enemies of the state.
He'd just learned his entire
family had been murdered.
Colonel, please,
we have no proof of that.
Clearly, he believed it
enough to take his own life, Captain.
And why do you believe it,
Because we all seem to have
forgotten that in 1939
the Soviet Union invaded Poland,
in alliance with the Nazis and with
the same intent, Mr. Underwood.
To wipe Poland from the map.
To destroy its culture,
and its people.
When the Soviets
retook Poland in 1944,
they allowed the Nazis
to crush the Warsaw Uprising
to help eliminate any possible
threat to their own occupation.
The recent so-called "free"
elections in Poland
are no more than
a Soviet puppet show.
No, Poland's true government
is still exiled in London,
but it is no longer recognized
by Britain or the United States.
And last year,
the Free Polish Armed Forces
were excluded from
your Victory Parade.
So as not to antagonize
Comrade Stalin.
What does this tell you,
Mr. Underwood?
That all is well?
I understand the world
is weary of war.
We all are.
But that's no excuse
for naivety.
Your brother knows this.
He still has the unenviable
task of trying to persuade
my fellow compatriots
to return to Poland,
knowing full well he cannot
guarantee their safety.
No one has to go back
if they don't want to, Colonel.
Yes, Captain. Of course.
Colonel, please.
Breakfast is waiting.
- Mm.
- I have to see you tonight.
- Eight thirty, at the King's Arms.
- No, that's too public.
No, there are only ever
locals there.
Mm. Fine.
I have to go.
Mason wants to see me.
Do you have to?
You know I do.
Ah! Thank you, Stanley.
You're still on duty?
I hardly ever see you
out of uniform these days.
You hardly see me at all.
I know, I'm sorry. There's a bit
of a flap on at the moment.
Anyway, good of you to come.
We've been invited to the
annual ball at the Robinsons'.
Oh, God. Is it that
time of year already?
I know, tedious in
the extreme, but, er...
I would really appreciate it if we
could attend together this year.
- Your parents will be there.
- I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you.
It might look at bit odd if, er,
if I go alone.
Might set a few tongues wagging.
- If we must.
- Splendid.
One more thing before you go.
You might be in
the perfect place
to do me another favor,
if you would?
Er... Loboda and Nowak,
two DPs who arrived
in your camp this morning.
You're very well informed,
as always.
Could you be a real brick and keep
me appraised of their whereabouts?
Movements, visitors, friends,
that sort of thing.
It's probably nothing.
Some vague memo from London.
Nothing to worry about.
Just so I know.
I wouldn't expect you to run
across town every morning.
A simple telephone call
will suffice.
I know you must be busy with your
whole repatriation commotion.
- Yes.
- Mm.
Is that all?
Well, I should be getting back.
Oh, please, don't let me
detain you any longer.
Er, but if we could, er...
keep this just
between ourselves?
Of course.
So we're happy then?
- The Robinsons' ball?
- Yes. Yes.
- Fine.
- Hmm.
You know why he
married you, hmm?
He is not the monster
you want him to be.
So your father has the right to
sell you to the highest bidder?
They genuinely thought
he would make a good husband.
They only want
what's best for me.
Did they know?
Marriage isn't
about love for them.
And I wanted to marry him.
I was in love with him.
Obviously, I didn't know then
what I know now.
But our love
is of a different kind now.
Stephen, he's my friend.
It's a lie.
So what do you want me to do?
You want me to just
leave my husband, my job,
turn my back on my family
and run off to London with you?
That's impossible.
I'm not sure how much faith
I have in your big story
because if what the Polish
Colonel says is true,
you have no proof.
And as unfortunate as they are,
these suicides
are still just that.
Suicides. Nothing more.
- Evening, gents. What can I get you?
- Er, how much for this?
- Fourpence.
- Hmm.
- And for this?
- Thruppence-ha'penny.
Two pints of the Special,
please, sir.
Slops for swine.
- Same again, sir?
- Please.
Bloody scab labour.
There's talk of letting 'em
down the mines next.
The war's over.
Send the buggers back, I say.
Instead of giving 'em
our boys' jobs.
Can't go back
because of the Bolshies?
Well, you won't escape
the Reds here, son.
Not with the Labour Party
running the country.
- You know nothing.
- Who's asking you, Polak?
I am not Polak. I am Russian.
What do I care? You're all
the bloody same. Now go home!
- All right, we're going.
- Well, go on then!
- Hey, we are going.
- And don't come back!
You're not welcome here!
All right, Bill. It's still my name
above the door. That's enough.
We're leaving.
Eh, lad, what about your drinks?
Mr. Nowak, it's me, Jeanette
Mitchell, from the camp.
Yes, er...
we have to get back, sorry.
He said he was a Russian.
I write for a newspaper.
I just want to ask you
a few questions.
You're a Russian,
pretending to be a Pole, why?
Mr. Loboda, please!
I am not pretending
to be anyone.
If you saw what I saw,
then you understand.
- What have you seen?
- Ivan.
They kill you like
they want to kill me.
Who wants to kill you?
They all do.
- Stephen...
- I'm fine.
Please, Stephen.
- What did he have?
- I don't remember.
Clothes mainly. Hardly anything.
Don't do this.
You heard what he said.
Don't you think if, er...
someone wanted to kill him,
they would have done so already?
Not if they don't know
who he is.
He could be involved
in the suicides.
Loboda could be the story.
Let me do this.
For us.
It's Polish.
He could be keeping it
for a friend.
Rose. Rose Miller,
the typist at work.
Her family's from Poland.
She could translate it for me.
No! What about Loboda?
What if he discovers it's gone?
Tell me things don't go missing
around here all the time.
Are you drunk?
What if he thinks it was me?
Mm, just put him off
for a while.
I thought this was supposed
to be about us?
It is.
Because it seems like you want
me to take all the risks.
Give me the box.
I need to do this.
Mr. Underwood?
I did it.
The story, the Cider Festival.
Thank you.
I need another favor.
- Of course, anything.
- I need this translated.
If you can ask your father.
- What's it about?
- I don't know.
Again, just between us.
As soon as you can.
Stephen Underwood.
They can't find him anywhere.
My sincere apologies
again, Colonel.
The truth is, Captain, Mr. Loboda
has a habit of disappearing,
as Mr. Nowak knows all too well.
He's a very troubled man.
Sometimes his imagination
gets the better of him.
We'll find him.
Are you going to tell them
about the box?
Still think I did
the wrong thing?
He can't just have disappeared.
The Poles have moved him again.
Find out where!
Morning, Mabel.
Is Richard in yet?
My father wanted to know
where you got these from.
He said they're extremely
and that you should be careful.
Thank you.
I don't
understand what is happening.
Earlier, our train
stopped at a siding.
We were met by Soviet guards
and ordered to disembark.
There is a large forest here.
We have loaded into
black prison vans.
I have to stop writing now.
Yes, sir, can I help you?
I'm looking for
a Colonel Pietrowski.
Yes, sir, follow me.
Colonel Pietrowski.
Can I get you anything?
You don't mind?
Why would a Russian...
have the diary, letters
and personal effects
of a young Polish cadet,
interned in a POW camp
in the Soviet Union?
And, er...
why does he think
everyone wants to kill him?
I really have no idea what you are
talking about, Mr. Underwood.
If you'll excuse me,
I have things to attend to.
I have the box.
I want to help.
No, Mr. Underwood,
you want a story.
Yes, I want the story, and then
we both get what we want.
Trust me, there's nothing
you can do.
If you really want to help,
then return the box to me.
Let me see Loboda.
Goodbye, Mr. Underwood.
Colonel. Colonel!
Then I'll...
take this to the authorities and
I'll tell them where I got it.
I had the diary and letters
Come with me.
Wait here.
My aide will take you
to see Mr. Loboda.
So you do know where he is?
Once you know the truth,
you can try as you might,
but I will not support you
in this any further.
I will deny any involvement,
any knowledge of this at all
and you will not see
Loboda again.
Do I make myself clear?
Here, at five o'clock.
We will pick you up
and take you to him.
You come alone.
How do I know I can trust you?
You don't.
Then I'd like to, er,
interview Loboda.
- And I'd like it recorded.
- Why?
Once you have the box,
I have nothing.
That can be arranged.
And, er, I'll take those
translations, if you don't mind.
Thank you.
I expect you to pay
for the damage.
- Who did this?
- The police.
They said they suspected you of being
in possession of contraband goods.
That's ridiculous,
and you know it.
Well, I'm sorry, but, er...
with all your comings and goings
lately I really couldn't say.
This is still my house...
as far as I'm aware,
Mr. Underwood.
Nettie, please.
I'm sorry.
- What is it?
- They've taken the box.
Then it's over.
- I'm going to see Loboda.
- You know where he is?
Pietrowski has him.
So how do you know
they didn't take it?
Because I said I'd give back the
box if they let me talk to him.
How do you know
they're not lying?
You have no idea who
these people really are.
I need to know.
It has nothing to do with you.
If anything happens to me,
I want you to give these
to the police.
Stay here.
They tell me I can trust you.
That I can tell you everything.
You took the box?
How can I trust a thief?
I didn't mean any harm.
You put it in your paper?
I'll do everything I can.
Please sit down.
My name is Ivan Krivozertsev.
My home is near Smolensk.
Small town.
Nove Biatoki.
I was there
when they first come.
People say
they were Finns.
But my friend Kisselev...
he saw their four-cornered hats.
They were all Polish.
Every day, they put them in
chornly voron.
Prison vans.
Move to forest.
In forest, Bolsheviks tie
their hands behind backs.
A rope
round the neck...
so you strangle if you move.
They put them...
K zemie.
To ground.
And they put...
to back of the neck.
One after another...
bodies fall into the pit...
face to ground.
And guns loaded
for the next group.
Over and over again...
until job finish.
When Germans come,
they have Polyaki too.
Making roads good for tanks.
Germans did not look.
Only Polyaki look.
Then I tell
what I saw...
and we begin to dig.
Book and letters
I took from dead man.
Young man.
Where was this?
Where did it happen?
In forest, at Katyn.
How many?
To date, over 4,000 bodies.
But there are three times that
still missing.
Mostly officers, reservists,
lawyers, teachers... priests.
Stalin knew these people would
never capitulate to Soviet rule.
And Poles know all about being
occupied by foreign powers,
and these were
the best of my country.
They would fight for their freedom
with everything they had.
Stalin murdered them so Poland
could never again
rise from the ashes.
And the British?
They knew about this?
Of course they did.
The British and Americans just
wanted the whole affair to go away.
They needed the Red Army
to keep fighting the Germans.
They feared Stalin
would make peace with Hitler.
Now, Stalin has half of Europe under
his boot, and they can do nothing.
And my country is occupied.
And no criticism
of Stalin is tolerated.
My people
are good people.
You must know what happened.
You must know murderer.
We need the evidence.
The diary, the letters.
Proof the murders were
committed in 1940 by the Soviets.
And not by the Nazis in 1941,
as everyone believes.
You did bring the box?
It was stolen from my room.
What, now?
Fine, I'll be five minutes.
What the bloody hell are you playing at?
It's the middle of the night.
- It's important.
- It better had be.
I need to know about
a place called Katyn.
Polish soldiers were
taken there in 1940.
I need to know
what happened to them.
Has Pietrowski
put you up to this?
Then look it up in the papers.
I need to see
the official papers.
And I can't help you,
you know that.
In my position, I can't be seen
fraternizing with journalists,
even second-rate
provincial ones.
John, please.
This could explain
the suicides.
Over 4,000 Polish soldiers
were murdered.
- Stand down.
- Sir.
It was the Germans,
the Nazis, end of story.
- You know about this.
- That's the official line.
Yeah, but you know
that's not true.
I believe what I'm told
to believe.
So you're going to bury your head
and let them get away with it?
It's my job. Now, go home.
You went to war to free people
from oppression,
so that they had the right
to choose their own destiny.
And you're going to stand there
and do nothing?
Go home, Stephen.
Stop trying to be something
you're not.
I did that.
You went to war and I stayed.
I did what I was told.
But for the first time,
I have something I believe in.
Don't be such a child.
The war is over.
Do you really want to start
another one
just to appease your own sense
of inadequacy?
You didn't
have to serve, be grateful.
You're right.
I couldn't serve...
because of this.
Philip Edwards.
Disillusioned socialist-type
I met at Cambridge.
Now works in the archive
at the Foreign Office.
If it's in there...
he'll know where.
This is my transport docket.
And, er... this should
get you through the gate.
You can improvise. Now get out.
Oh, and, Stephen,
the accident.
It was my fault and I know you
could have lost your eyesight.
I am sorry.
Did you see him?
- Yeah.
- Where is he?
There's only one farm
in the area that grows these.
I'm going to London.
I need you to hold on
to those translations.
Don't go.
- I have to.
- Stephen...
You've let this get
out of proportion.
In spite of everything
that happened...
you must realize
I do still care about you.
Then... please
just leave him alone.
It's your Stephen that is
making life difficult for you.
He dragged you into all this,
not me.
Just... Just tell me
what he's up to.
He knows where he is,
doesn't he?
You must understand, this isn't
about you and Underwood anymore.
You're involving yourself
in something very sensitive
and potentially very damaging.
Is Stephen in danger?
If he's told you where
they're hiding the Russian,
you have to tell me, now.
you tell me what you know...
and you can continue
to see Underwood.
As long as you don't draw
attention to yourselves,
I won't say another word
about it.
It will simply blow over.
I don't think either of us want any
scandal in our lives right now.
And I think we would both do whatever we could
to ensure that doesn't happen, wouldn't we?
You're a fool.
A pig-ignorant fool.
Do you honestly think
anyone cares about you?
Do you think the Poles care?
No one cares about you
or what you have to say!
Mr. Underwood?
I served with your brother
in Austria.
He's a good man.
An address and a map.
What you want is all very
hush-hush. It's been shelved.
"X" marks the spot,
if you like.
Things aren't the same
anymore, Mr. Underwood.
During the war, we knew
what we needed to do.
We knuckled down and we did it.
We didn't question anything.
It was all very
black and white.
But now...
Now nothing seems
to make any sense.
Makes you wonder
who's really in charge.
- Can I buy you a drink?
- No.
No, I can't stay.
If there's ever anything
I can do for you.
No, please, don't worry.
Anything to relieve the tedium.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll end up
buried in that archive, you know.
Up to my eyeballs in dust.
Not that anybody would notice.
My regards to your brother,
and good luck.
Captain Underwood. Will
you be requiring an escort, sir?
"On the evidence that
we have, it is difficult to escape
from the presumption
of Russian guilt.
How, if Russian crime
is established,
can we expect Poles
to live amicably
side by side with Russians
for generations to come?"
"This document
is explosive,
if it was to fall
into unauthorized hands,
the reaction on our relations
with Russia would be serious."
"In handling the publicity
side of the Katyn affair...
we have been constrained
by the urgent need for cordial
relations with the Soviet Government
to appear to appraise
the evidence
with more hesitation
and lenience
than we should do in forming
a common-sense judgement.
We have, in fact, perforce,
used the good name of England
like the murderers used the little
conifers to cover up a massacre."
"Let us think
of these things always
and speak of them never.
To speak of them never is the
advice which I have been giving
to the Polish Government,
but it has been unnecessary.
Affliction and residence
in this country
seem to be teaching them how much
better it is in political life
to leave unsaid those things
about which one feels
most passionately."
I've seen the papers.
A report by a Owen O'Malley,
the British Ambassador
to Poland.
You were right,
they knew all along.
Ivan Krivozertsev is dead.
He was found yesterday,
hanging from a tree.
In the evening.
So you see, Mr. Underwood, I doubt anyone will
ever be given the chance to see those papers.
Why, er...
Why didn't you hide him sooner?
He wouldn't let us.
It was only when you took
the box that he reconsidered.
He approached the Red Cross,
joined our troops in Italy,
where he met Mr. Nowak.
One drunken night, he let slip
he was there at Katyn...
when it happened.
No others made it to the West.
He was the only one to escape the
area when the Soviets recaptured it.
He was an embarrassment
to the Soviets.
Awkward for the British.
Dispensable to the Americans.
He approached them
at Nuremberg and...
they almost sent him back
to the Russian sector.
Did you tell anyone you
had seen him, Mr. Underwood?
I had nothing to do with this.
What is it?
Who did you tell?
Excuse me.
I'm sorry. I can't let you in.
I need to talk to my brother.
Captain Underwood's
been reassigned.
And Lieutenant Mitchell?
I don't know.
- Number, please?
- Foreign Office Archive.
Putting you through.
How can I help you?
- Philip Edwards, please.
- One moment, sir.
I'm afraid Mr. Edwards
is on leave.
When will he be back?
May I enquire
as to your reason for calling?
Western Post.
Come and get your Western Post.
Western Post.
Come and get your Western Post.
Fresh off the press!
Thank you, sir.
Western Post. Come and get
your Western Post. Fresh off the press!
Western Post!
Western Post!
Come and get your Western Post!
Fresh off the press!
Mr. Hamilton,
can I talk to you?
I'm sorry, Stephen, but
you don't work here anymore.
Excuse me?
Lovely idea... to give the
festival to the typist.
You were right.
She shows great promise.
So that's why she'll be
doing your job from now on.
Now, that's a month's pay.
Clear your desk.
I have a story.
I don't want to hear it.
The British Government
is covering up the murder
of over 15,000
Polish officers and men...
by the Soviets in 1940.
They sold out a whole nation.
Their own allies.
A country they went to war
to protect.
And it doesn't end there.
Yesterday evening, the last witness to
that massacre was murdered right here,
in Bristol.
you certainly have
a vivid imagination.
What did they say to you, Frank?
I beg your pardon?!
That you'd... lose your job?
Lose the paper?
Huh? Be disgraced?
That it's your patriotic duty
not to print this?
If you don't leave right now,
I'll have you thrown out.
Keep your money. I resign.
Oh, Mr. Underwood.
I'll be wanting to redecorate
in the very near future
so have to ask you
to vacate your room.
But as I'm not one to throw
anyone onto the street,
I will of course allow you time to
find suitable alternative lodgings.
Two weeks should be more than
enough, I'm sure you'll agree?
And you have a visitor.
I didn't think
this would happen.
What did you do?
Stephen, I just wanted you
to be safe.
What did you do?
Mason asked me to watch Loboda
and tell him everything.
You told him where he was?
Why didn't you tell me
that Mason wanted him watched?
I didn't think it would stop you! I
thought it would make things worse!
He's dead.
They found him hanging
from a tree.
I know.
And if I could undo
what I've done, I would.
I didn't think Mason was capable of
something like this. I still don't.
What did they do with John?
They took him to London.
You won't be able
to see or speak to him.
They're posting him
I didn't give him these.
They mean nothing now.
- I want you to leave.
- Stephen...
I want you to leave now.
An inquest before our Sovereign Lord the
King, in the parish of Flax Bourton,
in the County of Somerset, on this
the third day of November, 1947,
before one of the coroners
of our said Lord the King,
for the said County of Somerset,
touching the death of Ivan Krivosertsev,
known as Michael Loboda,
and upon the view of his body.
Er, have the witnesses
been sworn in?
They have, sir.
Well, let's get going then,
shall we?
Were about five, I'd say.
I was down Long Orchard.
I, er, works there, you see.
And by the rail bridge,
coming back up
from Court House Farm.
I sees this gentleman
hanging from a tree.
Apple tree, it were.
He was hanging about eight feet
up from a leather strap.
It appeared to me that the deceased
had placed the strap around his neck,
climbed the tree, secured
the other end to the branch
and jumped off.
We untied this and
lowered him to the ground.
He was already cold. Stiff.
We searched the body, and
in a wallet we found three letters
one of which was marked
"Secret Service."
Carry on.
We then took him to
the mortuary at Long Ashton.
I knew him well.
We had been friends since 1945.
He was happy.
He was proud of who he
was, and what he had seen.
He did drink a lot, but he
could stand a lot as well.
I do not know any reason
why he should hang himself.
He wouldn't do this.
May it duly be recorded here,
on presentation
of all inquiries under oath,
that I, as appointed coroner
of the County of Somerset
by the office of
His Majesty the King,
on deliberating the probable cause
of death of Michael Loboda,
also known as
Ivan Krivosertsev,
do allege a verdict
of suicide...
by hanging.
These proceedings
are duly closed.
Surely you're not
going to accept that.
I have to accept it.
This is now just another suicide
that no one will want to hear about.
What about the letters
in his wallet?
We have not been allowed
to see them.
Why weren't they read out?
I'm very sorry, Mr. Underwood,
but maybe if you'd not become involved,
there would be no need to know.
Look, Colonel, I'm sorry but
I did what I thought was right.
Did you? Really?
We still have this.
Testimony is worth nothing
without the man.
Even if it's not
accepted in the courts,
it still brings the story
out into the open.
- That's all you need, isn't it?
- Yes, Mr. Underwood, but there's nothing more I can do.
We have been told
in no uncertain terms
that the newspapers
have been strongly advised
never to raise
the subject again.
My apologies, I have to go.
He did not deserve this.
He was a good man.
I'm so very sorry,
I truly am.
Don't you dare
walk away from me!
You are just as much to blame
for this impossible situation!
You did
what you thought was right.
And so did I.
This is not finished.
In that moment,
when Stephen died,
my life was changed forever.
Everything I had believed in ws shattered
by the revelations he had uncovered
and I was determined
to finish what he had started;
to finally print Stephen's story
and the testimony
of Michael Loboda,
the last witness
to the countless Polish soldies
who had died at Katyn,
whatever the risks
and however long it would take.
They would not be forgotten,
and their testimony
would live on.