Don't Lose the Monocle! Nazi War Criminals Get Social Security and Jobs in Hollywood.

Outside in the corridor, someone was approaching. The door opened and General Strong stepped in. “General, we’re ready to begin,” he said.

Jodl nodded. He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and took out something which he then fixed into his eye. A monocle! Jodl now looked like a Prussian played by Erich von Stroheim. What was he thinking? Did he somehow consider it vital that Germany be represented in her darkest hour by a walking caricature? Perhaps he was angling for a post-war career in Hollywood. From what Ziggy had heard, plenty of German and Austrian Jewish refugees had found lucrative careers playing Nazis in films. Jodl was the real thing. Why shouldn’t he get some of it?

"Ready?” asked Jodl. Seeing everyone nod, he said to them: “Gentlemen, this is a black day for Germany, but I promise you, we will survive!”

I wonder if Eisenhower will be there,” von Friedeburg mumbled aloud to himself.

They walked down the corridor in single file, past the staring soldiers, General Jodl first, followed by Major Oxenius, then Admiral von Friedeburg, then Ziggy.

They were brought into a crowded, map-filled room, at the far end of which, under the glaring light from a bank of movie-studio floodlights, was a large rectangular table. Sitting there facing them were nearly a dozen British, American, and Russian generals with Bedell Smith at the center. Ziggy examined the faces of the other Allied generals, but none of them looked anything like Eisenhower. On the other hand, he noticed Suslaparov glaring at him, this time not as though they were best friends.

They took chairs on the near side of the table. Bedell Smith gestured to an aide, who brought Jodl a document. Scowling, Jodl examined it perfunctorily and then scribbled his signature onto it before passing it to von Friedeburg, who did the same. The document then went to Bedell Smith, then to a British general, a French general, an American, and then Suslaparov, all of whom added their signatures to it. Then another copy of the surrender made the rounds, followed by another and another and another.

When all the copies had been signed, Jodl raised his hand. “General, I would like to say a word,” he said.

"Yes, of course,” said Bedell Smith, sounding nicer than he had in any of their previous encounters.

Jodl stood up and began addressing everyone in the room. “General, with this signature the German people and the German armed forces are, for better or worse, delivered into the victor’s hands. In this war, which has lasted more than five years, both have achieved and suffered perhaps more than any other people in the world. In this hour I can only express the hope that the victor will treat them with generosity.”

Then they were marched out. The war was over.

(Excerpt from Germania, Simon & Schuster, 2008, Kindle version available here).

Schellenberg Does Lunch with Himmler's New Astrologer

“You know Loerber, I think you and I are going to make a great team,” said Schellenberg as he and Franzi walked down the fifth floor corridor. Only a week had passed since he’d joined Himmler’s staff and this was the third time he and Schellenberg had lunched together, sitting off in a corner at the senior SS staff dining room. After seven years lost in the Ahnenerbe’s perpetual mystic twilight, the shine was back on Franzi Loerber. And it felt good.

“Thank you, Herr General,” said Franzi. “I am honored to be working for you.”

“Just bear in mind one thing,” cautioned Schellenberg. “Right now you and I have only one goal.”

Franzi nodded. They’d been over it a dozen times already. Eisenhower had made it clear there would be no peace with the West until Himmler seized power from the faltering Fuhrer. And Franzi, owing to his calming and persuasive abilities, would now act as Schellenberg’s spear point in that effort.

The task was proving to be a challenging one to say the least. Though he had succeeded several times in getting the Reichsfuhrer fired up to the point where he’d storm off to the Fuhrerbunker to “show Hitler what’s what,” each time something conveniently went wrong and his determination fizzled out just short of the breech. Even so, Franzi had brought him far closer to action than Schellenberg ever had, and Schellenberg remained convinced it was now just a question of seizing every opportunity to get Himmler to move.

“Another thing to keep in mind, Loerber. Since you’re now part of the team, I might as well let you in on this little secret. Count Bernadotte is going to be coming down here very soon and he’ll be bringing with him senior representatives of the World Jewish Congress to meet with the Reichsfuhrer. They say they’d be willing to settle things with us because they recognize that what happened to the Jews was not really the SS’ fault.”

“That’s good news, Herr General.”

“Indeed it is, Loerber.”

Franzi didn’t see how this was possible. After all that had happened in the camps, after so many millions brutally murdered, how could anyone believe an offer like that could be anything but a ploy? Maybe this whole thing with Eisenhower was also a ploy. Why wouldn’t it be? It wasn’t like he was under any obligation to play fair with someone like Himmler.

There was muffled rumbling in the distance. The Soviet artillery was finally within earshot. They turned the corner and continued down the corridor back toward the Intelligence staff offices. Several colonels and majors sprang to attention as they passed. They offered salutes which Schellenberg and Franzi returned without comment. Schellenberg was all right, Franzi thought; very collegial and incredibly bright, especially compared to some of the thugs who’d risen high in the SS ranks. He probably didn’t even hate Jews. That’s what made it so difficult to reconcile the crazy things he said with the grim reality around them. There had to be things nobody else knew about; secret deals, behind-the-scenes relationships which allowed Schellenberg to retain his blue-sky optimism. Franzi reminded himself that the man he was talking to was the most informed person in all Germany. He would know it if the Western Allies believed the Russians would turn on them once the victory against Germany was complete.

Schellenberg continued. “I don’t have to explain how important an agreement like this will be to the future of Europe. It is imperative Hitler be already out of power when they arrive, so that the Reichsfuhrer can have a free hand to make deals on behalf of Germany. Use any method you can think of to motivate him. We cannot let this thing fall through!”
(Excerpt from Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here).

Bernadotte in Berlin III: The Coup That Never Happened

This is the last part of a rescued chapter from Germania, exploring the efforts to get Himmler to act against the Fuhrer. The quote at the end about "having to act in one way or another" is a statement actually attributed to Reichsfhrurer Himmler during this desperate period. Shows the complete unreality that was going on.


“So good of you to come, Herr Count,” Himmler said. “It’s always a great pleasure to have you here.”

“So good to be here, Reichsfuhrer,” replied Bernadotte, “especially on this occasion.”

“Yes,” agreed Himmler.

“On this momentous, historical occasion, I should add.”

“Yes,” repeated Himmler, still smiling.

“So tell us, please, how did everything go?” asked Bernadotte.

“Everything went exceedingly well, Herr Count.”

“It did?”

“Yes!”

Bernadotte said nothing, waiting for Himmler to elaborate. Himmler pursed his lips and squinted behind his thick glasses, as though he was carefully considering a proper choice of words for the declaration he was about to make. But none came.

Himmler smiled. Bernadotte smiled. “And?” he asked.

“And?” Himmler asked back quite pleasantly.

“Can you give us some detail?”

“Detail?” Himmler seemed almost troubled by the word.

“What can we tell Eisenhower?”

“Eisenhower?” asked Himmler. “Ah, well yes,” he said. “Ah yes, well, you can say to His Excellency Mister Eisenhower that everything has gone quite well and we are ready to move forward.”

“Can you be more specific, Reichsfuhrer?”

“Yes, you can tell him most assuredly, the German people are ready to stand squarely with him, shoulder to shoulder, in the grand, historic struggle against Jewish Bolshevism!”

Himmler held up his hand and smiled with gracious embarrassment. “Perhaps you should just say ‘the struggle against Bolshevism.’ Don’t mention the Jewish part. Yes.”

“Do you have any documents for me?"

Himmler stared back blankly. “Sorry?” he asked.

“It would be helpful if I could bring back documents to Eisenhower certifying you as the new leader.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any such documents,” said Himmler, apologetically.

“You don’t?”

“No, the situation as it was, did not allow for it.”

“So you’re saying you merely got a verbal acknowledgement of the transfer of power.”

“Well actually, there wasn’t the moment. The time for that did not present itself.”

“It didn’t?”

“No, sadly,” confessed Himmler.

“Things moved too quickly, you’re saying?” asked Bernadotte, envisioning the exchange of harsh words followed by a shootout. “Things got out of hand? Is everything under control now?”

“Why yes, of course,” Himmler assured him. “Everything is perfectly under control.”

“That’s good,” said Bernadotte, relieved. Schellenberg nodded in agreement.

“Well then, could you just write down now a formal statement describing the incidents leading up to the transfer of power, including Hitler’s fate? That should be sufficient under the circumstances.”

“Hitler’s fate?” Himmler seemed genuinely puzzled. “Whatever do you mean by that, Herr Count?”

Bernadotte stared hard at him. “There has been a coup. Hitler is dead. If Eisenhower is to enter into negotiations with you and your new government, he needs to be provided with the details in a signed, notarized document from you.”

“But our Fuhrer isn’t dead, Herr Count. I just spent three hours talking with him. I can assure you he is very much alive and well.”

“But I thought you just said that you had not had a chance to get either a signed document from him or a verbal acknowledgment. So logically speaking, unless you’ve killed him, how on earth are you the new head of government?”

“You must have misunderstood me, Herr Count. I simply said that during my meeting with the Fuhrer, the moment didn’t arise for discussing such issues. But believe me, Herr Count, I tried. I really intended to bring it up. But the moment wasn’t there. It’s unfortunate, but there you are.”

Himmler turned away to indicate the subject was now closed.

Bernadotte stood in stunned disbelief. All the elaborately envisioned structures of possibilities and outcomes were crumbling and crashing around him.

There was no coup, there was no six-man executive, there were no allies or loyalists for that matter. There hadn’t even been a confrontation. There were no senators with their daggers drawn. There was only Goebbles in the Propaganda Ministry, Doenitz at the Navy, Speer with his war industries. Things were exactly as they had been before. Himmler hadn’t been under any pressure to act because the others didn’t even know about any of it. They were still in the exact same hopeless position as the last time he came down. Exactly the same, only infinitely worse.

He hadn’t even brought it up!

He looked over at Schellenberg and seeing the hopeless exasperation on his face, he almost felt sorry for him. Schellenberg had hitched his fortunes to Himmler’s star, thinking he was Germany’s last best hope, thinking he was a man worthy of his allegiance, his talents. But he’d wasted it all on the man. Himmler was incapable of actually taking initiative. He hadn’t even brought it up!

“You made me fly down for this?” Bernadotte asked, his voice becoming shrill.

Himmler turned back to face him. He clearly wasn’t used to being addressed this way.

“Herr Count,” he said in a calm, measured voice. “I told you I tried. I did my best.”

But Bernadotte was livid. “Reichsfuhrer, you didn’t do anything!”

Himmler looked very hard at Bernadotte. If it had been normal circumstances he’d probably had him immediately taken out and shot. But he knew he couldn’t. He knew that eventually he would have to enter into negotiations. He needed Bernadotte. He tried another tack. “You don’t understand the situation, Herr Count, I went there fully intending to present the ultimatum to the Fuhrer, but when I talked to him I could tell he wouldn’t be receptive. The moment wasn’t there. Neither was the Karma.” He looked away again.

Bernadotte could not believe what he was hearing. “Karma?” he repeated incredulously. “Karma? Reichsfuhrer, I wonder if you are even aware of the enormity of the catastrophe Germany is facing?”

“Oh I assure you, I am, I am. But you have to appreciate my loyalty to the Fuhrer. I owe him everything. Without him, I would be nothing, nothing at all. I have been through an awful lot these last months. And they have had a profound effect on me, a profound effect! I don’t mind telling you, Herr Count, that since the assassination attempt last summer I have for the first time in years, rediscovered my belief in Providence. In God, Herr Count, I am not ashamed to tell you now that I believe in God and I can safely say, sir, that Almighty God has a plan for Germany and the Fuhrer is part of that great plan, and I for one, do not believe it is my place to interfere with it.”

“Your Fuhrer is hell-bent on Germany’s destruction,” exclaimed Bernadotte. “The future of your country now rests entirely in your hands. Unless you or somebody does something immediately, in two or three weeks this country will be nothing but a pile of rubble and anyone who survives will probably greatly envy the dead. If you want to prevent this from happening you should make your move right away.”

“Oh believe me I understand what you are saying. And let me tell you this, and you can tell this to Eisenhower: even if I do not possess full authority at this moment, I recognize that eventually I must act in one way or another. Tell him that!”

"Great! That’s absolutely wonderful!” Bernadotte muttered dryly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch!” And with that Bernadotte stormed out of the office heading straight for the stairs leading down to the courtyard.

Schellenberg ran after him. “Wait,” he shouted. “Let me take you to the airport!”

(This is an excerpt from a chapter that got cut during the final edits of Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here).

Bernadotte in Berlin II: The Coup Is On

Steiner smiled, giving Bernadotte a respectful bob of his head. “General Schellenberg begs your indulgence and regrets that he cannot be here right now, Herr Count,” he said. “But he wants you to know that things are now in motion, such as has been previously discussed. He asks that you wait with me until he can join us.”

Bernadotte grimaced with displeasure, but got in beside Steiner. The driver shut the door and a moment later they were off. Steiner opened his cigarette case and offered it to Bernadotte, who shook his head. For the next hour as they drove around the darkened city Steiner smoked cigarette after cigarette. Neither man said much. Three times the car motorcycle messengers drove up and flagged them down. Each time Steiner stepped out, read the message they handed him, dictated a reply, which Bernadotte couldn’t hear, then got back in the car and ordered the driver to continue, never offering Bernadotte any explanation.

It was only after the third such stop that Bernadotte turned to him and bluntly asked: “Captain, please tell me what is going on?”

The directness of the question seemed to deeply trouble Steiner. For another minute or two he appeared to mull it over while taking long, meditative pulls from his cigarette. Finally he crushed it out. He ordered the driver to park by a row of bombed out buildings. “Come with me,” he snapped to Bernadotte. “We’ll talk outside.” He opened the door and stepped out. Bernadotte followed him out among the rubble. At the edge of a water-filled bomb crater, Steiner stopped. “It’s happening right now. You should have your message for Eisenhower shortly.”

“What is it that you say is happening right now?” asked Bernadotte.

“You know,” answered Steiner evasively as before. “The same thing you and he talked about the last time you were together. You know, in Stockholm.”

But Bernadotte had already had all the indirectness he could take. “Listen Captain,” he barked back in anger and frustration. “Just quit beating around the bush and tell me precisely what is going on!”

Steiner continued to eye Bernadotte uneasily, but then he spoke. “They’ve gone to the Fuhrer to make him step down,” he said. “They’re going to make him leave Berlin for the Obersalzburg. They’ll let him stay on as Reichsprezident, but all the actual affairs of state will be decided by a six-man executive headed by the Reichsfuhrer. There! You asked and I’ve told you. Have you any more questions, Herr Count?”

Bernadotte was stunned. "Yes, I do have a question,” he said. “Tell me, who are Himmler’s allies?”

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” answered Steiner, giving a slight smirk. “Perhaps General Schellenberg will tell you.”

“And you say it’s happening right now?” Bernadotte asked.

“Yes,” said Steiner, “this very moment. I expect we’ll know something very soon.”

“My God!” said Bernadotte, his voice nearly a whisper. Steiner smiled grimly then nodded back at the car to indicate that they should get going.

For the next hour they drove around in silence, Bernadotte staring from the window while Steiner continued to smoke.

So it’s on, thought Bernadotte, as he stared out at the darkened, unsuspecting city. ‘\The coup is finally taking place. So Himmler and his allies had gone to Hitler and laid it on the line. “We’ve come here tonight, Mein Fuhrer, to discuss with you something that can no longer wait. As you know, Mein Fuhrer, the current course of events is no longer running in Germany’s favor. We believe that we are facing imminent disaster and unless a radical course of action is embarked on, Germany and the German people will not survive. We have concluded, Mein Fuhrer, that we must now seek an immediate peace settlement with the Western Allies. Only then can we convince them to join with us against a common Soviet foe. For this reason, Mein Fuhrer, we are asking you to step down and hand over all executive powers to a six-man executive council led by myself. You will continue to reign as Head of State, Mein Fuhrer, but in order to do that we ask that you immediately leave Berlin and reign from the Obersalzburg.”

But would Himmler actually say something like that to Hitler? Did he actually have the guts to look him in the face and tell him that? Bernadotte didn’t think so. After all, in none of their previous closed-door meetings had he even come close to professing anything disloyal. Besides, even if he did, would Hitler even listen long enough to let him say it? Would Himmler lose his courage and back down?

If Bernadotte could find a way to reconcile the cowardly, indecisive Himmler that he knew with the other Himmler: the ruthless and cold blooded one who’d murdered millions without a second thought; the Himmler whom all Europe shivered in fear of. Maybe then he’d be able to see what was in the works and what was coming. Perhaps that Himmler was capable of acting differently, that one wouldn’t be so lily-livered when it came down to facing one mere man, even if that man was Adolf Hitler?

It had started to rain, the heavy drops pelting hard upon the car’s roof. Looking out, he made out the familiar darkened silhouettes of the buildings on the western end of Potzdammer Platz. As they drove through the square, he saw work crews shoveling rubble into a bomb hole where some tram tracks had run, while a few feet away welders were busily fitting rails back into place. With any luck, by dawn, the trams would be running again.

But for Himmler there’d be no possibility of  turning back. He’d have to go through with it. Because if he didn’t act right away, his rivals would find out and word of his betrayal would quickly get to Hitler. And if his rivals didn’t, then his allies certainly would if for no other reason than to save their own skins. No, this time he’d have to stand up, and it would have to be tonight.

Bernadotte tried imagining a logical sequence of events, but because everyone involved was so utterly unpredictable, he had no idea what turns such a conversation might take. Probably they’d begin by making a reasonable and respectful-sounding approach. But then, how quickly would Hitler interrupt them with screaming and accusations? And when that happened, how would they respond? Would they get conciliatory? Would they try to smooth over the ugly reality of what they were asking by making emotional pleas? Of course it’s only for a temporary period, Mein Fuhrer, only until we can find a way to stabilize our situation with the Western Allies…..Please, Mein Fuhrer, think about the German people. Think about the women and the girls and the babies and the children, Mein Fuhrer. The Aryan children, what about them, Mein Fuhrer?.....No, Mein Fuhrer, it is not about capitulation, it is about making a strategic alliance that will allow us to fulfill our goals. It is no different that the pact you signed with Joseph Stalin six years ago. Remember that? Frankly, Bernadotte couldn’t imagine Hitler buying any of it.

So then would they start getting direct and telling him all the blunt, unpleasant things he really didn’t want to hear? This war you’ve led us into has gone on too long, Mein Fuhrer.

Too soft, thought Bernadotte, they wouldn’t say that. Something with the word ‘disaster’ would work much better. This war you’ve led us into has been a disaster, a complete disaster. Disaster and ruin, that’s what they’d serve him. You’ve caused disaster and ruin to the German people! It’s gone on too long and the German People cannot and will not take any more. Accuse him of failure to lead, failure to face reality. It’s gone on too long and right now very hard decisions must be made about the future of the German People and, Mein Fuhrer, you have shown you are not capable of making them. So we are asking you to step down now.

And what if Hitler didn’t agree to step down? Hitler wasn’t one who allowed others to challenge or contradict him. Himmler and the others had better have the resolve and determination to follow it through or else they’d be in big trouble. For one thing they’d have to show him who was boss and whose hand no longer held any cards.

It is too late for you to protest, Mein Fuhrer, the decision has already been made and the first steps have already been taken toward seeking an immediate armistice with the Western Allies. I will be going to meet with Eisenhower myself.

And then, they’d be at a point of no return, where they simply couldn’t back down. Everybody’s backs would be to the wall. Everybody: Hitler, Himmler, Himmler’s supporters….The outcome at that point would be completely unpredictable.

Another motorcycle messenger had come up from behind and was flagging them. Steiner leaned forward and instructed the driver to stop. He read the paper the messenger gave him.

“What now?” asked Bernadotte.

“General Schellenberg says we should come now,” said Steiner.

“Is it over?”

But Steiner didn’t answer.

When they arrived at Schellenberg's offices, Schellenberg looked up and gave Bernadotte a quick nod of recognition before turning back to the cluster of officers he was conferring with. For another five minutes Bernadotte waited before Schellenberg finally dismissed them and walked over. He looked harried, Bernadotte observed, like he hadn’t slept in quite awhile.

“So, has Captain Steiner briefed you?”Schellenberg asked.

“He tells me the coup is on,” Bernadotte said in low voice. “Is it?”

Gravely Schellenberg nodded.

“Any news?”

Schellenberg shook his head. “No, nothing yet,” he aswered. “But we expect to hear something anytime.” Then he added, “You understand, Herr Count, the situation is extremely volatile at the moment. Anything can happen. But let’s just say that at this moment I am extremely optimistic.”

Another group of officers was being brought in. Seeing them, Schellenberg cut short the conversation and walked over to them. Bernadotte settled into an empty chair in the corner and looked on as another hushed, but heated discussion ensued. They left a few minutes later only to be replaced by another group and then by another group and another group after that. Three times Schellenberg gathered some of them in front of a hanging map of Berlin, pointing to different key spots around the city, then making an emphatic, circular sweep of his hand converging onto a spot in the city’s center which he’d then pound with his fist. That spot, Bernadotte knew, was where the Reichskancellei and Fuhrerbunker stood. And each time the men nodded gravely, hardened, resolute men, men prepared to do or die. They had to be discussing special units that were being held in reserve in case fighting broke out, Bernadotte decided.

When would the uprising begin? Or had it already started? Fighting could already be erupting all over the city between the insurgents and forces still loyal to Hitler. He began trying to guess who the loyalists might be. Were they SS units whom Himmler didn’t directly control? It was possible. There had been rumors that Kaltenbrunner, head of the SS security service, was a potential rival to Himmler. But would the soldiers in those units obey the orders given to them once they found out what was actually going on? He wondered what their morale was like at that moment. Could any of them still actually think Hitler was capable of getting them out of this mess? He wished he knew.

Then of course there was the whole question of Himmler’s allies. Bernadotte suddenly realized he hadn’t gotten to ask Schellenberg about who they were.

If Himmler had been able to get Goebbles on his side, he’d have something. But did he? What about Bormann, Hitler’s secretary? No way! He was too close. There was nothing in it for him to go against Hitler. And what about the Luftwaffe and its chief, fat Hermann Goering? Might he suddenly show his loyalty to Hitler for no other reason than to regain all the favor he’d lost in recent years?

Bernadotte got up from his chair and walked to the widow. Sluggish light was beginning to fill the courtyard. It would be dawn soon. There were still a half dozen motorcycle riders tiredly milling about, warming themselves around a wood fire burning in an ashcan placed next to a wall, presumably as protection against the rain.

There was the sound of a rifle shot in the courtyard. Instinctively, Bernadotte jerked back from the window, only to realize a second later that it was just a backfire from one of the motorcycles being started up. A couple of the men inside the room gave nervous laughs.

For the first time, Bernadotte started thinking about his own safety. If the fighting spun out of control and nobody had the upper hand, what would he do? Get out! Get back to Stockholm and if he couldn’t get out of Berlin, he’d need to get to the Swedish Embassy. And if he couldn’t make it there, then he’d need to find his way to the Irish Embassy, or the Swiss Embassy. Find a way to get the word to Eisenhower that it was all falling apart.

Maybe if the fighting went on long enough without any clear outcome, that might compel the individual area commanders to seek separate surrenders. Eisenhower might then be able to quickly seize vast areas of territory. That would work too.

One of the radio operators shot his hand up like he had something. He started scribbling down a message on a piece of paper which he then held up. Immediately Steiner went over, grabbed it and then brought it to Schellenberg, who stared at it and then he broke out into a broad smile. “The Reichsfuhrer has left the Fuhrerbunker!” he announced to everybody in a loud voice. “He’s on his way here now.”

Everyone looked immensely relieved. Schellenberg walked over to Bernadotte. “I think you’ll have your message for Eisenhower,” he said quietly, so no one else could hear. Then he turned on his heel and walked back.

Bernadotte looked at his watch. It was 5:45, he now had exactly forty-five minutes before his flight left Templehof for Stockholm. He had to be on that plane.

He started doing the arithmetic in his head. They’d land in Stockholm by eleven. He could be at the Foreign Ministry by noon. Eisenhower could have the message by one. If they felt like moving on it quickly, there could be a ceasefire in effect possibly by midnight. It was all a question of what Himmler was prepared to do.

Then someone shouted “They’re here!” and everyone rushed to the windows that looked down into the courtyard. Bernadotte saw a procession of five Mercedes driving in from the street. The car doors opened and he could see the figure of Reichsfuhrer Himmler confidently stepping out from the back of one.

(This is a chapter that got cut during the final edits of my novel Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here).

Himmler in Hiding: A Little Fun in the Farmhouse

This was the moment, Franzi told himself. If he wanted to get away, he had to act now. Macher was out on night patrol with two of the others, which meant they probably wouldn’t be back for at least another hour. Himmler was also safely out of the picture, having retreated to the bedroom for another session with Fraulein Potthast. That meant the only people he’d have to contend with were Grothmann and Kiermaier, Himmler’s personal bodyguard. The three of them were sitting in the front room, Franzi in the corner, while Grothmann and Kiermaier sat opposite each other at the table.

For the last three days they’d been holed up in a gamekeeper’s cottage, deep in a forest somewhere near Flensburg. Before that they’d been continually on the move, never spending more than a night in any one place. But when they came here, they found, to the surprise of everyone except Kiermaier, that Fraulein Potthast, Himmler’s mistress, was already ensconced there. Macher didn’t like it and neither did Grothmann, but as Franzi saw it, even though she got on everyone’s nerves, at least she kept Himmler busy and out of their hair for hours at a time.

All he had to do now was put Kiermaier and Grothmann to sleep. Just get inside their minds, find the rhythms of their awareness, and then, like stepping into a chorus line, become part of it. Then, without them noticing it, induce a new rhythm. Make the flow of their thoughts change from a razor sharp wave into a long, greasy, monotonous roll. Franzi and his brothers had grown up practicing it on their father. It was easy as Gustav Loerber was the rare individual whom self-doubt never visited.

Kiermaier, on the other hand, was alertand suspicious and entering his mind felt like walking barefoot across a beach of sharp rocks with the waves pounding casually beyond it. But gradually, Franzi got him nodding. Grothmann, to his surprise, turned out to be relatively easy. The constant creaking and squealing coming from the bedroom had him so irritated, that all Franzi had to do was set up a couple of counter-rhythms to send him blessedly into oblivion.

Franzi rose from his chair and began making his way toward the door, carefully shifting his weight from one foot to the other so the floorboards wouldn’t creak. But halfway across, he felt so overcome with fatigue that he had to stop and hold onto the wall. He tried to imagine running into the forest, up a trail, then cutting off to the side until he found some ferns or undergrowth he could disappear into. And after he got his strength back, he’d creep off like a badger. He figured they’d give up looking for him after a few hours, since they could no longer spare the men for a sustained search.

He made another couple steps toward the door. He reached for the handle, checking quickly behind him to make sure the two were still out. Suddenly, a shrill scream tore through the stillness.

“Oh Hanzeeeeeeee!” shrieked Fraulein Potthast from behind the bedroom door.

Franzi pulled his hand away from the door handle just as Kiermaier and Grothmann snapped awake.

“Oh Hanzeeee, Hanzeee, Hanzeee!”

Oh shit, thought Franzi.

Kiermaier’s eyes were darting around the room. “What happened?” he asked, thoroughly confused.

“I don’t know,” answered Grothmann. He looked suspiciously at Franzi. “What were you doing? I didn’t see you get up.”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” said Franzi as he sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes and tried to think. But his mind felt like it was full of cold, wet cement, his thoughts moving listlessly through it like dying animals.

By now Fraulein Potthast’s screaming had subsided into little satisfied mewing noises. Grothmann gave a disgusted look and tried to focus his attention on the dirt under his nails while Kiermaier’s face returned to its usual blank inscrutability.

Franzi had been trying to escape for a week now, and each time, his attempts came apart at the last moment. Something always went wrong. Once he got Macher to run into a hall closet, believing it was a front door, but he barely bumped his head. Another time, he’d got Grothmann and Kiermaier so angry at each other that they drew their pistols, but their training got the better of them and they soon calmed down again.

He remembered going through Flensburg that night and seeing his brothers there with Nigel Westerby. They had to be planning his rescue, which he absolutely had to prevent from happening. It didn’t matter what resources Westerby had or what magic Manni could muster up for the occasion. They didn’t stand a chance against Macher.

There was more creaking of bedsprings, louder, more jerking and arrhythmic. Grothmann’s eyes narrowed. This weakness of character was something he had not heretofore suspected about the Reichsfuhrer. But Himmler was insatiable. In the time they’d been here, he’d hardly done anything but have sex with Fraulein Potthast. Franzi wondered what it was about being the most hunted man on earth that could stoke one’s ardency to this degree.

The creaking grew louder. “Jesus God, is that all he’s good for?” muttered Grothmann. Kiermaier shot him a poisonous look. Grothmann glared back. It occurred to Franzi that if he’d had the strength, perhaps he might have been able to engineer another showdown between the two. But he didn’t. Instead he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The next thing he knew he was being shaken awake by Grothmann. “Wake up, Loerber, wake up! The Reichsfuhrer is having an attack.”

Groggily, Franzi followed Grothmann into the bedroom. Kiermaier was already inside, holding down the writhing, naked Reichsfuhrer, while Fraulein Potthast cowered in the corner, her dressing gown wrapped tight around her.

While Kiermaier held down his knees, Franzi began working on Himmler’s stomach. Everything was knotted up, even worse than usual. Franzi let his fingers probe deep into the muscles and immediately, Himmler’s screaming dropped to a whimper and he started to relax. Once Kiermaier felt certain Himmler was out of danger, he took Fraulein Potthast by the wrist and led her out of the room. Himmler’s breathing began slowing down and he stopped whimpering. “Oh Herr Loerber,” he sighed. “You have saved me again.”

“Thank you, Reichsfuhrer,” answered Franzi.

“You really are quite remarkable.”

“Thank you.”

For a few minutes, neither said anything, but Franzi could tell Himmler had something major on his mind.

Finally he spoke. “May I ask you a question, Herr Professor?”

“Certainly, Reichsfuhrer.”

“What do you think of General Schellenberg? Is he someone you would trust?”

“Sorry?”

“Let me put it this way, Loerber, has he taken you into his confidence on occasion? You’ve done things for him, secret things?”

Franzi felt the tingling on the back of his neck.

“What were you doing for him most recently?”

“I was helping arrange the moving of some containers to remote locations. General Schellenberg wanted them dispersed into barns and cellars where they could be retrieved unnoticed.”

“Containers, you said?”

“Yes, Reichsfuhrer. Containers of intelligence files, relating to Source Moonpool.”

“Did General Schellenberg tell you that?”

“No, Reichsfuhrer, I just assumed it.”

“Why?”

“Because Major Steiner was working on it with him.”

“Major Steiner!” Himmler smiled. It was the answer he was looking for. “Major Steiner, yes,” Himmler said. “But did he ever say anything about gold?”

Franzi acted startled. “Gold, Reichsfuhrer? No, he never said anything about that.”

“Did General Schellenberg ever name any of the locations where they were hiding the containers?”

“Not to me Reichsfuhrer.” Franzi paused long enough to adopt a troubled expression. The fact was Schellenberg and Steiner had both, unbeknownst to each other, given him the lists of the locations of the gold. And each list was completely different.

Himmler went on. “Looking back on it now, with the virtue of hindsight, I think we can fairly say it was a mistake entrusting the location of the gold to the same individual running the special operations against the Soviets. General Schellenberg assured me the man was better than anyone at keeping secrets. But now they’re both gone.”

“Oh,” said Franzi.

“This puts our negotiations with Eisenhower into a problematic area, since Schellenberg has not yet fully informed us of the details of the agreement he has reached with him. I can’t very well go to Eisenhower myself, having no idea what the status is. That would be showing all my cards.”

“Yes, it would be,” agreed Franzi.

“So you wouldn’t have any idea where he might have gone to?”

“None, Reichsfuhrer.”

“Can ask you another question?”

“Of course.”

“What do the stars say will become of me?”

Always the stars, thought Franzi. He hadn’t seen a star in several days, since Macher wouldn’t let him outside, other than escorted visits to the latrine.

“Reichsfuhrer,” he began, “these are very difficult times. There is much uncertainty about. But know this,” he said with all the stillness he could muster as he tried to think up something.

“Yes?” asked Himmler expectantly.

Franzi tried to mobilize his brain cells into a last minute defense. “I see, I see...” And then he saw it. A vision, clear as crystal, and almost immediately the unplanned words came to him. “The change will come very soon, Reichsfuhrer. It will come even before the moon wanes.” He saw Himmler’s face light up. Franzi went on. “In the East, two men wait. They stand surrounded by a bloody tide. They wait for their king, their new king.”

Himmler gasped. “That must be Bulgakov and Rybchinski,” he whispered. “Does one of them have glasses?”

“One of them sits on a horse with a golden mane, the other whirls through the air like a fish. They’ll wait for you in the place where the sun shines at night and glows golden from the Earth.”

“You mean Greenland, don’t you? This is amazing!” said Himmler. “Greenland is a place I’ve always dreamed of going to.” But then he added worryingly, “Does it say how long I should stay there? When could I come back?”

Franzi shrugged. Greenland? he thought. Why on earth would anyone want to go there?

“The thing is,” said Himmler, “I still have my career to think about. If I am gone too long, won’t somebody else take the posts which I am destined for? But go on, professor Loerber,” he whispered excitedly. “Please don’t stop. Tell me more! What else do you see?”

“I see a maiden.”

“A maiden? You see Fraulein Potthast?”

Franzi shook his head. “I see another maiden, with long golden hair, in a gown of feathery white. She stands beside an empty throne next to a stone altar where there is a golden helmet and a spear.”

“That’s the Spear of Destiny!” Himmler said breathlessly.

“With her right hand she points to the North Star, with the left to a castle, a castle with four towers.”

“Four towers? That’s Schloss Glucksburg!”

“There is a golden glow from the castle’s West tower.”

“Golden glow! You saw gold? That must be the treasure! We’re supposed to bring it there. Does that mean it will come? Will the gold shipment arrive?”

Franzi nodded.

“So then I should tell Macher not to move again. Perhaps we should move closer to the schloss? What do you think? Should we?”

Franzi nodded again.

“Does the maiden say anything?” asked Himmler.

“She says, ‘beware!’”

“Beware?”

“Beware!”

“Beware what?”

Franzi had no idea what. “Beware, the Blood of Israel!” he intoned in a voice that frightened even himself.

“The Blood of Israel?” Himmler was shocked. “Not them? They’re after my gold? Well they’re not going to get it,” he snapped. “The gold is mine! I’ve worked hard for it. Does the maiden have any advice about what I should do?”

“The helmet will go to the true king and with it, the throne. But not before three bursts of lightning rain on the castle. The gold shall build a new kingdom in a land of kings where there is no king.”

“That’s Germany!” Himmler was beside himself with excitement. “She has to be talking about Germany. Germany is the land of great and true kings. Will I be the next king?”

“Beware the Blood of Israel. The Blood of Israel will seek its vengeance.”

“It’s a little late for that,” Himmler cackled. “Hitler is already dead. I buried the hatchet with those people a month ago. We shook hands and everything. It’s Doenitz’s problem. They don’t have anything on me! In any event, I’ll have Eisenhower deal with them once I am king.”

After that, Himmler felt so much better he put on his best uniform and strode into the front room. Macher and the others were back now and everyone was where they had been sitting earlier.

Himmler smiled at Fraulein Potthast, who was now sitting by herself, forlorn and frightened-looking, like she had the onus on her for the attack. “Come on, Hedwig, put on your nicest dress, let’s light some candles and have some wine. We’re having a party!”

Immediately she lit up and fluttered back into the bedroom, only to emerge a few minutes later in a shimmering lavender gown, elbow length silk gloves and a long string of pearls around her neck. She was young, blonde and pretty, though in a horse-faced way. Now, reaffirmed in her position as the first lady of the SS, she greeted her guests with awkward formality, forgetting that they were all just fugitives from an empire which had already evaporated.

Himmler wound up the gramophone and handed her a stack of disks and invited her to choose. She made a great show of picking one out, pulling it out from its brown paper sleeve. “Play this one,” she said. Himmler put it on and lowered the needle. As the first notes surged out of the horn, he bowed and took her hand in his and they started to dance. The sad, happy rhythm and the swaying melody began filling the room.

Harlem Rhapsody.
(Excerpt from Germania, first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, now also available on Kindle here)

Schellenberg Helps Himmler Bury the Hatchet with the Jews

Someday in the future, when the history books were written, this would be the moment they’d point to as the new beginning. This was when men of reason and vision came together, put an end to the most senseless and bloody conflict in human history and forged a new era of peace and prosperity. And he, General Walter Schellenberg, would be forever remembered as the artificer of that peace.

Schellenberg stood at the entrance of Zeithen Castle, watching the Reichsfuhrer’s motorcade drive up. Inside the castle Count Bernadotte was waiting along with the Jewish Representative. They’d flown down from Stockholm in what turned out to be the last commercial flight into Berlin, landing at Templehof just as the Soviet ring around the city was starting to close. Luckily Schellenberg had gotten them picked up and whisked out not an hour before it did.

The long line of cars stopped. The driver jumped out and opened the door and the Reichsfuhrer stepped out, followed by a host of aides, adjutants, batsmen, and the thirty-six heavily armed SS troopers who made up his personal security detail. He strutted up the driveway, his boots kicking up bits of the thick gravel. Seeing Schellenberg, he fixed him with his usual empty gaze, and then let a thin smile form briefly on his lips. It is done, it seemed to say. Before Schellenberg could greet him with the customary salute, he put his hand out for Schellenberg to shake. Side by side, they walked up the castle corridors toward the salon where their guests were waiting. He was back to his old self, observed Schellenberg. The nervous skittishness was gone, replaced by decisiveness and control.

Schellenberg hadn’t spoken much to the Jewish Representative yet, but he seemed like a completely reasonable sort, with his eyes fixed more on the future than the past.

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He was sitting in the parlor on a couch by himself, a little man, gray, finite and dapper in his London suit and red and purple French tie. He stood up when they entered the room. Schellenberg made the introductions. “Reichsfuhrer, I would like to introduce you to Herr Norbert Masur of the World Jewish Congress. He has flown down from Stockholm to be with us today.”

“So good of you to come, Herr Masur,” said Himmler with surprising affability. He quickly extended his hand for Masur to shake. “I trust you had a pleasant flight down?”

Masur nodded and assured him there had been no problems at all.

“Good, good,” said Himmler heartily. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here. There is much we have to talk about.”

Masur nodded again. Yes, there was, he said, his eyes quietly riveted on the Reichsfuhrer.

Schellenberg had coffee brought in and they sat down to talk.

“I have asked you to come here,” began Himmler, “because I believe the time has come to put an end to this terrible period between your people and my people.”

Masur nodded, urging Himmler to go on.

Himmler adopted a solemn, sincere look. “You must understand I didn’t have anything personally to do with all the terrible, unfortunate things that happened to your people. I am a soldier, Herr Masur. Do you understand what that means? It is my duty, my sacred duty to obey orders and that is what I did. No one asked me to agree with them. You must understand that it was never my intention to harm anyone or cause them pain. I always sought to solve the, ah, Jewish Problem by peaceful, humane means, by expulsion, emigration and resettlement. But we were prevented from doing that by two things, Herr Masur. We were prevented by the extreme resistance by the outside world as well as by opposition from the Nazi Party.”

On this point Schellenberg had expected Masur to raise some objections, but he appeared detached, smiling his mandarin smile and nodding in all the right places, but saying almost nothing. Perhaps the man was shy. In any case, he was listening.

“I never hated Jews, Herr Masur. I must tell you that growing up in Bavaria, many of my best friends were Jews. I thought they were all very nice people. And I don’t want what happened to be a stain on our future relationship. We need to think about the future, Herr Masur, and I don’t mind telling you that the future Europe which our peoples will share is going to be a most wonderful place.”

Finally Himmler finished and invited Masur’s reply.

Masur clasped his fingers together as he spoke to them in a startlingly forceful voice. “What you say is very interesting, Herr Himmler. But my reason for coming here today is simple. Whatever has gone on in the past cannot be changed. What I would like from you today are assurances that no more Jews will be killed. Let me repeat that: not one more. I would also like your guarantee that the remaining Jewish prisoners should remain in the camps and that under no circumstances should they be evacuated away from the approaching Allied armies. I would also ask that you provide me with a list of all the camps where Jews are being kept. If you can do these things for us, perhaps we will have a basis for future discussions.”

Himmler broke into a relieved smile. “I am happy to report, sir, that I have already given such orders. And just to show my good will, I would also like to propose releasing a large group of Jewesses from Ravensbrück.” Himmler’s smile became conspiratorial. “The Fuhrer has already given me permission to free Polish women. It would be a very simple matter to have these Jewesses reclassified as Polish. I could do that for you if you’d like.”

Masur nodded and said yes, he would like that.

“So what do you say, Herr Masur?” asked Himmler jubilantly. “Are we burying the hatchet?”

The three shook hands. Masur remained polite, but ever so distant.

They left him there and went into an adjoining room to see Count Bernadotte.

“I am happy to inform you that you may now go to Eisenhower and tell him I am taking over command of the Reich and would very much like to start peace talks at the General’s earliest convenience,” Himmler said. “How soon do you think you could get something started?”

Count Bernadotte told him he’d get on it right away, except that with Berlin and Templehof already cut off, the only way they could get back to Sweden was by driving at least into Denmark before he could arrange for a neutral aircraft to pick them up. They decided Schellenberg would drive them in his car.

“Gentlemen,” Himmler declared. “I think it’s fair to say, this marks the beginning of a whole new era.”
(Excerpt from Germania by Brendan McNally, Simon & Schuster 2008)

Flensburg: The Bizarre, Three-Week Post-Hitler Government

My novel Germania is set in Germany during the last days of the Third Reich and is about living in the strange moments that take place in the space between epochs.

On May 1, 1945, mere hours after Adolf Hitler had killed himself deep in his Berlin Fuhrerbunker, a new Nazi government was coming to life in the little north German town of Flensburg. Set up by Grand Admiral Doenitz, the head of the navy and Hitler’s hapless successor, the ‘Flensburg Reich,’ was an absurd little comic opera affair which somehow managed to hold on for three weeks before the Allies decided to unceremoniously roll it up and arrest everyone.But much of what happened in Flensburg during that three weeks was so odd it defies credulity. With the war over and Hitler no longer telling them what to think, Flensburg’s inhabitants, mostly high-ranking Nazis who’d managed to flee Berlin, were suddenly free to imagine up whatever bright, shiny postwar future struck their fancy. Neither are they hindered by their guilt or by the fact that the Allies are now walking among them.

SS Reichsfuhrer Heinrich Himmler now fancies himself co-ruling postwar Europe with Dwight Eisenhower, while Hitler’s architect and armaments minister Albert Speer contemplates escaping to Greenland with a friend to hunt walrus, fish, and write their memoirs together. In a brazen attempt at reinvention, SS doctor Karl Gebhardt appoints himself as the new head of the Red Cross and wanders about easing any misery he can find. Meanwhile Rosenberg, Ribbentrop and other former top Nazi henchmen, having lost their jobs, now stumble around in drunken desperation, trying to get their hands on anything that might give them official cover, or allow their escape: ministerial appointment, diplomatic passport, submarine, medical certificate, desk, or even just a few sheets of office letterhead.

Woven among all this craziness is the story of four Jewish brothers, former Berlin vaudeville child-stars, Manni, Franzi, Ziggy, and Sebastian, known during the 1920s and 30s as the Flying Magical Loerber Brothers. Flensburg is where they find themselves reunited after twelve years apart and suddenly things start getting quite strange...
Germania was first published by Simon & Schuster in 2008, but is now also available on Kindle here.