Wolfgang Luth Learns His Number Two Is a Jew

At the edge of the park was a hillside that overlooked Flensburg harbor. Ziggy lit a cigarette and stared out at the ships anchored there. Apart from all the U-Boats, there were destroyers, corvettes, minesweepers, patrol craft, and even a cruiser. And in all of them, probably not more than a few dozen crew still aboard. They were dead ships, the German Kriegsmarine was a dead navy. The victors would divide them among themselves. A few ships might live on a few years as workhorses or testing vessels. The rest would be broken up for scrap, used for targets or just sunk.

Then he realized the flying boats were gone. Cremer must have already got them towed up to the cove. Manni definitely had a clever idea. Had the flying boats remained there in plain view, they’d quickly stop seeming special and simply fade into the mosaic of rusting, derelict warships. But now, having been revealed and then promptly hidden, their mystique would exert itself deeper into the imagination, making the prospect of flying away in one all the more tantalizing. And that is precisely how they wanted Himmler to react. He wondered when he’d hear again from Manni or Westerby.

Ziggy remembered Franzi’s face in the car window. He looked a lot worse than that night in Ploen. Since then, the SS had completely disappeared. There were reports of large numbers of them still hiding in nearby forests and the British were wary of spreading themselves too thin to go on any extensive searches.

So where was Franzi right now? Could he feel his way toward him? Once it had been easy to do, but he hadn’t done any of it in so long that he no longer even knew where to start. Ziggy kept trying to imagine Franzi somewhere, in a forest or a house or inside a vehicle, but each time he did, the idea failed to grow into anything real. He knew he was going about it the wrong way.

Was it possible he’d lost his ability? And what was that ability anyway? What were the mechanics of perception? Perhaps if he just focused on one thing, Franzi, was he far or near? What were his eyes seeing? What was he thinking? What did his skin feel? Warmth or cold? Cold or warmth? Cold. Dry or damp? Dry. What was he smelling? Cooked cabbage and tinned beef, cold and greasy on a plate. Cigarette smoke, open window and a night breeze, smell of pine. Pine trees outside the window, the wind blowing through them. They were in a farmhouse, inland, but still close enough to smell the sea. They were keeping within reach of Flensburg. There was a forest nearby, men hiding inside it. Lines of kubelwagens hidden under camouflaged tarps. They were staying put, waiting for something to come. Inside everyone was tense.

Ziggy opened his eyes. A bluebird was looking at him from a nearby branch. It chirped and then flew away. Ziggy went back to the office.

Back at his desk, there were more supplicants awaiting him. One by one, he sent them away, not bothering to trouble the Grand Admiral about any of them. In the middle of the afternoon, the door opened and in walked Wolfgang Luth. “Hello Number One,” he said.

Ziggy looked at him. The moment he had dreaded had arrived. “Hello, Sir,” he said.

Luth looked surprised. “When did you get so formal? How’ve you been? I heard you went to see Eisenhower. Is he as nice as they say? Come on, Loerber, tell me what you’ve been up to? Seen any of the old gang?”

“Oh,” said Ziggy, “besides Captain Cremer, I haven’t seen much of anybody. I’ve been pretty busy.”

Luth gave a sour, but good-natured look. “Busy? Sitting at a desk? What’s going on with you, Loerber?”

Ziggy shrugged. But somehow he couldn’t come up with anything resembling the usual banter.

Luth looked at him and his expression grew serious. “I sent you congratulations when you got oak leaves on your Knight’s Cross. I wrote you again when you got the diamonds. You never wrote back either time. I told myself you were busy but now you’ve been here a week and you haven’t even dropped by to see me once. What’s going on?”

Ziggy shrugged noncommittally, but his heart was pounding.

Luth continued. “When you didn’t write back, I knew something was wrong. I wrote you again and you didn’t write then either. What is it, Loerber? I’ve done something to offend you, haven’t I?”

Ziggy said nothing.

“You should tell me what it is,” said Luth. “This is the time when we need to stick together. You know I’ve always considered you my brother and if there is something wrong, then for the sake of our brotherhood, you should tell me what it is. This war has been bad enough. We shouldn’t go into peacetime bearing grudges. It’ll poison things.”

Luth was looking at him earnestly and Ziggy knew he was expecting an honest answer. He remembered again the times they’d stood together on a deck, witnessing the death groans of a ship they’d torpedoed as its insides ripped apart. “Yes, I do have something to say to you.”

“Then say it.”

“I’m a Jew.”

Luth stared at him a very long time. “I see,” he said finally. “So I suppose there’s nothing more to say, then.”

Ziggy said nothing.

Luth turned and walked away.
(Excerpt from Germania, first published in 2008 by Simon & Schuster, now also available on Kindle here).

The Killing of Wolfgang Luth: Who? What? When? ... Why?

“So who is Blood of Israel?” Ziggy asked.

Sebastian gave an ironic smile as he refilled their glasses. “Better you should ask who isn’t Blood of Israel?” Ziggy waited for him to elaborate but instead Sebastian said, “We’re buying land in Palestine, at least my group is. Putting in kibbutzes, nice places, everybody gets along, everybody shares. We’ve started raising vegetables, fruit, oranges, grapefruit, lemons, olives. Have you ever seen an olive tree, Ziggy? They’re incredible.”

Then Sebastian’s face darkened. “But of course, that’s just our group. There are others; anti-socialists, ultra-socialists, revisionists; the Jabotinsky’s, Lehi. More than you can keep track of. Most of the time we work together okay, but now it’s getting funny.”

“Is that what happened at the cove that night?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what happened. All I know was the day before there were all these Jabotinsky-types dressed as Luftwaffe. The next day they were gone. Even I get told only so much.”

“So how do we know this isn’t going to happen again?”

“Relax, there’s not that many people involved. And we only came up with our current plan yesterday when we got the fuel. Plus, the flying boats attracted too much attention. Everybody suddenly wanted to get into the act. No one will bother to think about midget submarines at all.”

“So how did you get the fuel?”

Sebastian shook his head and laughed. “I don’t mind telling you it was truly epic. The kinds of things that happen. We arrange to pump some from the minesweepers and right before we can do it, what happens? They get ordered north by the British. We divert a tanker truck full of diesel from the British, what happens? It gets hijacked by some Scottish infantry who for all I know probably have a deal going with Danish gangsters who’re taking over all the trucking in this part of Germany.”

“And then I realized the solution was right here under our nose. The German Navy might not have a drop to spare, but the Marineschule keeps a nice little store of its own for training cadets in handling large harbor craft. The British didn’t even know about it. It was just a question of finding a way of getting it released to us.”

“I’m telling you, it was a lot easier when the war was still on. Things were a lot more cut and dry. See a guy in an SS uniform, your first thought isn’t how can I get him to do things for me, it’s how do I slit his fucking throat for maximum effect and still get away.”

“And that’s what you did the whole war?” asked Ziggy.

“Well not the whole war. The real killing campaign only started this year, when it became easy to send people in. Before that, we’d infiltrate people into SS units and get information from them, occasionally blow something up, but mostly just basic intelligence stuff. Not that different from what Manni was doing.” Sebastian paused a moment, then added, “In fact, Manni’s been doing plenty of assassinations himself. He won’t tell you that, but our people spotted him in the Ruhr. Once he even got one of our people out of a Gestapo jail, without even knowing who he was. Just went in and did it. It’s not what the British hired him to do, but you know Manni, he likes to do things on his own.”

Ziggy shrugged. “War turns us all into killers.”

The parlor had striped wallpaper, peeling and weathered at the edges, with groupings of tiny framed paintings. There were so many, it was difficult to focus on any one. Ziggy looked at Sebastian, who had fallen silent, a troubled look on his face. His eyes avoided Ziggy as he stared at the wallpaper. Finally, he spoke. “Manni doesn’t think we should go to Palestine, ”he said quietly. “He thinks that once we get Franzi out we should take the gold and fly to Spain. We can keep the fuel money. Nobody knows about that.”

He paused again, rubbing his fist against his lips. Then he stared back at Ziggy. The light had gone out from Sebastian. Now all he looked was tired and desperate.

“I want to get away from this shit, Ziggy.” Sebastian dug his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. He let out a sniff. “I don’t want to keep doing this Blood of Israel. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the killing.”

Ziggy stared at Sebastian. “But what about Palestine, Sebastian? I thought your dream was going to a kibbutz and raising olives?”

“Fuck olives,” mumbled Sebastian. “I’m tired of all this.”

“Tired of being a Jew?”

“No! Yes! No, of course not!” Sebastian let out a long sniff. “I’m tired of the cause. I just don’t want to be part of it anymore. I don’t want people pointing at me and saying ‘do you know what he did?’” Sebastian gave a sheepish grin. “Besides, how long would I last on a farm? A half hour? Fuck Palestine. Let's just go to Spain.”

Ziggy had to laugh. “If we go to Spain, we’ll spend the rest of our lives with everyone thinking we’re Nazis.”

“I don’t care,” sniffed Sebastian.

“How many times can you put the past behind you, Sebastian? I’m sick of new beginnings.”

Sebastian suddenly brightened. “But don’t you see? It won’t be a new beginning at all. We’ll be going back together, to what we were.”

“And how are we going to pay to get to Spain?”

“With the gold the SS gave us for the fuel.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When the SS agreed to give us gold to pay for the fuel, we still know Manni would have one of his own people taking over the fuel dock and we’d get the fuel for free.”

“Take over from whom?”

“Luth.”

“Luth was in charge of the fuel?”

“He was rector of the Marineschule, wasn’t he?”

“Well yes, so you would have had to pay off Luth to get the fuel?”

“Yes, that was where everything stalled.”

Ziggy looked at Sebastian and suddenly felt everything crumbling around him. “You killed Luth?”

“Hey, we made him a nice offer and he wouldn’t take it. He acted like a complete prick. He even asked if we were Jews. Can you imagine that? After all we’ve been through, to have some God damn Nazi prick ask, ‘Are you Jews?’ I mean the nerve of some people!”

“You killed...Luth?”

“What do you care? It’s one less Nazi in the world. And he was a real Nazi, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Ziggy, staring back at Sebastian. “He was also my captain.”

“I know who he was.”

They stared at each other in leaden silence. “Why did you have to kill him?”

“I beg your pardon, Zigmund, but do you think I need an excuse to kill a Nazi? You really have been in the Navy too long.” Sebastian shook his head incredulously. “If you have a problem with it, try remembering that we’re doing this for Franzi and to bring those SS bastards to justice.”

“And you killed him over fuel oil?”

“I did it for Franzi!” Sebastian’s irritation was now in the fore. “I mean this is stupid, Zigmund. You need to get over this. We’ve got a big task ahead of us and there’s not any point talking about some fucking dead Nazi.”

“It’s not about Luth,” said Ziggy, calmly staring at his brother as if from opposing cliffs. “It’s about Cremer and the men. If they knew any of this, they wouldn’t want to help you. And I’m not going to drag them into it. This is not how the Navy does things.”

Sebastian was furious. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re suddenly too good for us? Have you already forgotten what you were a part of?”

Ziggy shook his head. “I’m through with this. I don’t want to talk to you again. Keep away from me and Cremer.”

“You’re going to let Franzi die, just so you and your men can keep your white gloves immaculate? I’m not going to let this operation go down because of your willful, high-handed selfishness.” Sebastian stared hard at Ziggy. “Don’t for a moment think we’re going to let you back out.”

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

Rasch's Midget Subs Arrive in Flensburg, Ready for Action

One morning, just as dawn was beginning to break over Flensburg fjord, a flotilla of twelve midget submarines crept into the harbor. Seehunds, each of them seventeen tons fully loaded, with a crew of two and two torpedoes straddling its sides like saddlebags. They had escaped from Wilhelmshaven just as the British Army was coming in. In that time they had painstakingly navigated all the way around the Danish peninsula and now that they were coming back into German-controlled territory, they were eager for fresh orders that would send them back out to exact some payback on the enemy, and none more so than the flotilla’s commander, Kapitänleutnant Hermann Rasch.

There was no question in his mind that the surrender was merely a sham, a crafty ploy by Doenitz designed to lull the enemy into letting their guard down. He knew what an unbending diehard Doenitz was. All they would have to do is show up before him, salute and say “Ready for combat!”

Once his boats were all tied up along the quay, Rasch re-lit his last cigar and then strode proudly up to the Marineschule. Filthy, bearded, dressed in an oil-stained leather jacket and trousers, his smudged white commander’s cap tilted raffishly to one side, to the trio of young British subalterns who passed him on their morning stroll, he imparted the unmistakable air of a pirate.

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But before he got to Doenitz’ offices, his progress was blocked by a very stern looking Kapitän-zur-See Wolfgang Luth, who immediately pointed Rasch to his office and told him to wait inside. Then he picked up the phone and called Ludde-Neurath. Ludde-Neurath told Luth he’d send someone down and then told Ziggy to go sit in on the discussion just in case anything got out of hand.

As he made his way downstairs, Ziggy tried to remember what he knew about Rasch. While he didn’t know him personally, he’d heard plenty over the years. It wasn’t that he was a bad officer, or an unsuccessful commander, he had quite a respectable number of kills under his belt. It was that Rasch was a hothead and a troublemaker. He was prone to taking unnecessary risks. So they’d switched him over to midgets, an ideal place for cantankerous, highly motivated oddballs like himself. And there he thrived, creeping around the North Sea coastline wreaking havoc among allied shipping.

When Ziggy got downstairs, he found Luth standing in the corridor outside his office. At the sight of Ziggy, Luth’s eyes momentarily flared, but he quickly regained his officer’s unflappable demeanor.

“Captain Luth,” said Ziggy.

“Captain Loerber,” said Luth, and then began briefing him on the situation as if there was nothing at all amiss between the two of them.

“So it sounds like Rasch needs to be brought into the present,” said Ziggy when Luth finished.

Luth nodded. “It would be better if you don’t write anything down until it’s over. Then we’ll agree on what goes into the report. If we explain to the British that Rasch’s radio was out and he hadn’t received the surrender instructions, they’ll probably accept it without too much problem.” Ziggy agreed that was a good idea. Then Luth told him he was going to try to get Rasch to accept it peacefully, since arresting him would also likely result in trouble with the British.

They went inside Luth’s office, where a ragged, but exuberant Rasch sat waiting to present his attack plan. They let him go on for a minute, then began, gently at first, introducing him to the concept of unconditional surrender, explaining how under its terms, absolutely no one, not even Rasch, was permitted to carry out any further military action against the enemy, no matter how richly the British deserved payback. The war was over. They had lost.

“You can’t be serious!” Rasch shouted. “After all we’ve just been through getting here, past all those British assholes, you expect me to just sit back and let them take our boats away from us? That’s just wrong! If you expect me to go along with this bullshit, you’re crazy!”
(Excerpt from Germania by Brendan McNally, Simon & Schuster, 2008)

The Funeral of Wolfgang Luth: The Last Act of the Third Reich

One of the enduring mysteries of the Flensburg period is the mysterious death of U-Boat ace Wolfgang Luth just a few days after the war ended. Now, as then, there have been dark suspicions that he was murdered, for one reason or another. Whatever the case, his funeral was the official final act of the Third Reich.



"The next morning the inquiry was convened, with several British and American officers in attendance. Testimonies were presented and it was quickly concluded that the whole thing had been a tragic accident, nothing more. But out in the city, things were anything but calm. People were angry and rumors continued to spread and intensify. The local newspaper presented many as facts, including a front page headline which read, Hero Shot From Behind. As the story continued to spin out of control, the British retaliated with a bold gambit. There would be a state funeral with all the honors and privileges which have a way of transforming the mob’s anger into a mood of somber reflection.

The next day, swastikas flew again over Flensburg. All the banners and flags with gold cord and bunting; all the splendor and dash of dress uniforms; all the glittering Nazi regalia that had been put away, were brought back out one last time.

And in the center of it, flanked by six senior U-Boat captains, each with a sword and wearing the Knight’s Cross, was Luth’s flag-draped casket, mounted on an artillery caisson drawn by eight horses. Behind it walked Doenitz followed by Frau Luth and her four children and then senior Navy, Army, and Luftwaffe officers. There were generals and field marshals, colonels and majors, along with a blue sea of sailors, looking smart and undefeated." (Excerpt from Germania, Simon & Schuster, 2008, now also available on Kindle here).