by Bobby Akart
The British journalist furrowed his brow. “Sir, if this discovery has already been made and your findings documented, why are we here today?”
Captain Toby took a deep breath. There was always one troublesome student in every class. “The exploration team studying this rare light region was focused on the newly discovered species. However, while the ROV was at depth, they undertook a mapping exercise of the Milwaukee Deep for the purposes of educating some students on board. Using a drop cam, they searched the ocean floor for underwater geologic formations and large mineral deposits created by black smokers, vents in sandy bottom that contain precious metals like gold, platinum, nickel and cobalt. Instead, what they found was remarkable.” He paused for dramatic effect before continuing.
He turned to his aide and nodded. She brought him a two-foot-by-three-foot photograph, which he taped to the whiteboard. He stood back from the wall and folded his arms, viewing the image as if it were the Mona Lisa hanging in the Louvre in Paris.
The BBC Future reporter was the first to recognize the shape. “Is that what I think it is?”
Captain Toby smiled as he realized he’d now piqued the curiosity of the biggest skeptic in the room. “We believe so.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
December 1944
Wewelsburg Castle
Büren, Germany
Hitler and his top military advisors had met in Berlin for one final time before what would become the last great siege of the war. Berlin was being bombed almost nightly. The German Army had retreated from the Russian front. The Nazi leadership placed all of their confidence in their infantry and panzer divisions as they prepared to fight the Battle of the Bulge.
The Führer spent more time in his bunker than he did with his military advisors. Soon, he would isolate himself fifty-five feet under the chancellery and only occasionally see Himmler or other top officials of the Nazi Party.
As December dragged on, Hitler restricted his planning sessions to Himmler, General Hermann Goering, one of the most powerful figures in the Nazi Party, and Germany’s foreign minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop.
Of course, Hitler’s girlfriend and constant companion, Eva Braun, was by his side. She was credited by many with helping the Führer maintain sanity, avoiding the delusional paranoia that had crept into his mind as the war turned for the worse.
Himmler spent the latter half of December at Wewelsburg Castle. He’d accumulated even more antiquities and priceless artifacts as his underlings began to flee for South America and the Middle East. He was also bestowed with vast amounts of gold. Through a closely guarded and clandestine vetting process, he’d assembled a loyal group of dedicated couriers—bankers, lawyers, and accountants. All would be rewarded for their efforts in the post-war reconstitution of the Reich.
Many of the individuals he brought within his inner circle were nonmilitary and had limited Nazi Party affiliation. This was by design. Himmler had become increasingly concerned about the Allies’ ability to persuade the Swiss to open up their vaults to reveal the wealth amassed by the Nazis. These professionals traveled continuously to Zurich, Geneva, and Bern, utilizing a variety of banks in many different locations.
The amounts held in Nazi accounts were staggering. Easily hundreds of millions of dollars in currency and gold had been stolen from Europeans of all nationalities and deposited into the numbered accounts. In current-day dollars, the figures would easily stretch into the billions.
Himmler was dejected by the apparent failure of U-1226. The submarine should’ve been in the Gulf of Mexico by late November, and Claussen’s instructions were to strike immediately. By mid-December, America should’ve been brought to its knees by the deadly poison—sarin.
Yet he’d heard nothing. By the time December 15 came, Himmler was beginning to sense the war was truly lost. The incessant bombing was taking a psychological toll on the political and military leaders of the Reich. Defections within the infantry were commonplace. Officers continued their duties out of fear the SS would harm their families if they quit their posts.
There were many Himmler loyalists, however, who mysteriously perished in battle or were reported missing in action. Interestingly, their closest family members, namely spouses and children, suffered the same fate. They didn’t die, nor were they captured. They utilized a series of escape cells known as ratlines.
Himmler had created a vast network of escape routes through Germany and Europe into safe places for the fleeing Nazis—Switzerland, Rome, ports in Spain and Portugal. Even Monaco, the tiny nation on the southeast coast of Spain that had remained neutral during the war, was hungry for Nazi gold demanded in exchange for granting citizenship to the refugees.
Safe houses were located every fifty to a hundred miles along these ratlines, guarded by Nazi officers loyal to Himmler. Each team of three to five soldiers protected those who were in their charge, and they only knew the exact whereabouts of two other shelters: the one the refugees came from and the next shelter along the ratline out of Germany. This ensured that the discovery of one escape cell along the ratline wouldn’t bring down the entire network.
The Catholic Church and Swiss humanitarian efforts played a huge role in enabling the escaping Nazis. Many departed for the Middle East, using Italy or General Franco of Spain’s assistance to make their way off the European continent.
Grand Mufti al-Husaini was one of the masterminds of the Odessa ratlines network. With Himmler’s financing, al-Husaini was able to successfully assist thousands of Nazi Party officials and military officers into the Middle East. From there, using false identification and passports, they were able to travel throughout North Africa and even to points beyond like South America and the United States.
The Nazis did not leave their prized possessions behind. The stolen artwork and antiquities were carefully crated and transported by rail to Madrid. There, Carlos Fuldner, the son of German parents living in Argentina, used his personal contacts in South America as well as Europe to pack numerous cargo aircraft with the Nazis’ belongings. Some of the works of art were sold to fund the ratlines. The remaining stolen artifacts would adorn the homes of the Nazis throughout the world.
Himmler walked through his palatial castle. This was to be the center of the world. He walked around a shallow basin with a fountain splashing water in the center. The entry to an outside courtyard was dominated by the water feature. Yet another massive banner bearing the Nazi swastika hung on the wall above the fountain.
He paused and stared down at the water basin. Himmler had envisioned the Death’s Head honor rings of every SS officer who fell in battle would be reverently cast into the basin. The rings were a personal gift from Himmler to each of his top SS officers.
Himmler sighed and struggled to contain his emotions. He’d sent away his beloved Norwegian mistresses and his children by each. He’d finally made arrangements for his wife, Margarete, and daughter to be protected at his secretive home in Bavaria. His former secretary was also cared for and provided an element of safety from the advancing Allied forces.
He was left alone in Wewelsburg except for his aides and security detail. There were no young SS officers to train. No visiting dignitaries or military leaders. But fortunately, there were no British Spitfires buzzing over his head either.
He made his way into the north tower of the castle. He entered the vast room designed to his specifications years ago. He sighed as he took in the soaring ceiling and ornate interior. It was to be the meeting hall of the twelve generals, the Obergruppenführer. The twelve military leaders, including himself, were akin to the twelve Knights of the Round Table in his mind. Himmler closed his eyes and tried to imagine the table filled with these brave leaders. And beneath their feet, the symbol of the Black Sun.
The Black Sun was symbolic to the Nazis, and Himmler, in particular, found it to have occult-like properties. He had the contractors create a marble mosaic of the Black Sun in the floor and placed the round table on top of it. He saw the mosaic as t
welve spokes rotating around the sun. Symbolically, the sun was Germany and the twelve spokes represented the twelve men who ruled the Reich.
Himmler stopped pacing the floor. He rested his hands on the most adorned chair around the table. His chair. The proverbial head of the table. It would not belong to der Führer. It would belong to Heinrich Himmler, the true mastermind behind the Third Reich.
For the first time, he pulled the chair out and sat in it. He closed his eyes and allowed the mystical powers of the table and the Black Sun to engulf his psyche. He tried to visualize the future of the Reich—if not this one, the next one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Christmas Eve 1944
Berlin, Germany
Waltraud Irmgard Splinter hustled through the deserted streets of Berlin, careful not to lose her footing on the ice and snow in the dark. She had to hurry, as the bombing raids would begin soon, and the Soviet Red Army soldiers would emerge out of the shadows in search of young girls to prey upon.
Traudl-Maus, a nickname bestowed upon her by her father before he left for war, was appropriate for the wily eleven-year-old girl with pigtails. She was sneaky and quiet as a mouse, spending her nights avoiding detection of soldiers and racing through the dense forests surrounding Berlin.
The continuous bombings had resulted in a food shortage in the Reich’s capital. As the war dragged on, the soldiers were given priority for any food products found in the city. For that reason, the children of Berlin were sent out in the dark of night to forage or, for the bravest of them, a perilous journey through the woods of the Soviet-occupied areas surrounding the city.
When she wasn’t searching for food, she lay awake at night, listening for the airplanes approaching from a distance. The powerful anti-aircraft guns of the German infantry defenses would be heard next and then the sirens. The continuous wail of sirens warned all the remaining residents of Berlin to run for the nearest bomb shelter.
Traudl-Maus had grown accustomed to the threat of Allied bombers. She kept a small bag packed with her favorite clothes and most beloved dolls. Each time her mother and four young siblings left their apartment, they were never sure if their home would still be standing when they returned.
Her father was already lost to the war. Her two oldest brothers, barely teenagers, had been sent to the front to fight the approaching Red Army in Poland. Neither of them returned. Her older sister, Ursula, did not have the survival instinct that Traudl-Maus had. Her three younger siblings were too young. Feeding the family was her burden to carry.
That Christmas Eve of 1944, Traudl-Maus was intent on bringing home a hen for her mother to cook Christmas Day. The rumor had swirled throughout the city that the Allied bombers would respect Christmas and not bomb the residents of Berlin. As a child, it was hard for her to understand the purpose of war. It was certainly beyond her comprehension as to why the children of Germany like herself were made to suffer because of the foolish acts of adults. Be that as it may, she did what she had to do for her family’s survival.
She hustled out into the snowy night, bundled in a hand-me-down wool coat and one of her mother’s scarfs. She donned her younger brother’s wool beanie cap to hide her blonde locks from any hungry soldiers as she snuck through the dark streets.
She had one job to do that evening, and that was to make her way to Frau Mohr’s tiny farm in the woods. Frau Mohr supplied the Splinter family with fresh loaves of bread whenever Traudl-Maus could successfully make her way to the farm. Tonight, she’d been promised a hen in exchange for the few Reichspfennigs her mother made as a cleaning lady in a hotel.
She darted through the streets, avoiding any lit areas or passing vehicles. When she rounded a corner, she bumped into a small child, knocking the unsuspecting toddler onto the snow-covered sidewalk. He just lay there, paralyzed with fear, eyes wide and unblinking. His little arms and bare hands stretched by his sides as if he were trying to squeeze himself into a casket.
Traudl-Maus was startled by the collision and fought to gather herself. Any bump in the night meant she could die or be kidnapped. She squinted her eyes to focus. The little boy didn’t speak or utter any evidence of being in pain. She knelt down to reassure him that she was not a threat and to determine where his mother was. Then the dim light emitted from a gas lamppost reflected off his chest. That was when she saw it.
A yellow star was sewn on his left breast, glimmering ever so slightly in the light. Traudl-Maus covered her mouth and gasped. She froze, her head on a swivel and eyes darting around the empty street. The young boy was a German Jew.
During the war, Nazi party officials implemented the Jewish badge. It was a way of identifying Jews for deportation or to persecute them in the eyes of their neighbors. The six-pointed yellow Star of David on a black field was required to be worn on the chest. Within the star itself, the word Jew was inscribed.
The fact that the young boy was Jewish didn’t frighten Traudl-Maus. What concerned her was that the boy was left alone in the snowy streets of Berlin without his family. The eleven-year-old tried to comfort the younger boy.
“Come here. Let’s get you out of the snow.” She helped him to his feet and knelt down in front of him. She gently brushed the snow and slush off his clothing and then grabbed him by both shoulders to inspect his appearance. After one last glance at his yellow star, she asked, “What are you doing out here in the dark and alone?”
“My mother didn’t come home from work. I came to look for her because I am hungry.”
Traudl-Maus shook her head and choked back a tear. German Jews who didn’t unexpectedly return from work were usually sent someplace they’d never return from.
“It is very late for you to be out of doors, young man,” she admonished him with a smile.
“You are outdoors, too. Did your mother not come home from work either?”
Traudl-Maus laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth as she looked around to determine if she’d drawn any attention to them.
“Where does she work?” She looked around at the nearby storefronts, all of which had Nazi flags hanging over their entrances.
“At the old-stuff store,” he replied innocently as he pointed down the street. Traudl-Maus knew there was an antique store frequented by the Nazi Party wives. “It’s next to the rathskeller with the bright red door.” In Berlin, bars and restaurants were often found in the basements of buildings. She knew the building he was referring to.
“Come with me,” she said as she reached for his hand. At first, he hesitated. He was barely five or six years old, but he was certainly aware that come with me oftentimes meant a one-way trip to somewhere.
He hesitantly took her hand and the two walked together toward the antique store. “What is your name?”
“Horst.”
“Do you have any family living near here?”
“Yes, Tante Helga lives above the store. She got my mother the cleaning job.”
The two walked swiftly along the street. A convoy of infantry trucks rumbled past them at one point, splashing slush mixed with road grime on her wool coat. She swiped it off and pulled the boy against the wall to avoid being washed in the trucks’ headlights.
When they reached the store, Traudl-Maus peered through the windows and found the inside to be dark. A closed sign was hanging from a nail on the wood door. She led Horst by the hand to the rathskeller entrance. That door was locked also.
It was Christmas Eve, so that didn’t surprise her. In Germany, families generally celebrated gift giving and a meal with their loved ones on Christmas Eve. The Splinter family, however, had nothing to celebrate, nor did they have any of their Christmas decorations anymore. They had been lost in an October bombing raid, along with most of their furniture. They only had each other, mostly.
She looked above the red door and saw the gentle flickering of a candle in a second-floor window. She pointed to the window, and young Horst’s eyes followed her finger.
“Is that your aunt’s apartment?”
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“Yes. She lives there with my cousins.”
Traudl-Maus took the boy by the hand and led him up the stairs. She quietly knocked on the door, being gentle so as not to startle the occupants or attract the attention of their neighbors on the second floor. Seconds later, the doorknob turned and the hinges creaked ever so slightly. A small pale face peered through the crack.
“Horst? Is that you?”
“Jah. Do you know where my mother is?”
The door opened wider, and a girl of about eight revealed herself. She’d been crying.
“My name is Ella.”
Traudl-Maus introduced herself and was invited in. She explained how she’d run into Horst. Ella listened and then motioned for her to join her in the kitchen. It was devoid of food, just like the Splinters’ home was. Once they were alone, Ella broke down crying and explained.
Just as the two mothers were closing up the store for the night, a group of soldiers pulled up to the entrance and grabbed them. They were knocked to the ground, kicked and then forced into a military truck. Ella had observed the events from the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She’d been sitting there since the store closed hours ago, praying that her mother and aunt would return. She’d given up.
Traudl-Maus hugged the young girl and tried to comfort her. Between sobs, she complained of being hungry and cold. They had no heat when the rathskeller was closed. The bar and restaurant operation generated heat, and the building owner had modified the exhaust ductwork to attach it to the building’s air-ventilation system. The oil furnaces hadn’t worked in over a year. The oil was a valuable commodity to the military of the Third Reich.
Traudl-Maus got Ella, Horst, and two more young children settled in the living room around the candle. She had a calming effect on the kids and eventually convinced them to join her in singing some children’s songs.