Nazi Millionaires

by Kenneth A. Alford

  These agents, who were soon joined by other CIC teams, fanned out across Austria’s entire breathtaking expanse. Together they would arrest one of the war’s leading Nazis, investigate the largest counterfeiting ring in world history, search for tens of millions in lost gold, jewels, and currency, and hunt tirelessly for Adolf Hitler’s correspondence and diaries. Their indefatigable efforts would also help break up many of the remaining pockets of pro-Nazis and eradicate resistance efforts.

  Even before the surrender of Germany, American intelligence officials had been preparing for the counterintelligence duties the occupation of Germany and Austria would demand. The general mission of the CIC was to contribute to military operations “through the detection of treason, sedition, subversive activity, and disaffection, and the detection, prevention, or neutralization of espionage and sabotage within or directed against the Army Establishment and the areas of its jurisdiction.” Teams of officers from Interrogation of Prisoners of War, Military Intelligence Interpretation, and other G2 Intelligence units had been assigned to help the CIC. The importance of CIC operations had begun to overshadow other intelligence efforts even as combat continued to rage during the war’s final months.

  In late 1944, the British established a two-week intelligence training class in Italy at Castellamare for agents who would one day be assigned to work counterintelligence operations in Austria. American CIC officers attended these classes in an old castle overlooking the historic bay of Naples. The agenda was thorough. The history of the Nazi Party and its para-military organizations were studied in detail. What was the SS? The SD? What did RSHA stand for? How was it organized? What were its functions? Who ran the bureaus? What was the task assigned to each bureau and sub-bureau? Which departments and personnel were tied, directly or otherwise, to the deportation and extermination of Jews? (The Allies knew the Germans were killing Jews, but whether they fully realized the extent of the crime is still subject to debate.) Where were the priceless treasures and hundreds of millions of dollars worth of personal property looted from European Jewry and others deported from their homes? Once the agents had been carefully briefed on these and related matters their attention was directed to Austria and the study of its geography, history, and culture.

  In order to ensure that United States counterintelligence missions were properly organized and staffed, the 430th CIC was formed from CIC units of the 85th, 88th, 91st and 92nd Infantry Divisions, as well as other units operating in Italy. The 970th CIC was created in Germany. On May 10, 1945, partial CIC units from fifty-five army divisions were transferred to the 970th. Although headquartered in Frankfurt, this large unit undertook various assignments in Austria. Much of what they would uncover would remain secret for more than fifty years. A substantial number of files remain locked away, or their contents redacted if requested by members of the public. Much of this material has been “lost” or destroyed.1

  On May 8, the day after the Germans signed the capitulation agreement ending hostilities in Europe, the U.S. Seventh Army occupied Zell am See and took over the SS nest at Fischhorn castle. It was there, deep in the beautiful alps, that a unique pair of German aviators surrendered to the Americans. Their harrowing and macabre experiences in the Berlin bunker during the war’s final days served to fan the flames of Allied inquisitiveness. What, exactly, did these fliers take out with them? And if they could get out, did Adolf Hitler and others escape as well?

  The last hours of World War II were a surreal experience for Hanna Reitsch and Obergruppenführer (Lieutenant General) Robert Ritter von Greim. The Nazi notables ended a bizarre air voyage at Fischhorn castle that had originated in war-torn Berlin. They arrived at Zell am See on May 8, 1945—just hours ahead of the Allies.

  The war had just a few days left in it when Adolf Hitler promoted von Greim to the rarified rank of Field Marshal to replace the disgraced Hermann Göring. He was the last man promoted by the Führer to that esteemed rank, and one of only a half-dozen Luftwaffe Field Marshals. Von Greim was a zealot Nazi and unyielding follower of the Führer, but one must wonder what crossed his mind when his obviously ailing leader told him deep within the embattled Berlin bunker to take over command of the now non-existent Luftwaffe. The promotion was well deserved. His remarkable vitae included artillery and air experience in the Great War, a stint as a stunt pilot, the organization of Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist air force in China, command of the Luftwaffe’s first fighter wing, several important top administrative positions in the Western Theater (which earned him a Knight’s Cross) and, finally, stellar command performances during four long and bloody years on the Russian Front. The only blemish on his otherwise outstanding military vitae was his undying devotion to a madman.2

  Accompanying the newly minted Field Marshal was his much younger mistress, Hanna Reitsch, Germany’s most illustrious test pilot. Born in 1912, the adventurous Reitsch studied medicine in the hopes of becoming a flying missionary doctor. After the limiting Versailles Treaty clipped her wings, she took to flying gliders. In 1932 she became one of the first pilots to soar across the Alps in one of the silent planes. Five years later the neophyte German air wing hired her as a civilian test pilot. Reitsch ended up testing almost every aircraft engineered during the Third Reich including the Focke-Achgelis, a crude version of the helicopter, and a manned prototype of the V1 rocket. Her tests of the Messerschmitt 163, an experimental rocket-powered interceptor, shother 30,000 feet into the air at 500 mph—the fastest any human had ever traveled up to that time. Although her fifth mission aboard the rocket almost killed her, her trials garnered the prestigious Iron Cross, First Class, from Hitler himself.3

  The genesis of the von Greim—Reitsch journey from Berlin to Fischhorn took life in the wake of Reichsmarshall Hermann Göring’s now infamous April 23, 1945, telegram from Berchtesgaden to Hitler’s Berlin bunker. With Hitler trapped and proclaiming he would fight to the end, Göring asked for permission to assume the Reich’s reins of leadership. His application, though not unreasonable under the circumstances, outraged Hitler. Martin Bormann, the Führer’s private secretary and one of Göring’s most dangerous enemies, convinced Hitler that the telegram was an open act of treason. Hitler stripped the Reichsmarshall of all authority and ordered the Gestapo to arrest him. With a steadily diminishing pool of personnel from which to choose replacements, Hitler cast about for someone to supersede the decadent flyboy from World War I. An order flew out of the bunker on April 24: General Ritter von Greim was to report to the Reich Chancellery as soon as possible.

  The order for von Greim to appear demonstrated just how removed from reality Hitler was by late April 1945. Like the horns of a great Zulu army moving forward to engage the enemy on the undulating terrain of southern Africa, the Russians had swept forward and around the once-magnificent German capital, all but surrounding it. Enemy infantry was pressing forward, artillery shells splattered at will into the few buildings left standing, and tanks were grinding forward, block by block against stiff and bloody opposition. A journey into central Berlin to the underground bunker a few blocks south of the Spree River was not only dangerous, but by now almost impossible. Hitler had demanded it; the dutiful soldier would comply.

  The pilots flew from Munich to the airbase at Rechlin about 60 miles northwest of Berlin. Reitsch had intended to complete the trip to the besieged capital in a helicopter, but the only remaining machine was too damaged to fly. The trip was instead made in a Focke-Wulf accompanied by a large fighter escort. They landed at Gatow airfield—the only Berlin airstrip still in German hands. Gatow was in the eastern section of the city about fourteen miles from the Reich Chancellery and Hitler’s bunker. Russians stood between them and downtown Berlin. Demonstrating their loyalty to the man who had singlehandedly navigated Germany to ruin, the general and the aviatrix hopped aboard a Fiesler-Storch and flew at tree top level in the hope of finding a landing spot close to the bunker. Heavy anti-aircraft fire tore out the bottom of the plane and severely injured von Greim’s righ
t foot. Illustrating yet again why she had earned the Iron Cross, Reitsch brought the plane down safely on a rubble-strewn street in front of the Brandenburg gate. From there the pair hitched a ride in a staff car. Once in the bunker von Greim, who was in great pain, was taken to an operating room so Hitler’s physician could tend to his wounded foot. To his complete surprise he learned of Göring’s alleged betrayal and his new appointment as the Luftwaffe chief, all in the same breath. It was the evening of April 26, 1945.4

  Everyone associated with the moment knew the appointment was in name only. There was no effective air force left to command. In order to demonstrate their honor to the Fatherland and Hitler, von Greim and Reitsch decided to remain in the bunker and die with him and his remaining disciples. A pleased Hitler agreed—demonstrating again that his summons of von Greim was nothing but an empty and symbolic gesture. Both aviators were provided with a vial of poison and instructions from Hitler to destroy their bodies so that nothing recognizable remained. They agreed that when the time came, they would ingest the cyanide and simultaneously pull the pin from a grenade and hold it tightly between their bodies.

  Almost three long days would be spent slinking around the bunker. Reitsch’s contact with most of its inhabitants was inconsequential. She split her time between nursing and conversing with von Greim and entertaining the six children of Dr. and Mrs. Goebbels in the upper bunker. The children, ages three through twelve, were the only bright spot in the otherwise dark and tomblike bunker. Reitsch taught them songs to sing for both “Uncle Führer” and the injured Field Marshal. The aviatrix amused the children by telling stories about flying airplanes, all the wonderful places she had visited, and how to yodel. Her underground sojourn in Berlin allowed Reitsch, herself a Nazi zealot, to witness firsthand the pathetic disintegration of Hitler and his cronies.5

  On April 28, Hitler shuffled into von Greim’s sick room and ordered him to leave the bunker and return to the airbase at Rechlin. Exactly what his orders were is open to some speculation. Some claim the Führer directed von Greim to organize air cover for a massive ground counterattack about to be launched by General Walther Wenck’s nonexistent Twelfth Army. Others assert he was to join Admiral Karl Dönitz in Plön, whom Hitler had just named his successor. Unlike Hitler, however, the wounded Field Marshal understood the true state of affairs and knew the German state was no longer able to mount a meaningful assault or establish a working government before the final collapse. Still loyal to the Führer, von Greim agreed to leave the bunker. Hitler also ordered the new Luftwaffe chief to have Heinrich Himmler arrested as a traitor for contacting the Americans and British in an effort to end the war. It was sometime after midnight on April 29 when von Greim and Reitsch left the bunker for good, supplied with their master’s best wishes and letters from Eva Braun, Martin Bormann, and Goebbels and his wife—all of whom remained behind to meet their fate.6

  The SS troops guarding the bunker produced a small armored vehicle to carry the lovers through the ruined city to an Arado 96, a small training aircraft hidden near the Brandenburg Gate. Only 1,200 feet of pavement was available as a runway. The Field Marshal and the test pilot strapped themselves in and took off into a hail of Russian anti-aircraft fire, which popped and whizzed around the plane as soon as it cleared the buildings. Enemy searchlights locked onto the small aircraft. Their luck held when a cloud bank at 4,500 feet hid them from view. A few minutes later both occupants looked down into a sea of flame feeding off the remains of what was once one of Europe’s most beautiful cities. Reitsch circled around at 20,000 feet and headed north. Fifty minutes later she landed the Arado safely at Rechlin. The pair flew on into southern Germany, where resistance against the Russians would rage until May 9. For a few difficult days Hitler’s last Field Marshal directed part of the futile effort there before he and Reitsch flew on in a Dornier 217 to Zell am See.7

  Robert Von Greim and Hanna Reitsch surrendered without incident when the Americans drove into Zell am See. Still in a great deal of pain, von Greim was taken to a hospital in Salzburg. On May 24 the proud veteran of the First World War, Luftwaffe air ace, and holder of the Knight’s Cross reached into his pocket and removed Hitler’s final gift—a small ampule of cyanide. He inserted the capsule into his mouth and snapped it between his teeth. His lover, however, had a stronger desire to live. Eschewing suicide, Reitsch instead turned her dose of toxin over to Captain Robert E. Work, a U.S. Air Division interrogator. Reitsch was not about to kill herself but her parents had no such reservation. A few days later an American intelligence officer paid a visit to their home. Both committed suicide rather than face enemy questions. When asked why she had not done the same, Reitsch explained her only reason to stay alive was for “the sake of the truth.” The truth must be told about Göring, she explained, “the shallow showman,” and Hitler, “the criminal incompetent.” She also wanted to explain to the German people the dangers inherent in dictatorial government.8

  Reitsch was carrying more surprises than just a poison capsule courtesy of her Führer. In her possession CIC agents discovered two letters, one penned by Josef Goebbels and the other by his wife, Magda. In truth, exactly what they took with them from the bunker is unknown. Reitsch admitted carrying four letters out of the embattled city. Two from the Goebbels’ and one each from Eva Braun and Martin Bormann. After reading them, she explained, she and von Greim agreed to destroy the Braun and Bormann letters. The latter, Reitsch said, was simply an official communication questioning why Berlin had not received radio communications from southern Germany. Braun’s letter was destroyed because Reitsch felt “that the text was so glaringly theatrical and in such poor adolescent taste that only odious reactions would result should the letter ever fall into German hands…and the German reader might eulogize Braun as a Nazi Martyr.” The Goebbels letters, neither of which were noteworthy, were intended for Magda’s son from a previous marriage. In May 1945, “Harald” was one of the lucky young German males, still alive and sitting in an Allied prisoner of war camp in Algiers. With his dying pen strokes Goebbels could not resist dipping his pen in vitriol and spewing forth more Nazi diatribe about country and Führer. “Farewell my dear Harald,” he wrote with his usual thespian flair. “Whether we shall ever see each other again lies in the hand of God.” This from a man who had helped foster the entire Holocaust climate, lived a life of opulence while millions were herded into gas chambers or shot and thrown into ditches, and then, in the end, murdered his own children. Magda’s letter explained that life was not worth living without the world envisioned by the Führer and National Socialism. “God grant that I will have the strength to accomplish the last and most difficult task of all,” she wrote while preparing to slaughter her offspring. “I put my arms around you with the deepest, most heartfelt mother’s love. This letter is to go out. Hanna Reitsch will take it along. She is to fly back out again.”9

  Josef Spacil was not a happy man.

  His beloved Germany had been defeated and his efforts to distribute RSHA funds in the Alpine Redoubt had been a dismal failure. Much of the loot, worth millions of dollars, had been hastily hidden to keep it out of Allied hands. And now, in a final blow to his inflated pride, SS Oberführer Spacil found himself inside a crowded prisoner of war camp at Ebersburg masquerading as a lowly Wehrmacht sergeant named “Aue” in order to avoid detection, arrest—or worse. There were two good reasons Spacil was pretending to be an obscure foot soldier instead of an important RSHA and SS officer. First, everyone who had served in the SS was subject to automatic arrest. Second, and even more important, were his intimate associations and connections to those involved in criminal activity up to and including the implementation of the “Final Solution.” These associations tarred him with the same murderous brush that coated Ernst Kaltenbrunner, Heinrich Müller, Adolf Eichmann, Franz Konrad, and others. Though no evidence has ever surfaced that he pulled a trigger or ordered the death of a single person, Spacil’s RSHA Bureau II had administered the assets everyone knew had be
en stolen from those shipped off to slave labor and death camps. Spacil had issued a flurry of decrees aimed at extricating wealth from overrun cities and territories in the East. He knew well the origins of the treasure over which he presided. And now Spacil was a marked man. Escaping from the Allied net in which he now found himself entwined was his highest priority. As bad as his circumstances were, they were about to get much worse.10

  Oberführer Spacil had become separated from SS Hauptsturmführer (Captain) Gerhardt Schlemmer, the commander of the 352nd Volksgrenadier Division who had allowed Spacil to slip unnoticed into his outfit. After a brief period in the prison pen at Ebersburg, all SS personnel had been transferred to Fuerstanfeldbruck and an area known as the Oklahoma PW Cage. Cloaked in the garb of a Wehrmacht soldier, Spacil was left behind. When Schlemmer left Obersturmführer (Lieutenant) Walter Hirschfeld, his former student at the training school for SS officers in Bad Tölz, Germany, went with him. There, Schlemmer told Hirschfeld about his earlier conversation with Spacil, who had claimed to be an important RSHA officer and the secretor of vast sums of money belonging to the German treasury. Spacil, he explained to Hirschfeld, had offered him a large sum of money if he would contact an American officer and buy a discharge from the U.S. Army. Both men agreed they should turn him in.11