Michael Dobbs - Saboteurs

The mention of propaganda techniques struck an immediate chord with Burger, who had been working for the Nazi Party’s propaganda bureau when he was arrested by the Gestapo. He readily agreed that the German people were thirsting for the “right type” of foreign propaganda that would create conditions for the downfall of the Nazi regime.

Dasch told Burger about observing Walter Kappe recruit German-American returnees for “special missions” to the United States. At first, Kappe had kept him in the dark about the nature of the work in America, but eventually let him in on the secret. Dasch had then helped Kappe recruit the other saboteurs, including Burger. In fact, he had been planning to sabotage the sabotage mission all along.

He reminded Burger of their first meeting, at Quenz Lake back in April, when Burger cursed Himmler and the other “dirty bastards who beat me up.” Sensing that the conversation was headed in a dangerous direction, Dasch had cut Burger short. He now encouraged him to finish the story.

There was a silence as Burger gathered his thoughts. Outside in the street, New Yorkers were going to Sunday morning church services, travelers were streaming to and from Pennsylvania Station, news vendors were shouting the latest headlines from Russia and the Pacific. Unlike Dasch, Burger spoke in slow, halting sentences. But once he began talking, his hatred of the Nazis and the Gestapo came tumbling out. 5

When World War I ended with Germany’s humiliating defeat, Burger had been even younger than Dasch—just twelve years old—and even more disoriented politically. By the age of fifteen, he had been swept up in the politics of the extreme right, rushing off to fight the Poles in Upper Silesia. He joined the National Socialist Party in February 1923, nine months before the ignominious Munich beer hall putsch that ended with Hitler’s arrest and imprisonment. While he was an admirer of Hitler, he owed his true allegiance to Ernst Röhm, a former army officer and organizer of the paramilitary groups that paved the way for the Führer’s eventual seizure of power.

After moving to the United States in 1927, Burger had let his Nazi Party membership lapse; he had to apply for readmission when he returned to Germany in 1933. Back in Munich, he was assigned to the office of Röhm’s chief of staff, a job that offered a ringside seat to the Nazi fratricide that broke out the following year. Many Röhm supporters were murdered in the Night of the Long Knives, but Burger had an incredible piece of luck. A few days earlier, he was transferred to the staff of one of the few S.A. men who still had Hitler’s confidence. Over the next few years, he had kept his head down as old comrades stood to attention at Nazi Party meetings, shouted “Long live Röhm,” and then shot themselves in protest. Like many former storm troopers, Burger had held on to a ceremonial dagger presented to him by Röhm with a few words of dedication, despite orders to hand the dagger back or scratch Röhm’s name off the inscription.

Burger told Dasch he had been planning his escape from Germany for a long time. He had thought about organizing former storm troopers scattered around the world into a volunteer corps to fight the Nazis. His hatred of the S.S. had been strengthened by his encounters in prison with Jews, Catholic priests, and other opponents of the Nazi regime. He desperately wanted to get out of Germany, but it was difficult to leave in a way that would not expose his wife to retribution. When he found out that he could travel to America as part of a group of Nazi saboteurs, he leapt at the chance.

“I never intended to carry out the orders,” he said.

Burger described how he had scattered bits of evidence on the beach, including a pack of cigarettes, bathing trunks, shirt, socks, and a vest. These items had probably already led the American authorities to the buried arms cache, making it impossible for any member of the group to carry out Kappe’s orders for a large-scale sabotage campaign.

By now, the two V-men had worked themselves up into a state of high emotion, and were sobbing and hugging each other for support. Instead of commenting directly on Burger’s actions, Dasch reached out and patted him on the arm. 6Burger told Dasch he had long suspected him of being an American agent: how else to explain his remarkable lack of interest in the details of sabotage training at Quenz Lake? Dasch’s Nazi posturing had also seemed very artificial.

As he listened to Burger’s tales of Nazi Party intrigues and repression of political opponents, Dasch decided that his companion was “made to order” for “the setup which I hope to be able to create to fight that rotten gang.” 7In his mind, the two of them would play starring roles in the anti-Hitler propaganda campaign, using as their weapons the knowledge they had gained of the inner workings of the Nazi system and the wads of American dollars supplied to them by Kappe. Together, they would open up the eyes of the German people to the truth about Nazism.

“Kid, you are a godsend,” he said, putting his long, gangly arms around the stolid Burger. “God brought us together. We are going to make a team.” 8

It was getting on toward 1 p.m., and suddenly both men realized that they would be late for their planned meeting with Quirin and Heinck at the Swiss Chalet. In order to head the others off, Dasch called the Hotel Chesterfield, only to discover that they had never checked in there, as Dasch had recommended. He and Burger interpreted this as a sign that their two companions “did not trust us” and were going to be difficult to control. 9

Having established that they had similar views, Dasch and Burger now had to formulate a plan of action. Beyond wanting to hit Hitler “where it hurts,” neither man had a very clear idea of what to do next. They were both afraid to go to the New York office of the FBI because Kappe had told them that it was under constant observation by the Gestapo. On the other hand, they also had to be careful not to be caught by the American authorities before they could turn themselves in voluntarily.

The solution they eventually agreed upon was to telephone the FBI in New York, provide a code word and a rough outline of their mission, and announce that one of them would travel to Washington to meet with J. Edgar Hoover “on a very important matter.” 10Since it would be easy to trace a call from their hotel, they decided to look for a more discreet place to make the call. Burger jotted down the number of the FBI’s local office from the telephone directory, and handed it to Dasch.

They were still talking and making plans when they realized they might be late for their second rendezvous with Quirin and Heinck at 6 p.m. Rushing out into the street, they jumped into a taxi and headed uptown to Grant’s Tomb.

STANDING ON a bluff overlooking the Hudson River, the monument to America’s Civil War hero was one of New York’s most celebrated landmarks. Built at the end of the nineteenth century using eight thousand tons of granite, it was an American version of the great European monuments that the saboteurs had been gazing at just a few weeks before, the Brandenburg Gate and the Arc de Triomphe—a little ugly and crass, but exuding power and strength. Across the front of the tomb, above the Ionic columns, were the words of Ulysses S. Grant following the deadliest war America had ever fought: LET US HAVE PEACE.

The great chunks of polished white marble, the American eagles with their wings outstretched, the sheer size of the monument—“the tomb of all tombs,” in the words of Theodore Roosevelt—all combined to create an image of a resurgent America after a great national catastrophe. Over 600,000 Americans died in the Civil War, compared to 100,000 in World War I; American deaths in World War II would eventually total around 200,000. The country had bounded back from these earlier crises, as it appeared to be recovering from the devastating setback of Pearl Harbor. It was this self-confidence that Dasch and his men had been sent to America to destroy.