David Perkins - Hitler's Astrologer

“You asked if I wanted anything with the coffee – if you don’t have my clothes, then I would like some clothes.”

The guard pulled his arm back which held the coffee, it seemed that he understood English, or at least the intent of what Payne just said.

“Of course, of course!” The man said loudly and dramatically, as if being on a stage, “We requested some while you were sleeping, and they should have arrived by now. Corporal, would you please go and check if the clothes we requested for Captain Payne have come in. I believe it was gray shirt and brown pants are for him.”

The corporal handed the coffee to the man in civilian clothing, who Payne named the Painted Man.

“Some coffee?” The Painted Man asked while the corporal left.

“I’ll wait until the clothes arrive.”

“Very well. Now let us talk about you visit Germany. You know, you entered a very dangerous area, you could have been shot.”

“Like my colleague?”

“Oh the Sargent– Sargent Riley – was it? Unfortunately he fell into a most undesirable circumstance. Is seems he was going for his gun when he should have kept lying down with his face in the mud as you did.”

Now Payne’s dislike for the painted man reached a crescendo, for spiteful arrogance was one of the characteristics Payne despised most in a personality. The Painted Man in front of him appeared to have this quality in spades and in a very warped way. As the Painted Man bent down to put the coffee on the floor, Payne noticed a Gestapo pin that was hidden by his coat lapel, which flapped down as he leaned forward. He also noticed the man had burn patches all over the left side of his neck and head.

“Such things happen in war,” the Painted Man continued seeing Payne stare, “and so does the occurrence of prisoners, which brings us to you.” Payne remained silent. “The Führer has pointed out in countless speeches that Great Britain is not a natural enemy of the Third Reich.”

Payne titled his head to the right and looked down at his bare toes wiggling, as if to point out that clothing was still and issue. However the Painted Man continued his political monologue. “There had not been one act of aggression by Germany to the British Empire, not even to one British citizen, and yet you have declared war on us! Why is that so?”

Payne turned his head and looked at his other toes, which he wiggled also. He was relieved the Painted Man apparently was more concerned with Hitler’s policy than what his mission was in Nazi Germany, at least for now. He didn’t know which was worse, being a prisoner, being humiliated, or listening to the Painted Man preaching Nazi propaganda.

“But you have chosen to be against us, and that is sad, very sad indeed.”

Just then the corporal entered with a neatly folded, but very worn, pair of pants and shirt, both of which were handed to Payne.

“Oh, your clothes have arrived! How nice! You will forgive me if they do not fit as well as we would like, unfortunately we do not have a tailor on duty with us as you probably do in England.”

Payne put on his new clothes while both men watched intently. He felt both of them were thoroughly enjoying his humiliation. Once his clothes were on, the Painted Man tilted over to pick up the mug of the coffee – which was now cold – and handed it to Payne, who now accepted it and took a sip.

“There! Now a true spirit of co-operation is beginning to develop!” The Painted Man almost shouted, looking over to the corporal.

In a pig’s eye! Payne thought to himself.

“Corporal, I think that will be all.” The Painted Man motioned to corporal, who clicked his heels and departed.

“Oh, Captain Payne! What a tragedy we had to meet under such conditions! To think if your government would have simply let us solve the Polish problem and leave it at that, our peoples would not be in this unpleasant situation. We might have accidently met in a Paris café, exchanged some old war stories from the last war. Instead, I now have to lock you in a cage, like an animal.”

“Well, we still might have that chance to meet in Paris.” Payne shot back.

“Ha!” The Painted Man shouted with a hint of anger that Payne had interrupted his monologue, “The captain has a sense of humor! Good! Very good! I like that, oh, I really like that!”

“I’ll even tell Churchill what you’ve just told me, and see if we can call this whole war off.” Payne said with a straight face. He was surprised how weak his voice was and wondered if his lack of food, the cold, or the fact he was a prisoner – or all three – was the cause of it.

“Excellent!” The Painted Man seemed beside himself. “I’m sure we will get along just fine, Captain! You know, I have been studying your profile – and we have a lot in common, you and I, yes, we do!”

“Such as?”

“Well, you seem to like visiting the Purple Unicorn in Venlo, and you know, that place is one of my favorite taverns too… when I go to Holland!”

With the mention of this bar in Holland, Payne suddenly realized the Germans somehow must have known of his mission even before he left England.

A door slamming down the hall of the Reichstag brought Goebbels out of his reminiscent daydream. Genius. The woman was indeed, at times, a real genius.

It was now 2:40 a.m. as Goebbels looked up from the passage that would create a new direction in his propaganda agenda. Nostradamus, thanks to his Frau Goebbels, would now be a tool used by the Nazi war machine to manipulate the minds of enemy population. He loved the idea of using this great Frenchman against his own people and was certain Hitler would too. Since last night’s conversation he began to see other ways to use these allegorical and mystical lines than just demoralize the enemy civilian and military populations into believing their loss was inevitable.

Most of the lights were now out in the Reichstag. Goebbels pushed aside the mountain of papers that needed to be done by tomorrow and picked up the phone.

“Ja?” On the other end, Lt. Schiller’s voice snapped with obedience even asking a question.

“Get my car ready.”

“Jawol, Herr Minister!”

Goebbels put down the phone and took one last look around his office. He made a metal note of what needed finishing by tomorrow and what could wait.

Except for several sea engagements, there was none of the feared major land or air attacks from Britain or France – just as Hitler had predicted. But how did the Führer know this?

After the fall of Poland, most of the fighting was actually done with propaganda, which meant Joseph Goebbels was in the center of the war in at the start of 1940.

His schedule was completely full; planting misinformation for the allies, painting the designed picture of what Hitler wanted the German people to hear, and most important, presenting the right image to keep the neutral countries out of the way until their neutrality was no longer needed – or until it was their turn to fall. This was the height of the propaganda war – a worldwide propaganda war – and he was principal player.

Tomorrow not only held another full schedule, but promised an important meeting with the Führer as well. As he left his office he began to wonder if it were possible to use Nostradamus in order to have a tactical military impact during the upcoming invasion of France. Could such propaganda be used to confuse the allies so they, for example, would move to the wrong place when the attack came?

Perhaps Magda would have an idea on how using the occult could gain an actual military advantage. An idea he could then present to Hitler and get credit for.