David Perkins: Hitler's Astrologer

Schiller turned to take one last look at the skyline and castle of Stettin. “Ah Deutschland, my great, poor Deutschland, will we ever…?” Schiller’s words froze seeing three P-51 Mustangs suddenly appear over the rooftops of the city, each launching a series of deadly rockets heading straight for the docks… and U – 437.

“Nooooo…!”

The first salvo from all three planes were aimed directly at their U-Boat, the only military vessel in the already bombed out docks. Five direct hits had the submarine in flames assisted by several hoses that were still attached for refueling, which spread the fire on the docks as well.

Olaf froze as he watched the flames shoot towards him, reliving the childhood horror of being awakened in his burning bedroom that disfigured much of his body. Since that time had to appear ‘normal’ using woman’s cosmetics to pencil in such features as eyelashes and eyebrows. The flames caught up with him and he again experienced the pain of being burned, this time until his death.

Schiller and Kriederman were both killed instantly by heated shrapnel.

Schellenberg managed to save himself by diving into the sea, but landed on a sunken barge about a meter under the surface that entangled his left foot like a metal shark. He was able to keep his head above water by treading with his hands and bouncing his right leg on the wreck. He noticed several figures on the dock. “Help!” He managed to shout on one of the bounces.

The burning oil created a stench making it difficult to breath.

“Help! Down here!”

Three faces peered over the side and saw Schellenberg in the water. At first Schellenberg was relieved to be seen by someone, until he saw the hatred in the Polish POW’s eyes, the very same Polish POW he had been abusing, humiliating, and beating these past several months.

The three began throwing shattered pieces of concrete from the damaged dock on him. Schellenberg ducked under water, which cushioned the blows from the heavy objects, but still had to come up for air. The Poles were finding larger and larger pieces of concrete, and becoming more and more accurate. On his fifth time up for air, Schellenberg felt a blow on his head that had him seeing stars. Even with his eyes open everything around him faded to black, and with his arms and legs already numb, the last thing he felt was the cold, oily Baltic seawater entering his lungs.

“Name?”

“Harals Keun von Hoogerwoerd.”

“Address?”

“14 Dornerstraat, Amsterdam.”

“Herr von Hoogerwoerd, what can you tell me about his man?” The American Captain held out a photo of Ion Antonescu, the Premier of Rumania who cooperated with and allowed the German occupation of his country in spite of a declaration of neutrality.

Baron Von Hoogerwoerd recognized him as the man who had many meetings with his father before the war. “I know he was the one actually ruling Rumania when King Carol’s son, Michael, became king.”

“And how do you know this?” Unlike most Americans, the Captain spoke Dutch perfectly, with no regional or foreign accent. At first Von Hoogerwoerd thought this captain might have Dutch parents, but he did not have a Dutch surname.

“From a man named Nicolae Ceauşescu.”

“Can you tell me about Nicolae Ceauşescu?”

“I know he was a weapons dealer.”

Silence from the Captain suggested he was waiting for more information.

“I also heard he was a member of the Iron Guard.”

The Captain began writing in his notebook. After two minutes, he stopped and pulled out a photograph. “Is this Nicolae Ceauşescu?” He asked while pointing at one of three men in the photo.

“Yes, I believe that is him.”

“Did your father have any dealings with him?”

“Not that I know of.” Von Hoogerwoerd lied.

“And this man?” The Captain held up another photo.

“I don’t know him,” the Baron lied again, “…who is he?”

“An American. One who had supposed dealings with your father. Have you ever heard of your father mentioning a Prescott Bush?”

“No, never.” Von Hoogerwoerd lied to cover the other lies.

The truth was that Nicolae Ceauşescu was an important link in the Von Hoogerwoerd’s control of Rumanian politics and oil. Prescott Bush was the link into UBC (Union Banking Corporation) headed by Bush and his father-in-law George Herbert Walker.

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Am I under arrest or something?”

“No…” The pause seemed to almost suggest ‘not yet’. “Surely you realize your knowledge is critical, since many records on both sides have been destroyed.”

“I see.”

The Captain pulled out a pack of American cigarettes, and offered it to Baron von Hoogerwoerd, who declined. “Excuse me for a moment.” The Captain said and then left.

The Baron wiped his hands, which were sweating. He wondered now if his decision to return to Amsterdam immediately after it was liberated was a wise one. He thought of the past over which he was being questioned over, the suitcases of money he and his father would bring in to Rumania, and the gold they would take out of Germany.

After 15 minutes, the door opened and the Captain entered with Nicolae Ceauşescu, who had a blank and detached look on his face. The Captain faced von Hoogerwoerd and then glanced at Ceauşescu, who nodded. The Captain then motioned Ceauşescu to leave, who exited to a waiting MP guard with pure white gloves.

“Herr von Hoogerwoerd, now you are under arrest.”

Elaine felt a chill when she arrived at the gates of Dachau and was surprised when she saw 1933 marked as the construction date of the complex. She had been in Munich many times since that date, yet never heard the name or anyone mention such a place existed.

The guard at the gate waited until she knocked at his window before he looked up from the newspaper he was reading. After heaving a long sigh, he slowly put down his paper and slid open the window.

“I’m here to see my husband.”

The guard looked lifelessly at Elaine.

“I was told he is here and I want to see him.”

“May I see your permission?” The guard finally said.

Elaine took out a folded letter from her purse and handed it to him.

“Hmm.” His tone made it appear that something was wrong, but Elaine maintained her stare directly into his eyes. He put down the letter and picked up the phone. “Schulze here. An Elaine Krafft to see a Karl Ernst Krafft.” After a pause, Schulze looked at Elaine while still holding the phone to his ear. “Yes.” He continued eyeing her. “Yes.” He finally put the phone down. “Frau Krafft, you may go to building number three, which is straight ahead. Colonel Buerger will meet you in the front.” He handed her back the letter.

“Thank-you.” Elaine mouthed, but did not utter a sound to show her contempt.

Colonel Buerger was a pocked-marked faced man with greasy black hair slicked straight back.

“Elaine Krafft?”

“Yes, I’m here to…”

“Yes, yes, I know… coffee?”

“No, I’m here to see…”

“Frau Krafft, unfortunately there has been a problem since our last correspondence.”

“And what problem is that now ?” Elaine said coldly. She had been mislead by the Third Reich for nearly two years now and was hardened by it.

“Just after sending you the permission to visit here, he was sent to Oranienburg.”

“Couldn’t you have informed me? Or delayed that order? You knew I was coming, didn’t you?” Elaine turned around to leave.