Chapter 21
The Thuringian Forest
Having successfully met up with the other jeeps, Max led the convoy deeper into the forest. It was late now, and there was no-one around, so he was willing to take the risk of them being seen together. Besides, they would only be using the public roads for a short while. They carried on for 20 minutes before Max spotted what he had been looking for, a small, almost unnoticeable opening in the treeline. To describe it as a road would have been complete misrepresentation, even calling a path was flattery, but he knew the cars could handle it.
It had been several months since anyone had come this way, ever since the initial flurries of snow in October. It had been busy last summer though, as preparations had been made for the project Ortwin would shortly bring to fruition. Signs of activity were still there, if one cared to look. Trucks had snapped branched off trees, creating an oddly unbalanced topiary effect. There were deep ruts in the track, caused by the tires of heavy vehicles on the muddy ground. Filled with snow, they now lay like crevasses to catch the unwary. Max regretted that paving the road had not been deemed an important job, but he understood. If you wish to keep people away from a place, the easiest way is to make it impossible for them to reach it.
The road twisted higher now, and Max knew the temperature was dropping sharply. Fortunately, the car knew this as well, and the heating blew harder, protecting the inhabitants from the weather outside. If anything, the forest seemed to grow thicker, crowding in on the cars like beggars jostling wealthy tourists.
Rounding a bend, Max saw the gate he had been expecting, and knew that the journey was almost over. It stood in the middle of a long fence which stretched as far as Max could see, and much further. Topped with razor wire, it was designed to send out a very clear signal that intrusion was not welcome. For those who preferred to receive their information in written form, a sign on the gate warned that trespassers would be handed over to the police. The sign was topped with a device which looked like a dove bearing the German flag, and the letters ODR.
Shortly after Man learned to speak, he learned to lie and over the generations, has elevated dissembling to an art form. The ability to keep one’s true thoughts to oneself is useful in social situations and various cultures, notably Japan, have evolved a whole raft of behaviour patterns to reflect this. Europe has, with the exception of the French Court of the 1700’s, been less adept at this, but that is not to say that deceit and misdirection are not part of everyday life.
The ODR was a registered charity, the Organisation fur Deutsche Erinnerung or Organisation for German Remembrance. Based in Munich, not far from the scene of the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923 which was supposed to launch Hitler to power, but only took him as far as the local prison, its ostensible mission was to educate Germans about the crimes Hitler had committed. ‘Never again’ was the organisation’s motto, and to this end, it held exhibitions and worthy lectures the length and breadth of the country. Backed by an array of wealthy donors, the charity was the very model of German repentance and, as such, highly regarded both at home and overseas, which was why they had been allowed access to the present site.
However, all was not as it seemed with the ODR. A warning bell might have been rung by the presence among the board and the donors of so many sons of former Nazis, but the charitable would write that off as children trying to expunge the sins of their fathers. They would have been less inclined had they known of a dinner held by these men, shortly before, at an exclusive Berlin hotel. They did not, however, and so the charity served to render these men beyond reproach, despite their dubious ancestry.
So respectable was the ODR, such a good example of how Germany had moved on from the trauma of the thirties and forties that it had been given permission to develop the present site, turning it into a museum of Nazi atrocities. That they had no intention of doing so, very few people knew. But the permit had allowed them to start work, and the last year had been spent renovating the old site, and preparing it for a new, hidden purpose.
Max got out of the car, inhaling sharply as the cold air hit him. Withdrawing the key from his pocket, he unlocked the heavy padlock chaining the gates together. Waving the cars on, he got back into the jeep as it headed up the thankfully paved road. The convoy stopped shortly in an open space, abutted by a sheer face of rock. In one corner of the square sat a large metal box, a generator which Max ignored.
While he was willing to take the risk of his headlights being seen in the distance, he was less keen to light up the whole mountainside, particularly when the police were not that far off and the nearest village only 3 kilometres away. He had planned ahead for this contingency and, reaching into his backpack, withdrew a pair of goggles attached to a headset.
Getting out of his jeep, he beckoned the rest of the men to do the same. Putting the headset on, he toggled a switch on the side and the darkness turned a shade of green. The AN/PVS-14 was the most technologically advanced night vision device available, used by the American Army and selected allies. Max had made sure to liberate several sets before leaving the forces, not certain when he would use them, but sure he would. With an operating range starting at -50 degrees, they were perfect for the cold German winter.
Turning round, he headed for the narrow entrance tunnelled into the side of the hill. Giving the signal to follow, he marched forwards and into the hillside. His men quickly formed up behind him in a double file as they followed a winding path heading slowly downwards. The walls were crudely cut, reflecting the fact that the first mine in the location had been dug about 1400. Max could hardly imagine how they had done it, armed only with primitive axes and picks, but mine they had, discovering enough gypsum to keep the mine in operation until 2004.
The tunnel was slippery, the water which dripped from the ceiling turning to ice in the cold conditions. Although the passageway was warmer than outside, it was still below zero. Occasionally, they saw rats, scurrying away at the sound of their footsteps. How they survived, Max could only guess, but there was obviously some food source to keep them going. He had a vision of some poor explorer, trapped in the mine being attacked by the rodents, but quickly put it out of his head.
Until the ODE had taken the property over two years previously, the only people to visit the mine recently had been treasure hunters. Although there were doubtless artifacts of archaeological interest in the mine, particularly to those who were excited by mediaeval ore extraction, to Max, the mine was merely a long entrance to a far greater treasure.
500 metres down the shaft, a second tunnel branched off to the right. Max and his men followed it for another 200 metres. Although not an expert, he could see a difference in the new passage. The walls were smooth, not marked by picks and axes, but created by something altogether more modern. Looking at the roof, he could see electric lights at regular intervals, linked by a thick, water proof cable.
The tunnel came to an abrupt end with a gigantic steel door blocking the whole passageway. Looking almost ghostly in his night vision scope, Max knew that the door was real, and he knew that it had been installed the previous year, and that it weighed two tonnes. Approaching the keypad on the left, he entered the combination he had been given, 19101943 and was grateful to hear the locks draw back, and a hiss as the air pressure between the two sides equalised.
Pushing against it, he lead his men through the door and into their destination. The tunnel widened appreciably, and another large box, six feet tall, stood on the left side of the corridor. Removing his goggles, Max approached the box and flipped the switch on the side. The tunnel was suddenly bathed in light as the generator started up, revealing a seemingly endless corridor with iron doors at irregular intervals on either side. Crossing the passageway, he approached a control panel and flipped some more switches. Somewhere in the distance, a large fan started up, sucking out the musty air which had been trapped since the door was sealed several months before.
“We are here gentlemen” Max announced. “The barracks are the first three doors on the right. I suggest you settle in and we rendezvous back here in 30 minutes. My quarters are the first door on the left if you need me.”
Taken aback by the vision which had suddenly confronted them, the men did as they were told, dispersing quickly.
Max headed for his own room. He had not been here before, and was surprised by the luxury that awaited him. He had a large double bed, a desk and sofa, with a television hanging from the remarkably smooth cave walls. A neatly chiselled doorway led to a bath room, with a walk-in shower cabinet. Max knew that the generator controlled all the environmental systems in the mine, and right now, the water was heating gently, ready to offer him a powerful, cleansing shower.
While the mine may have appeared to be the lair of some James Bond baddie, it was, in truth, somewhat older than Ian Fleming’s creation. For Max and his men had entered the Mittelwerk, the secret underground weapons factory the Germans had used in the last years of the war.
As Allied bombing raids grew more successful, and increasingly targeted munitions factories, more and more of the Reich’s weapons production had been moved to the 2, mile-long tunnels dug into the hillside. Here, they had produced jet engines, anti-aircraft missiles, fuel, the Henkel He 162 fighter and even V1 rockets. The presiding genius had been SS General Hans Kammler.
With the end of the war, the concentration camp inmates the Germans had been using as slave labour were liberated, and the Americans conducted a hasty search of the factories, seeking to remove any useful information before they were forced to hand the mine over to the Russians. They spent three years combing every inch before the entrances to the complex were dynamited in 1948.
With the reunification of Germany, a new entrance was dug in 1995, which housed a museum, but much of the original complex was inaccessible, either because tunnel roofs had collapsed, or because they had flooded. The original mine offered the only other entry, and treasure hunters had used it extensively to loot the remaining tunnels. The pilfering only stopped when the mining company went into liquidation, and the underground complex had remained undisturbed until the ODE had taken it over in 2008.
Max undressed and stepped into the shower, a look of satisfaction on his face. He had one more task to complete and then they would be ready. Schwartz would be pleased. In 24 or 36 hours at most, he would be ecstatic.
The Thuringian Forest
Having successfully met up with the other jeeps, Max led the convoy deeper into the forest. It was late now, and there was no-one around, so he was willing to take the risk of them being seen together. Besides, they would only be using the public roads for a short while. They carried on for 20 minutes before Max spotted what he had been looking for, a small, almost unnoticeable opening in the treeline. To describe it as a road would have been complete misrepresentation, even calling a path was flattery, but he knew the cars could handle it.
It had been several months since anyone had come this way, ever since the initial flurries of snow in October. It had been busy last summer though, as preparations had been made for the project Ortwin would shortly bring to fruition. Signs of activity were still there, if one cared to look. Trucks had snapped branched off trees, creating an oddly unbalanced topiary effect. There were deep ruts in the track, caused by the tires of heavy vehicles on the muddy ground. Filled with snow, they now lay like crevasses to catch the unwary. Max regretted that paving the road had not been deemed an important job, but he understood. If you wish to keep people away from a place, the easiest way is to make it impossible for them to reach it.
The road twisted higher now, and Max knew the temperature was dropping sharply. Fortunately, the car knew this as well, and the heating blew harder, protecting the inhabitants from the weather outside. If anything, the forest seemed to grow thicker, crowding in on the cars like beggars jostling wealthy tourists.
Rounding a bend, Max saw the gate he had been expecting, and knew that the journey was almost over. It stood in the middle of a long fence which stretched as far as Max could see, and much further. Topped with razor wire, it was designed to send out a very clear signal that intrusion was not welcome. For those who preferred to receive their information in written form, a sign on the gate warned that trespassers would be handed over to the police. The sign was topped with a device which looked like a dove bearing the German flag, and the letters ODR.
Shortly after Man learned to speak, he learned to lie and over the generations, has elevated dissembling to an art form. The ability to keep one’s true thoughts to oneself is useful in social situations and various cultures, notably Japan, have evolved a whole raft of behaviour patterns to reflect this. Europe has, with the exception of the French Court of the 1700’s, been less adept at this, but that is not to say that deceit and misdirection are not part of everyday life.
The ODR was a registered charity, the Organisation fur Deutsche Erinnerung or Organisation for German Remembrance. Based in Munich, not far from the scene of the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923 which was supposed to launch Hitler to power, but only took him as far as the local prison, its ostensible mission was to educate Germans about the crimes Hitler had committed. ‘Never again’ was the organisation’s motto, and to this end, it held exhibitions and worthy lectures the length and breadth of the country. Backed by an array of wealthy donors, the charity was the very model of German repentance and, as such, highly regarded both at home and overseas, which was why they had been allowed access to the present site.
However, all was not as it seemed with the ODR. A warning bell might have been rung by the presence among the board and the donors of so many sons of former Nazis, but the charitable would write that off as children trying to expunge the sins of their fathers. They would have been less inclined had they known of a dinner held by these men, shortly before, at an exclusive Berlin hotel. They did not, however, and so the charity served to render these men beyond reproach, despite their dubious ancestry.
So respectable was the ODR, such a good example of how Germany had moved on from the trauma of the thirties and forties that it had been given permission to develop the present site, turning it into a museum of Nazi atrocities. That they had no intention of doing so, very few people knew. But the permit had allowed them to start work, and the last year had been spent renovating the old site, and preparing it for a new, hidden purpose.
Max got out of the car, inhaling sharply as the cold air hit him. Withdrawing the key from his pocket, he unlocked the heavy padlock chaining the gates together. Waving the cars on, he got back into the jeep as it headed up the thankfully paved road. The convoy stopped shortly in an open space, abutted by a sheer face of rock. In one corner of the square sat a large metal box, a generator which Max ignored.
While he was willing to take the risk of his headlights being seen in the distance, he was less keen to light up the whole mountainside, particularly when the police were not that far off and the nearest village only 3 kilometres away. He had planned ahead for this contingency and, reaching into his backpack, withdrew a pair of goggles attached to a headset.
Getting out of his jeep, he beckoned the rest of the men to do the same. Putting the headset on, he toggled a switch on the side and the darkness turned a shade of green. The AN/PVS-14 was the most technologically advanced night vision device available, used by the American Army and selected allies. Max had made sure to liberate several sets before leaving the forces, not certain when he would use them, but sure he would. With an operating range starting at -50 degrees, they were perfect for the cold German winter.
Turning round, he headed for the narrow entrance tunnelled into the side of the hill. Giving the signal to follow, he marched forwards and into the hillside. His men quickly formed up behind him in a double file as they followed a winding path heading slowly downwards. The walls were crudely cut, reflecting the fact that the first mine in the location had been dug about 1400. Max could hardly imagine how they had done it, armed only with primitive axes and picks, but mine they had, discovering enough gypsum to keep the mine in operation until 2004.
The tunnel was slippery, the water which dripped from the ceiling turning to ice in the cold conditions. Although the passageway was warmer than outside, it was still below zero. Occasionally, they saw rats, scurrying away at the sound of their footsteps. How they survived, Max could only guess, but there was obviously some food source to keep them going. He had a vision of some poor explorer, trapped in the mine being attacked by the rodents, but quickly put it out of his head.
Until the ODE had taken the property over two years previously, the only people to visit the mine recently had been treasure hunters. Although there were doubtless artifacts of archaeological interest in the mine, particularly to those who were excited by mediaeval ore extraction, to Max, the mine was merely a long entrance to a far greater treasure.
500 metres down the shaft, a second tunnel branched off to the right. Max and his men followed it for another 200 metres. Although not an expert, he could see a difference in the new passage. The walls were smooth, not marked by picks and axes, but created by something altogether more modern. Looking at the roof, he could see electric lights at regular intervals, linked by a thick, water proof cable.
The tunnel came to an abrupt end with a gigantic steel door blocking the whole passageway. Looking almost ghostly in his night vision scope, Max knew that the door was real, and he knew that it had been installed the previous year, and that it weighed two tonnes. Approaching the keypad on the left, he entered the combination he had been given, 19101943 and was grateful to hear the locks draw back, and a hiss as the air pressure between the two sides equalised.
Pushing against it, he lead his men through the door and into their destination. The tunnel widened appreciably, and another large box, six feet tall, stood on the left side of the corridor. Removing his goggles, Max approached the box and flipped the switch on the side. The tunnel was suddenly bathed in light as the generator started up, revealing a seemingly endless corridor with iron doors at irregular intervals on either side. Crossing the passageway, he approached a control panel and flipped some more switches. Somewhere in the distance, a large fan started up, sucking out the musty air which had been trapped since the door was sealed several months before.
“We are here gentlemen” Max announced. “The barracks are the first three doors on the right. I suggest you settle in and we rendezvous back here in 30 minutes. My quarters are the first door on the left if you need me.”
Taken aback by the vision which had suddenly confronted them, the men did as they were told, dispersing quickly.
Max headed for his own room. He had not been here before, and was surprised by the luxury that awaited him. He had a large double bed, a desk and sofa, with a television hanging from the remarkably smooth cave walls. A neatly chiselled doorway led to a bath room, with a walk-in shower cabinet. Max knew that the generator controlled all the environmental systems in the mine, and right now, the water was heating gently, ready to offer him a powerful, cleansing shower.
While the mine may have appeared to be the lair of some James Bond baddie, it was, in truth, somewhat older than Ian Fleming’s creation. For Max and his men had entered the Mittelwerk, the secret underground weapons factory the Germans had used in the last years of the war.
As Allied bombing raids grew more successful, and increasingly targeted munitions factories, more and more of the Reich’s weapons production had been moved to the 2, mile-long tunnels dug into the hillside. Here, they had produced jet engines, anti-aircraft missiles, fuel, the Henkel He 162 fighter and even V1 rockets. The presiding genius had been SS General Hans Kammler.
With the end of the war, the concentration camp inmates the Germans had been using as slave labour were liberated, and the Americans conducted a hasty search of the factories, seeking to remove any useful information before they were forced to hand the mine over to the Russians. They spent three years combing every inch before the entrances to the complex were dynamited in 1948.
With the reunification of Germany, a new entrance was dug in 1995, which housed a museum, but much of the original complex was inaccessible, either because tunnel roofs had collapsed, or because they had flooded. The original mine offered the only other entry, and treasure hunters had used it extensively to loot the remaining tunnels. The pilfering only stopped when the mining company went into liquidation, and the underground complex had remained undisturbed until the ODE had taken it over in 2008.
Max undressed and stepped into the shower, a look of satisfaction on his face. He had one more task to complete and then they would be ready. Schwartz would be pleased. In 24 or 36 hours at most, he would be ecstatic.
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