Summer 1945 • 10

by Tom Goodrich

Editor’s note: American neonazis, white nationalists, alt-righters, race realists and southern nationalists in the US must be truly demented for failing to mention the following atrocities on their blogsites and webzines. There are some isolated exceptions of course. But how come Jews are smart enough to place their Shoah as their most popular story when supposed pro-Aryans don’t speak out about the Holocaust of Germans?

Sometimes I wish that all right-wing and racist sites linked in this aggregator die while only The West’s Darkest Hour prevails…

 

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While the brutal mistreatment and murder of German military men was in progress, elsewhere, in neighboring countries, but especially Czechoslovakia, a horror unimaginable was transpiring. On May 5, when rumors swept through Prague that US forces were only a short distance away, the citizens of the Czech capital rose up against Nazi occupation. Before the day was out most of the German garrison had been isolated and surrounded.

Meanwhile, the roundup of German civilians in the city, including many refugees, began. Years of pent hatred for the German minority in their midst now finally had a free hand among the population. As men, women and children were marched through the streets, large crowds of Czechs were waiting. Amid a shower of rocks, bricks, kicks, and blows, the Germans were forced to run a terrifying gauntlet to the prison. Men in the mob grabbed fleeing women and girls and dragged them aside. Some were raped in the streets, others had their heads shaved and swastikas were painted on their bare backs and breasts.

“Woe, woe, woe, thrice woe to the Germans…” threatened the revenge-minded Czech president, Edvard Benes, as he returned from exile.” We have decided… that we have to liquidate the German problem in our republic once and for all.” Unfortunately, many Czechs eagerly embraced Benes’ words at their literal worst.

When the fighting in Czechoslovakia finally ended a few days later, the mob then turned its attention to the thousands of captives locked in prisons. “Several trucks loaded with German wounded and medical personnel drove into the [prison] court,” records a young journalist, Jurgen Thorwald. “The wounded, the nurses, the doctors had just climbed from their vehicles when suddenly a band of insurgents appeared from the street and pounced upon them. They tore away their crutches, canes, and bandages, knocked them to the ground, and with clubs, poles, and hammers hit them until the Germans lay still.”

“So began a day as evil as any known to history,” muttered Thorwald.

In the street, crowds were waiting for those who were marched out of their prisons… [T]hey had come equipped with everything their aroused passions might desire, from hot pitch to garden shears… They… grabbed Germans—and not only SS men—drenched them with gasoline, strung them up with their feet uppermost, set them on fire, and watched their agony, prolonged by the fact that in their position the rising heat and smoke did not suffocate them. They… tied German men and women together with barbed wire, shot into the bundles, and rolled them down into the Moldau River… They beat every German until he lay still on the ground, forced naked women to remove the barricades, cut the tendons of their heels, and laughed at their writhing. Others they kicked to death.

At a local hospital, ten of the youngest and prettiest Red Cross nurses were ordered into the street as were ten injured German soldiers. As they were marched toward a public square all were ordered to sing the German National Anthem. Those who did not sing loud enough were kicked and punched. Finally, when the column halted amid a huge, shouting mob, the patients and nurses were ordered to undress. When the nurses refused, they were slapped and knocked to the ground. “Undress or die!” screamed the leader of the gang. When all were finally nude, the girls—each hiding her face in shame—were lined up opposite the soldiers, then ordered to tear off the genitals of each man. No one moved at this horrific command. “Rip it off! Rip it off!” shouted the sadistic leader as the crowd thereupon clapped and shouted in unison. When the girls still refused all were either killed or beaten unconscious with rifle butts.

Elsewhere six young Germans were ordered to haul away several bodies that had been hung upside down, the teeth of each kicked out, then all set on fire with gasoline. Surrounded by a howling crowd the young men quickly did as ordered.

“The faces were mutilated beyond recognition…,” recounted one of the Germans, “the mouths just bloody holes. The roasted skin stuck to our hands. We had to carry them… and drag them when we could no longer carry… When we had put the bodies down we were forced to kiss them on the mouth. We were told, ‘They’re your brothers, now kiss them!’… No matter how revolting it was, staying alive was more important, and so we squeezed our lips together and pressed them into the bloody ooze that represented their mouths.”

As he struggled to escape the city a German soldier disguised as a priest saw sights that seemed scripted in hell. On one street the man encountered a young mother kneeling, sobbing uncontrollably. In the woman’s arms was her dead child, eyes gouged out, a knife still stuck in his tiny stomach. It was clear from the mother’s torn clothing and mangled hair that she had fought furiously to save her child. Horrified, the soldier urged the woman to leave before another mob approached and killed her.

“But that’s what I want!” the mother cried out. “I don’t want to go on living without my little Peter!

On another street, the disguised soldier saw a shouting mob bind several German women with rope to a poster pillar. Their seven children were then stuffed into the gutter drain at their feet. Soon, while others were spitting on them and tearing fistfuls on hair from the victims, an older Czech woman ran up and poured gasoline over the mothers as well as into the gutter. Laughing hysterically, another woman quickly appeared with a flaming newspaper. In a sudden fiery blast, the screaming victims were lost in a ball of orange flames. With a final act of desperation, one of the mothers managed to break free of the rope. Falling to her stomach like a living torch, with super-human strength the dying woman yanked the heavy grating off the gutter and reached into the mass of screaming children. In a moment, however, the mother was dead, as were the other women and children. With that, the mob danced around the pillar, shouting and laughing deliriously.

When the same witness reached the city’s central square it was evident that an orgy of blood and hate was in progress. Hanging dead from every lamppost lining the streets was a German soldier, most of whom had been dragged from hospital beds. In the center of the square a large crowd danced and shouted as two men held a totally naked German girl. With both breasts pierced by large safety pins that displayed Iron Cross medals, a bar bearing a swastika flag was stabbed into the screaming girl’s navel. Nearby, a naked mother lay motionless beside her trampled child. The woman had been beaten to death and a gaping head wound revealed her brain as it oozed out.

Elsewhere in the square, five Germans were pulled from a truck. The hands of the men were tied while the other end of the rope was fastened to the hitch of the vehicle. A young Czech thereupon climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. When the truck pulled away, the shouting crowd fell into a wild frenzy of hatred. For a few moments the captives were able keep up with the slow-moving vehicle. The more the driver gained speed, however, the more it became impossible for the men to keep their feet. One after another the victims fell, then all were jerked and dragged along at ever-increasing speed. After only a few rounds of the square, the Germans were mangled beyond recognition. When the truck finally stopped the victims were simply raw lumps of blood, flesh and filth.

Ultimately, the terrified soldier-clad-as-priest managed to escape the Prague slaughter pen, one of the few Germans to do so.

Meanwhile, at the huge sports stadium, thousands of Germans were herded onto the field to provide amusement for a laughing, shouting audience. “Before our very eyes… [they] were tortured to death in every conceivable way,” remembered Josefine Waimann. “Most deeply branded on my memory is the pregnant woman whose belly… uniformed Czechs slashed open, ripped out the fetus and then, howling with glee, stuffed a dachshund into the torn womb of the woman, who was screaming dreadfully… The slaughter happening in the arena before our very eyes was like that in ancient Rome.”

The horror born at Prague soon spread to the rest of Czechoslovakia, particularly the Sudetenland, where Germans had lived for over seven centuries.

At Aussig on the Elbe River, an estimated 2,000 Germans were murdered when Czech militiamen drove them en mass into the river. “Women were thrown into the Elbe along with their babies in their prams,” wrote a witness, “and the soldiers then used them for target practice, shooting at the women until they no longer surfaced.” In another town, a farmer was nailed to his barn door upside down. Sharpened wooden matches were shoved under his fingernails, then lit.

When a train carrying Germans fleeing the purge was stopped by Czech soldiers at Prerau, the people were ordered off and told to begin digging a huge trench. At midnight, when the hole was deemed wide enough and deep enough, the soldiers murdered every man, woman and child and rolled them into the mass grave. The oldest victims were in their eighties, the youngest, eight months.

Soon after the Red Army reached Czechoslovakia, Soviet commissars—Jewish political officers who traveled with the Red Army to ensure that soldiers exhibited proper “communist zeal”—added their own brand of sadism to the murderous mix. Torture pens were set up where the entertainment went on for days. In one basement German men and women were not only raped and beaten but were held down while a garden hose was shoved up their rectums and turned on to its maximum. In another pen, Germans were forced to crawl on their knees, give the Nazi salute and kiss photographs of Adolf Hitler that dripped with fresh sputum. Others were compelled to drink urine out of buckets. Some had their heads submerged in toilets filled with excrement, then were ordered to sing the German national anthem. Few survived such ordeals, of course, and perhaps even fewer hoped to.

“Take everything from the Germans,” demanded Czech president, Edvard Benes, “leave them only a handkerchief to sob into!”

“You may kill Germans, it’s no sin,” cried a priest to a village mob. At Bilina, stated a chronicler

…men and women were rounded up in the market square, had to strip naked and were made to walk single-file while being beaten by the population with whips and canes. Then… the men had to crawl on all fours, like dogs, one behind the other, during which they were beaten until they lost control of their bowels; each had to lick the excrement off the one in front of him. This torture continued until many of them had been beaten to death… What was done to the women there simply cannot be described, the sadistic monstrousness of it is simply too great for words.

“When I passed through Czechoslovakia after the collapse,” one German soldier recalled,” I saw severed human heads lining window sills, and in one butcher’s shop naked corpses were hanging from the meat hooks.”

When the fury had finally spent itself in Czechoslovakia, over 200,000 people had been butchered. Similar purges of German minorities occurred in Hungary, Yugoslavia and elsewhere when men, women and children, by the hundreds of thousands, were massacred in cold blood. The slaughter throughout Europe was not confined to ethnic Germans alone. Following the Allied occupation of France, over one hundred thousand French citizens were murdered by their communist countrymen because of collaboration with the Germans or other anti-communist activities. Similar, though smaller, reckonings took place in Belgium, Holland, Denmark, and Norway.

Summer 1945 • 9

by Tom Goodrich

Editor’s note:

Reading the below passages makes me think that the dark hour that the United States is currently suffering is the perfect punishment for the sin they committed in the 1940s: an Aryan sin so astronomical that it reaches Pluto. The punishment for having committed it is nothing less than the extinction of the founding stock of the US—and the rest of the whites around the world, as other whites are also reluctant to question the current narrative about the Second World War.

Many white nationalists also sin, to the point of ethnic suicide, because unlike Goodrich they are not even able to recognise what their ancestors did (when Richard Spencer, for example, has commented something on the subject in his recent YouTube interviews?).

Mark my words: if the white race is extinguished, let it be clear that it was due not only to the propaganda of the media at the hands of Jews, but to the fact that in the present century the dreadfully named ‘white nationalists’ hardly speak about the Hellstorm Holocaust in their forums.

Here we see again why the retrocognitive visions of a Bran under the Heart Tree, although this time seeing what really happened in WW2, could help to save the white man. But unlike the Stark family who in the TV series listened to Bran, in real life even nationalists are uninterested in Goodrich’s retrocognitive visions:

It is amazing to observe how brave and firm some men become when all danger is past. I have noticed on fields of battle brave men never insult the captured or mutilate the dead; but cowards and laggard s always do. —US Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman

While the Allied occupation of Germany was in progress, the cold­blooded murder of Nazi Party members, German SS troops and other anti-communists was in full swing. Unaware of the vicious propaganda aimed at them in America, when proud SS units surrendered to the US Army they naively assumed that they would be accorded their rights under the Geneva Convention and respected by fellow soldiers as the unsurpassed fighters that they certainly were. Instead, moments after giving up their weapons thousands were simply beaten bloody, then slaughtered where they stood. No less than seven hundred troops of the 8th SS Mountain Division were massacred by the Americans soon after surrender. Likewise, members of the SS Westphalia Brigade were marched a short distance then shot in the back of the head. Elsewhere, other SS units fared no better for the unwritten but understood orders from above were “no members of the SS shall be taken prisoner.”

“The Americans forced the Germans to walk in front of them with raised hands in groups of four,” recounted an eyewitness on the fate of another fifty surrendered soldiers near Jungholzhausen. “Then they shot the prisoners in their heads from behind.”

After shooting them and smashing their skulls with rifle butts, the US 7th Army threw another two hundred SS men into a mass grave.

Reveals one American soldier of another massacre:

As we were going up the hill out of town… some of our boys were lining up German prisoners in the fields on both sides of the road. They must have been 25 or 30 German boys in each group. Machine guns were being set up. These boys were to be machine gunned and murdered. We were committing the same crimes we were now accusing the Japs and Germans of doing. The terrible significance of what was going on did not occur to me at the time. After the killing and confusion of that morning the idea of killing some more Krauts didn’t particularly bother me… I turned my back on the scene and walked on up the hill.

“Those who were able stood at the window, and told those of us who were lying down what was going on.” So wrote Lt. Hans Woltersdorf. At that moment, the young officer was himself recovering in a German military hospital when US forces arrived. Outside, a motorcycle with a sidecar had just pulled up carrying an officer and two men of the Waffen-SS. When the Americans disarmed them, the two soldiers were allowed to proceed on foot but the officer and others were led away. Soon, Waltersdorf and the other patients heard a loud burst of submachine gun fire.

“Did you see that? They shot the lieutenant! Did you see that? They’re shooting all the Waffen-SS officers!” shouted the men at the window.

Horrified, but thinking quickly, several patients raced down to the hospital office, destroyed all the SS medical files they could find, then replaced them with records from the regular German Wehrmacht. After locating a number of army uniforms for the SS men to wear, the soldiers could only hope and pray that their efforts were rewarded. Unfortunately, such stratagems seldom succeeded since SS soldiers had their blood-type tattooed under the left arm.

“Again and again,” continues Waltersdorf, “Americans invaded the place and gathered up groups of people who had to strip to the waist and raise their left arm. Then we saw some of them being shoved on to trucks with rifle butts.”

When French forces under Jacques-Philippe Leclerc captured a dozen French SS near Karlstein, the general sarcastically asked one of the young soldiers why he was wearing a German uniform.

“You look very smart in your American uniform, General,” replied the boy.

In a rage, Leclerc ordered the captives shot.

“All refused to have their eyes bandaged,” a priest on the scene noted, “and all bravely fell crying ‘Vive la France!“‘

Although SS troops were routinely slaughtered upon surrender, anyone wearing a German uniform was considered extremely fortunate if he was merely punched, kicked, then marched to the rear.

“Before they could be properly put in jail,” records a witness when a group of little boys were marched past, “American GIs… fell on them and beat them bloody, just because they had German uniforms.”

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The footnotes have been omitted. Summer 1945 is a book that exposes the atrocities committed by the United States in Japan and Germany. If the reader is interested in a book by the same author that focuses on the holocaust perpetrated by the Allies solely in Germany, obtain a copy of Hellstorm, The Death of Nazi Germany: 1944-1947 (sample chapter: here).

Summer 1945 • 8

by Tom Goodrich

The hour zero

The long gray column stretched east for mile upon muddy mile. Like a wounded animal searching for a quiet place to die, the line moved slowly, painfully, yet steadily. Limping and dragging, staggering and stumbling, the once-mighty German Wehrmacht was now bound for slavery and death. In a stand-up club and claw fight to the finish, a contest between Adolf Hitler and European nationalism versus Josef Stalin and International Communism, the latter, with the power and weight of the United States and the British Empire behind him, had come off victorious. Now, just as the ragged, starving old men and boys in gray were marching east to oblivion, much of the Europe they were leaving was also passing into its own oblivion; for years to come the once bright and beautiful continent would know little else than darkness, degradation, death, and despair.

Above, black as a funeral, the brooding clouds of dejection and defeat. Below, littering the muddy road to Siberia, tattered bits of burnt clothing, broken strips of boot leather, dirty brown bandages, and puddles of blood, fresh, wet and dark. Ahead, years of back-breaking, mind-killing work in mines, bogs and forests and for almost all, the end—a frozen, unmarked grave. Behind, thousands of dead comrades, thousands of dead friends, thousands of dead family members—men, women, children, pets—buried beneath the rubble of a place that no longer resembled anything of this world. Behind, Berlin, the last battle of the war.

“The capital of the Third Reich is a heap of gaunt, burned-out, flame-seared buildings,” reported one of the first Allied correspondents to reach Berlin. “It is a desert of a hundred thousand dunes made up of brick and powdered masonry… It is impossible to exaggerate in describing the destruction… Downtown Berlin looks like nothing man could have contrived… I did not see a single building where you could have set up a business of even selling apples.”

Others who reached Berlin when the bombs stopped falling were likewise stunned by the almost total destruction. Block after block, mile after mile, as far as eyes could see and as far as legs could walk. There was no end to the ruins, ruins that once were one of the most gorgeous and glittering capitals on earth. But even more staggering to those who first viewed Berlin after the war was the total disbelief that anything calling itself “human” could still exist amid such utter ruin.

“Seeing them you almost hope that they are not human,” admitted a visitor.

But, and almost miraculously, there were humans yet living in Berlin. When the guns finally fell silent on May 8, 1945, these tattered and starved survivors crept from their cracks and caves, trying to flee: a nightmare, they knew not where.

“We clamber over bomb craters,” describes one woman trying to escape. “We squeeze through tangled barbed wire and hastily constructed barricades of furniture. It was with sofas that our army tried to block the Russian advance!… One could laugh if it didn’t rather make one feel like crying.”

Tanks riddled with holes block the way. A pitiful sight, pointing their muzzles toward the sky… Burned-out buildings left and right… Behind a projection in a wall sits an old man. A pipe in his right hand, a lighter in his left . He is sitting in the sun, completely motionless. Why is he sitting so still? Why doesn’t he move at all? A fly is crawling across his face. Green, fat, shiny. Now it crawls into his eyes. The eyes… Oh God have mercy! Something slimy is dripping onto his cheeks…

At last the water tower looms up in the distance. We are at the cemetery. The gate to the mortuary is wide open… Bodies, nothing but bodies. Laid out on the floor. Row after row, body after body. Children are among them, adults and some very old people. Brought here from who knows where. That draws the final line under five years of war. Children filling mortuaries and old men decomposing behind walls.

What had taken the German race over two millennia to build, had taken its enemy a mere handful of years to destroy. When the fighting, finally ended, the Great German Reich, which had been one of the most modern industrial giants in the world, lay totally, thoroughly and almost hopelessly, demolished. Germany, mused an American newsman drifting through the rubble, resembled nothing so much as it resembled “the face of the moon.”

At Germany’s second largest city, Hamburg, what Philip Dark found likewise staggered the senses. It was, thought the soldier, “a city devastated beyond all comprehension. It was more than appalling. As far as the eye could see, square mile after square mile of empty shells of buildings with twisted girders scarecrowed in the air…”

And what Leonard Mosley saw when he reached Hanover epitomized the condition of all German cities at war’s end. Hanover, typed the British reporter, “looked like a wound in the earth rather than a city. As we came nearer, I looked for the familiar signs that I used too know, but… I could not recognize [them] anywhere… The city was a gigantic open sore.”

Just as in Berlin, to the shock and surprise of not only Dark and Mosley, but to the survivors as well, life actually existed among and under the seemingly sterile rock piles. Like cave-dwellers from the beginning of time, men, women and children slept, whispered, suffered, starved, cried, and died below the tons of jagged concrete, broken pipes and twisted metal.

Other than being utterly destroyed, another feature shared by Hanover, Hamburg, Berlin, and every other German city was the nauseating stench that hung over them like a pall. “[E]verywhere,” remembered a witness, “came the putrid smell of decaying flesh to remind the living that thousands of bodies still remained beneath the funeral pyres of rubble.”

“I’d often seen it described as ‘a sweetish smell’—but I find the word ‘sweetish’ imprecise and inadequate,” one survivor scribbled in her diary. “It strikes me not so much a smell as something solid, tangible, something too thick to be inhaled. It takes one’s breath away and repels, thrusts one back, as though with fists.”

By their own tally of firebombing casualties, the British estimated that they had killed upwards of half a million German civilians. That some sources from the Dresden raid alone set the toll there at 300,000—400,000 dead would suggest that the British figures were absurdly­ and perhaps deliberately—low. Whatever the accurate figure, the facts are that few German families survived the war intact. Those who did not lose a father, a brother, a sister, a mother—or all the above—were by far the exception to the rule. In many towns and villages the dead quite literally outnumbered the living. For some, the hours and days following the final collapse was simply too much. Unwilling to live any longer in a world of death, misery and alien chaos, countless numbers took the ultimate step.

“Thousands of bodies are hanging in the trees in the woods around Berlin and nobody bothers to cut them down,” a German pastor remarked. “Thousands of corpses are carried into the sea by the Oder and Elbe Rivers—one doesn’t notice it any longer.”

Nor did one notice any longer the thousands of black and bloating bodies laying in the German countryside, on farms, in pastures, along fields, by roads, in ditches, the bodies of gray old men and fresh-faced boys of the Volkssturm, or militia, the pathetic last line of defense; disarmed, beaten, then murdered in cold blood by the same American army that murdered the boys at Dachau, murdered as they desperately tried to surrender, to somehow survive a war that was already over.

For Germany, May 8, 1945 became known as “The Hour Zero”—the end of a nightmare and the beginning of a dark, uncertain future. Most assumed, no doubt, that awful though the coming weeks and months would be, the worst was nevertheless behind them. It seemed to these dazed and damaged people that nothing the future had to offer could match what they had suffered through in the past.

But these people were wrong. The worst yet lay ahead. Though most of the shooting and bombing had indeed stopped, the war against Germany would continue unabated, forever if necessary, until the last German was dead. World War II was by far history’s most terrifying war, but what still lay ahead would prove, as Time magazine later phrased it, “History’s most terrifying peace.”

 

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Editor’s note: The footnotes have been omitted. Summer 1945 is a book that exposes the atrocities committed by the United States in Japan and Germany. If the reader is interested in a book by the same author that focuses on the holocaust perpetrated by the Allies solely in Germany, obtain a copy of Hellstorm, The Death of Nazi Germany: 1944-1947 (sample chapter: here).

Summer 1945 • 7

by Tom Goodrich

Finally, the two machine-guns were reloaded and the order to fire was given. In a moment, as the bullets tore into them, the young Germans standing fell upon the bodies below. Perhaps all three were killed outright; or perhaps, in yet another miracle, perhaps the three were merely wounded and feigned death.

Certain it was that among all the wounded soldiers, their lips prayed silently, under their breath, “Please, dear God, oh, please… please do not let this happen.”

In a short while, newly freed concentration camp prisoners in their striped clothing were handed pistols and ordered by the Americans to go among the stacks of bodies and finish the job. Thus, as .45 caliber slugs mechanically blew open the skulls of all German soldiers, dead and living alike, any miracles at Dachau officially ended.

“We shot everything that moved,” one GI bragged.

“We got all the bastards,” gloated another.

In Henry Morgenthau’s world, there was no room for “miracles”—Germany must perish and all Germans must die.
 

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Editor’s note: The footnotes have been omitted in the quotations above. Summer 1945 is a book that exposes the atrocities committed by the United States in Japan and Germany. If the reader wants a book by the same author that only talks about the allied atrocities in Germany, obtain a copy of Hellstorm, The Death of Nazi Germany: 1944-1947 (sample chapter: here).

Published in: on March 6, 2019 at 9:36 am  Comments Off on Summer 1945 • 7  

Summer 1945 • 6

by Tom Goodrich

The Dachau Massacre was a relatively small affair as numbers go and it might have remained little more than a footnote in World War II history but for one thing: Dachau was symbolic. The cold-blooded murders occurred after the war was won by the Allies and the peace, for all intents and purposes, should have been declared.

The evil turned loose that gray day at Dachau was a terrible harbinger of what was to come; it was a clear and unmistakable announcement to the world that the war and bloodshed would continue. Dachau was also grisly proof that what had been the world’s worst war would now transition into the world’s worst peace, or, as Henry Morgenthau demanded, a “peace of punishment.”

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Editor’s note: The footnotes have been omitted in the quotation above. Summer 1945 is a book that exposes the atrocities committed by the United States in Japan and Germany. If the reader wants a book by the same author that only talks about the allied atrocities in Germany, obtain a copy of Hellstorm, The Death of Nazi Germany: 1944-1947 (sample chapter: here).

Published in: on February 26, 2019 at 12:01 am  Comments (4)  

Summer 1945 • 5

by Tom Goodrich

Just as at Dachau, when the American army reached the various German concentration camps with dozens of reporters and camera­men in tow, the viewers were horrified by what they saw. The thousands of dead, emaciated bodies seemed proof of the propaganda they had read about for years; proof that the Nazi regime had indeed been engaged in a deliberate policy of mass murder and extermination of Jews. Certainly, men like the political generals, Eisenhower and Marshall, and the willing propagandists themselves, knew better. But with carefully crafted words, and now with photos and film of bodies, it would be an easy sell to millions in the US, Europe and others around the world.

And so, thus began phase two of the vicious propaganda war against Germany. The first phase had begun with the election of Adolf Hitler and continued down to the war’s end. The second phase would continue from the so-called “peace” and occupation of Germany right through to the present moment. On cue, from their first footfalls into Germany, hate-filled propagandists like the following began the coordinated psychological attack on the occupied Reich, on her people, on every man, woman and child.

“You must expect to atone with toil and sweat for what your children have committed and for what you have failed to prevent,” warned one Allied spokesman on camera as horrified German civilians were forced to parade in penance through the Belsen concentration camp. A place like Belsen was, the man continued, “such a disgrace to the German people that their name must be erased from the list of civilized nations.”

Given the circumstances, the fate of those Germans living near this and other concentration camps was as tragic as it was perhaps predictable. After compelling the people to view the bodies, American and British officers forced men, women and children to dig up with their hands the rotting remains and haul them to burial pits. Wrote a witness at one camp:

All day long, always running, men and women alike, from the death pile to the death pit, with the stringy remains of their victims over their shoulders. When one of them dropped to the ground with exhaustion, he was beaten with a rifle butt. When another stopped for a break, she was kicked until she ran again, or prodded with a bayonet, to the accompaniment of lewd shouts and laughs. When one tried to escape or disobeyed an order, he was shot.

Few victors, from Eisenhower down, seemed to notice, and fewer seemed to care, that conditions similar to Dachau and the other concentration camps existed in cities and towns throughout much of Germany. Because of the almost total paralysis of the Reich’s roads, rivers and rails caused by around-the-clock air attacks, supplies of food, fuel, clothes, and medicine had thinned to a trickle in the devastated German communities and dried up almost entirely at the concentration camps. As a consequence, thousands of camp inmates swiftly succumbed in the final weeks of the war to disease, starvation and neglect. When pressed by a friend if there had indeed been a deliberate policy of extermination, one of the few guards lucky enough to escape another camp protested:

“It wasn’t like that, believe me; it wasn’t like that! I’m maybe the only survivor who can witness to how it really was, but who would believe me!”

“Is it all a lie?”

“Yes and no,” he said. “I can only say what I know about our camp. The final weeks were horrible. No more rations came, no more medical supplies. The people got ill, they lost weight, and it kept getting more and more difficult to keep order. Even our own people lost their nerve in this extreme situation. But do you think we would have held out until the end to hand the camp over in an orderly fashion if we had been these murderers?”

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Editor’s note: The footnotes have been omitted in the quotations above. Summer 1945 is a book that exposes the atrocities committed by the United States in Japan and Germany. If the reader wants a book by the same author that only talks about the allied atrocities in Germany, obtain a copy of Hellstorm, The Death of Nazi Germany: 1944-1947 (sample chapter: here).

Published in: on February 20, 2019 at 1:14 pm  Comments (3)  

Summer 1945 • 4

by Tom Goodrich

Although cold-blooded and deliberate, the murder of disarmed and helpless German soldiers by the Americans was nothing new; it was a ruthless policy that stretched from the beaches of Normandy all the way through France, Belgium and into Germany. Dachau was only one of thousands of deliberate massacres that had taken place throughout the defeated Reich, on land, on sea and from the air, during the last year of war. If there was any significance at all to the Dachau slaughter, it was that the war, for all intents and purposes, was finally over. As far as any strategic value to the Allied war effort, there was none at Dachau. Nor was there any strategic value to the countless massacres that occurred during the deliberate firebombing of German cities where hundreds of thousands of women and children were burned alive. Nor was there any strategic value to the sinking of numerous refugee ships on the Baltic filled mostly with the very old and the very young. They were, all of them, simply a harvest of hate.

In 1933, after Adolf Hitler came to power, the World Jewish Congress declared economic warfare against Germany. Well aware of Hitler’s plan to end all Jewish influence in Germany—economically, politically, culturally—influential Jews in Europe and America engaged in a vast anti-German propaganda campaign. The campaign, said organizer Samuel Untermeyer of the United States, was a “holy war… a war that must be waged unremittingly… [against] a veritable hell of cruel and savage beasts.” [1]

As a consequence, Germans responded in kind with a campaign of their own. While citizens were encouraged to shun Jewish businesses, a series of laws were enacted designed to not only drive Jews from the German arts, the media and the professions, but laws were passed to force them entirely from the nation as well. As the economic struggle continued, Jewish journalists, writers, playwrights, and filmmakers from around the globe joined the fray. With the outbreak of war in 1939 and the entry of the United States into the conflict two years later, the war of words reached pathological proportions. Increasingly, as rumors of widespread persecution against Jews under Nazi control spread, the propaganda campaign directed at Hitler and National Socialism devolved swiftly into a fanatical cry of extermination. Nowhere was hatred more intense than among American Jews.

“[A] cancer flourishes in the body of the world and in its mind and soul, and… this cancerous thing is Germany, Germanism, and Germans…,” announced Hollywood script-writer and director, Ben Hecht. “That this most clumsy of all human tribes—this leaden-hearted German—should dare to pronounce judgment on his superiors, dare to outlaw from the world the name of Jew—a name that dwarfs him as the tree does the weed at its foot—is an outrageous thing… It is an evil thing.” [2]

“Germany must perish…,” echoed Theodore N. Kaufman in a widely-read book of the same name. “There remains then but one mode of ridding the world forever of Germanism—and that is to stem the source from which issue those war-lusted souls, by preventing the people of Germany from ever again reproducing their kind.” [3]

After years of this and other poisonous propaganda in newspapers, magazines and movies, eventually, in the minds of a sizable percentage of Americans and Britons, little distinction was drawn between killing a Nazi soldier and killing a German child.

On September 15, 1944, US President Franklin D. Roosevelt made the demand for extermination official when he endorsed the so-called “Morgenthau Plan.” Named for Roosevelt’s Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, but actually conceived by the secretary’s top aide, Harry Dexter White—both of whom were Jewish—the program called for the complete destruction of Germany after the victory had been won. In addition to the dismantling or destruction of German industry and the permanent closure of mines, the Morgenthau Plan called for a reduction of the Reich’s land area by one half. As many calculated, and as Roosevelt, Gen. George C. Marshall and other proponent s of the plan well knew, this act guaranteed that roughly two-thirds of the German population, or fifty million people, would soon die of starvation. With the remnant of the population reduced to subsistence farming, and with the shrunken nation totally at the mercy of hostile European neighbors, it was estimated that within two generations Germany would cease to exist. [4]

“Henry, I am with you 100%,” Roosevelt assured his Treasury Secretary. [5]

“They have asked for it…,” snapped Morgenthau when someone expressed shock at the plan. “Why the hell should I worry about what happens to their people?” [6]

“You don’t want the Germans to starve?” Roosevelt’s incredulous son-in-law asked the president in private.

“Why not?” replied Roosevelt without batting an eye. [7]

In fact, the American president had even greater plans for those Germans who were not starved to death or otherwise murdered.

“We have got to be tough with Germany and I mean the German people, not just the Nazis,” Roosevelt privately assured Henry Morgenthau. “You either have to castrate the German people or you have got to treat them in such a manner so they can’t go on reproducing.” [8]

“The German is a beast,” agreed Dwight D. Eisenhower, Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. Not only would the top general give the Morgenthau Plan his whole-hearted support, but he would personally do his utmost to kill as many Germans—soldiers and civilians—as he possibly could. [9]

And thus did the murderous Morgenthau Plan become the undeclared, but understood, American policy toward Germany. From the firebombing of Hamburg in 1943 to the firebombing of Dresden in 1945, the goal of the British RAF and the US Eighth Air Force was now to kill every man, woman and child in every German city and town. Likewise, from their first footfall into Germany, the goal of the Red Army in the east and the American army in the west was to rape, and often murder, every woman they caught, to kill all the men they captured and to destroy or steal virtually everything German they came in contact with.
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NOTES

[1] New York Times, August 7, 1933; Ralph Grandinetti, “Germany’s Plan to Resettle Jews in Madagascar,” The Barnes Review 4, no. 3 (May/June 1998), 26.

[2] Ben Hecht, A Guide for the Bedeviled (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1944), 120, 115, 130, 144, 155, 156.

[3] Theodore N. Kaufman, Germany Must Perish! (Newark, N.J.: Argyle Press, 1941), 6, 7, 28, 86.

[4] Russell D. Buhite, Decisions at Yalta (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources, Inc., 1986), 25; Eugene Davidson, The Death and Life of Germany (New York: Alfred Knopf, 1959), 6.

[5] “War Crimes: USA,” Lt. Col. Gordon “Jack” Mohr, AUS Ret., LINK

[6] Buhite,Yalta, 23.

[7] Diary of Henry Morgenthau, entry for March 20, 1945.

[8] “David Irving’s Introduction to the Morgenthau Plan,” The Morgenthau Plan, LINK

[9] Thomas Goodrich, Hellstorm—The Death of Nazi Germany, 1944-1947 (Sheridan, CO: Aberdeen Books, 2010), 167.

 

______ 卐 ______

 

Summer, 1945: Germany, Japan and the Harvest of Hate (Paperback, 2018) is avaliable from Amazon Books: here.

Summer 1945 • 3

Of all the graphic photos I have viewed in my years of research, the most horrific is not the smoldering bodies at Dresden after the fire­ storm, not the German women and children flattened by Soviet tanks on a snowy road in East Prussia, but that of the bodies at Dachau. No, not the bodies; not the emaciated concentration camp inmates who died not from a deliberate policy of extermination—as we have been told for decades now by the victors—not those, not those who had succumbed in the late stages of the war to typhus, diphtheria, dysentery, starvation, and neglect. No, the bodies I speak of were German bodies, German soldiers. And the photo is graphic not merely for the obvious; the photo is hideous more for what is not actually seen, than what is. There is a crushing, paralyzing oppression in the gray tones of the image; there is an overwhelming sense of evil in the very air; there is a terrifying embodiment of hate and malice in the forms of the Americans as they mechanically, and with utter detachment, go about their inhuman business.

As US forces swept through Bavaria toward Munich in late April, 1945, most German guards at the concentration camp near Dachau wisely fled. To maintain control and arrange for an orderly transfer of the 32,000 prisoners to the approaching Allies, and despite signs at the gate warning, “No entrance-typhus epidemic,” several hundred German soldiers obeyed when they were ordered to the prison.

When American units reached the camp the following day, the GIs were horrified by what they saw. Outside the prison were rail cars brim full with diseased and starved corpses. Inside the camp, wrote a witness, were found “a room piled high with naked and emaciated corpses… Since all the many bodies were in various stages of decomposition, the stench of death was overpowering.”

Unhinged by the nightmare surrounding them, conditioned by years of vicious anti-German propaganda, the troops turned their fury on the now disarmed German soldiers. While one group of over three hundred were led away to a walled enclosure, other Germans were murdered in the guard towers, in the barracks, or they were chased through the streets. All were soon caught and many were deliberately wounded in the legs, then turned over to camp inmates who first tortured, then tore limb from limb the helpless men and boys.

A German guard came running toward us. We grabbed him and were standing there talking to him when… [a GI] came up with a tommy-gun. He grabbed the prisoner, whirled him around and said, “There you are you son-of -a-bitch!” The man was only about three feet from us, but the soldier cut him down with his sub-machine gun. I shouted at him, “what did you do that for, he was a prisoner?” He looked at me and screamed “Gotta kill em, gotta kill em.” When I saw the look in his eyes and the machine gun waving in the air, I said to my men, “Let him go.” [1]

While the tortures and murders were in progress, 350 German soldiers were lined up against a wall, two machine-guns were planted, then the Americans opened fire. Those yet alive when the fusillade ended, including the three young men still standing, were forced to wait amid the bloody carnage while the machine-guns were reloaded.

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[1] Howard Buechner, Dachau—The Hour of the Avenger (Metarie, Louisiana: Thunderbird Press, 1986), 75-76.

Summer 1945 • 2

 

Germany must perish

It is a cool, overcast day. It is an April day so typical in southern Germany, not quite winter, not quite spring.

They stand painfully, unbearably alone against a gray wall, under a gray Bavarian sky. Two of the three have their arms held high, facing the camera. The arms of these two are raised in such a way as to suggest that they have either been held in that position for a very long time or that they are now simply arms resigned to their fate. The other soldier has folded his arms quietly over his stomach. Perhaps he is sick. Perhaps he is wounded. Perhaps, like the others, he too simply does not care any longer.

They are all young; perhaps 17, or younger. At their feet, laying in piles up and down the line, there lay the others. Some are dead. Some, agonizing in their own blood, are yet alive. Others, no doubt, are uninjured but there they lay, unmoving, feigning death, eyes shut tight, brains pounding hard, minds screaming loud, “Why? Why? Why?” The machine-gun facing those on the ground and those yet standing is now being reloaded.

The three boys still standing are terrified. In all likelihood, one or all have lost control from fear and have urinated on themselves. Hearts are beating three times their normal rate. The pounding throb in each boy’s temples is so loud that it drowns out all other sound. Each face is pale. Each body is weak. Each mind is lost. Each boy is trying to make sense of it all. Such a thing as this cannot be happening. It is all a mistake. It surely is but a dream. Surely it is a nightmare from which they will soon awaken. Those soldiers facing them are Americans. They, like Germans, do not do such things. Each boy perhaps has a cousin or an uncle in America. They would not do such a thing.

Or perhaps the boys are beyond all this. Perhaps they know; know it is not a dream, but really happening to them. Perhaps they look to the left, then to the right, then down to their feet to see the red blood pouring in streams from those once their friends, their classmates, their cousins, even their brothers. Perhaps, as others about to die, perhaps their lives are already passing rapidly before their eyes—back to their childhoods, back to their teachers, back to their families, their pets, their girlfriends, back to the day when one of them nearly drowned in the lake and a British tourist saved him; or back to the pretty farm now turning from winter gray to spring green, the sweet­ smelling apple orchard now in bloom, the orchard he loved so much, just as his parents had, just as his grandparents had, just as their parents had.

Or perhaps the young men imagine that it was a miracle; when all else were shot by the machine-gun and died, God had sent them a miracle; a message from heaven that they would live. What else could have saved them when so many hundreds had died? Who else but God could have spared them?

We will never know what the boys were thinking as they stood alone in a sea of the dead. In a moment, the machine-gun will be reloaded and the Americans, laughing, shouting, staring at the young men with eyes of sadistic hate will then shoot them down.

Published in: on January 29, 2019 at 12:03 am  Comments Off on Summer 1945 • 2  

Summer 1945 • 1

 

Foreword

This book is about crime and the evil things evil men do. This book is about words and hate and the powerful price of propaganda. This book is about the savage, no-quarter war waged against Japan during the summer of 1945 and it is about the equally savage no quarter “peace” waged against Germany during that same summer, 1945. There is no attempt herein to recite the numerous atrocities attributed to the Germans and Japanese by the victorious powers. Certainly, some of these crimes were true; equally certain, many of these crimes were not. Such is winning and losing. Such is war.

To most modern readers, the “unique” guilt attributed to the Axis powers in starting World War II as well as their supposed barbaric behavior in prosecuting it are too well known to repeat. For those who wish to learn more of the victor’s version of the war, a simple trip to the book store or library, or the viewing of virtually any feature-length movie or documentary film will offer up the Allied account of the war. This book is, instead, devoted to the inhuman treatment and savage atrocities directed at the losers of the war by the winners, both during and after that war. This book is about the evil things evil men do.

Just as my previous book on Allied war crimes during and after World War II in Europe—Hellstorm: The Death of Nazi Germany, 1944-1947—illustrated how deadly propaganda can be, especially when the intended target audience for such propaganda are eighteen­year-olds with weapons in their hands, so too does this book attempt to illustrate how vicious words fired by experts are far more deadly than bombs and bullets for, unlike bombs and bullets which kill only once, words kill again and again and again. Simply, Japanese and German propaganda never came close to matching Allied propaganda in pure hate; Japanese and German propaganda never had the dripping venom and murderous malice that American and British propaganda had then, and, for the most part, still has now.

While the victors, to this day, vilify and condemn the Germans and Japanese for their treatment of American POWs, never mentioned is that at least the Germans and Japanese took prisoners. Few, very few, German and Japanese soldiers survived actual combat to reach an American POW camp. While the victors, to this day, assail again and again the Germans for crimes against Jews or attack the Japanese for crimes against the Chinese, seldom does one hear about the crimes against the Germans or the crimes against the Japanese, of the deliberate firebombing of millions of German and Japanese women and children, of the wholesale rape of countless women and children, of the utter and abject subservience that both nations even today still find themselves locked in.

Finally, it is the most fervent hope of the author that after finishing Hellstorm and this, its companion study, Summer, 1945, that the reader will not simply set the volumes down and return to a life of indifference and apathy. It is the author’s greatest wish that each reader will instead work with others to ensure that never again—not in our name, not in our time, not in our world—will we ever allow such evil propaganda such as was used in World War II to ever repeat itself; that no matter who it may next be directed at, be it Germans, Japanese, Iranians, North Koreans, or Israelis, we will not ever again allow such vicious, sadistic, and evil words to be used to either create a war or create a “peace.” As the past has proved, such reckless, murderous words reap reckless, murderous harvests of innocent and guilty alike. Unless we all work to throttle evil men and their evil words and evil deeds, then soon, very soon, that evil will almost certainly be directed at us and those we love.

Thomas Goodrich
Sarasota, Florida

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About the author

Tom Goodrich is a professional writer who lived on the Gulf Coast of Florida while writing Summer, 1945: Germany, Japan and the Harvest of Hate (The Palm Press, Siesta Key, Florida, 2018).

His biological father was a United States Marine during the Pacific War, 1941-1945, and his adoptive father served in the US Air Force in Europe during World War II. Visit the author at thomasgoodrich.com.

Published in: on January 22, 2019 at 12:09 am  Comments (4)