Reluctant Nazi , livre ebook

The Reluctant Nazi
Pablo Omar Zaragoza
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-09-30
The Reluctant Nazi About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Epilogue
About the Author
Pablo Omar Zaragoza, originally from Havana, Cuba, immigrated to the United States when he was four years old. He grew up in Hialeah, Florida, graduated high school there, and completed his undergraduate studies from the University of Florida. Upon graduation from medical school, he pursued a career in pathology for 30 years.
An avid reader since childhood, Pablo, now retired, pursues his passion of writing. Since June 2017, he has written and had published eleven novels; twelve more novels are waiting in the wings.
Pablo conducts his own research and writes daily; a discipline, he believes, is necessary for anyone wanting to be considered a serious writer. He generously credits his partner, Susan Giffin, with her work as his editor.
For several of his published works, Pablo won first-place and finalist awards, and for all of them, he received five-star reviews from international book awards competitions.
Dedication
To my late parents, Elio and Francisca, who persevered under adverse circumstances to keep our family going with love and without complaint.
To my brother Carlos and sister-in-law, Dunia, whose loyalty during challenging times uplifts my spirit.
To my children Elio, Ricardo, and Lourdes, whom I love more each and every day.
Copyright Information ©
Pablo Omar Zaragoza (2020)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In this spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.
Ordering Information:
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Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Zaragoza, Pablo Omar
The Reluctant Nazi
ISBN 9781647504496 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781647504502 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916572
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
mail-usa@austinmacauley.com
+1 (646) 5125767
Acknowledgment
One person has helped me in so many ways and has dedicated herself to getting my books published: Susan Giffin, my editor and business manager as well as my partner in life. Without her, my words would have no voice. They would be disjointed letters with little meaning to the reader.
I also acknowledge my father who encouraged me to read and my mother who devoted herself to my every effort.
Prologue
My name is Hans Heinrich Richter. I was born on June 20 1910 and had a regular Bavarian upbringing. We lived on the outskirts of Wein; a small city. Yes, I know it is part of Austria now, but we considered ourselves German. I learned to speak Mist Boarisch Dialekte , but I was instructed to speak as they did in Berlin. We joined in the games of those people who lived in Munich; like asper schnalzen (whip cracking). We would gather in January, in groups of nine with our whips, and scrape the snow away as our ancestors had done.
When I was four years old, my father went to the western front to fight against those that wanted to destroy our way of life. The Schlieffen Plan rushed him into Belgium and then Luxembourg. We received his cold corpse on August 20 1914. He was lucky that he was identified because most of the men rotted on the ground and were unrecognizable. Mother and my older brother cried; but I was too young to understand the meaning of all these things.
My mother had family in Munich, and so we left Wein and traveled there. It was not easy for Mama. She was a widow of a war veteran who had died doing his duty for Tsar Wilhelm, but as the war dragged on and the bodies of the dead piled higher and higher, our people lost hope until they could not sustain the effort any longer.
With the signing of the armistice, my people were humiliated, our dignity trashed, our fortunes ruined, and we were made to suffer. We borrowed money from greedy American‑Jewish bankers, and then we paid it to France and England who, in turn, paid it back to the Americans. The alliance had relied heavily on American banks during the war, and their notes came due. When the stock market collapsed and hyperinflation started, it marked the end of the dream of democracy for Germany, and the Pied Piper of Hitler gave us all hope and restored our dignity. I was twenty-six years old when I heard him speak in the bar halls of Munich. He told us that our leaders had sold us out; that the Jewish bankers had bled the Fatherland dry. We were a great people, he said, and we would be great again. We would renew the Holy Roman Empire under his leadership, and the Reich would be restored.
My brother caught me reading Hitler’s book, Mein Kampf , “Hans, don’t read that trash. That is the blithering of a deranged mind. A psychiatrist needs to examine him and have him committed.”
I paid no attention and swore my allegiance to the National Socialist Party. I put on my black shirt and marched. I listened to Hitler and raised my hand and saluted him with devotion. He was my God. His voice, like Thor’s, was filled with thunder; his speech, like Odin, was filled with wisdom. I was one of hundreds who would have died and did die for him and his vision.
When he became Führer , he opened the doors to our greatness. He annexed Austria. After all, the Austrians were German people whom the decaying Hapsburgs had corrupted with their imperial court of decadence, decay, and corruption. These people joined us with open arms, and when we crossed the border, they threw flowers at our feet and called us saviors.
Hitler demanded the Sudetenland, Czechoslovakia, the Klaipeda Region of Lithuania, and more. The British prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, a spineless man, told his people that we would have peace in our time, but he was far from the mark. By that time, I had moved from the Sturmabteilung to the Schutzstaffel (SS) with Reichsführer Himmler. Our mission was to defend the blood, the Reich, and Hitler, who was the embodiment of the Fatherland.
I was ready to do as my führer demanded of me, but my mission was not to advance with the troops into Poland. Prior to the invasion, as the ink was drying on the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact , I was summoned to Himmler’s office. As I entered, I wondered if his family tree were done, would we find him ethnically pure? That round face, those mongoloid eyes were certainly not of Aryan origin. Yet, if the Führer had overlooked this, then we should as well.
The slanted, beady eyes read my file and pointed to the chair in front of him. I stared at a poster-sized photograph of Hitler, as I waited for Himmler to finish reading.
“SS-Hauptsturmführer Richter, you have shown exemplary service to the Party and to the Führer .”
“Thank you, Reichsführer.”
“As of today, I am elevating you in rank, despite the fact that your brother has been a critic of the Führer , even though the Führer has worked tirelessly to increase our territory. You will now have the rank of Sturmbannführer and be working in the East.”
“The East, sir?” I asked with trepidation.
“Poland, boy. Haven’t you seen the troops moving toward the border? We will crush those Slovak pig farmers and peasants, and when we do, we will extract everything from them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want every scrap of gold those ignorant animals have. Their teeth, their crosses, their stars of David. I want what’s in their banks and in their jewelry stores, and I want a careful accounting of it all. When you’ve finished accounting for it in Poland, I want you to do the same in Austria, Czechoslovakia, and every other territory we overtake.”
“Yes, Reichsführer.”
“You have a degree in accounting from the university and one in economics, is that correct?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“You will select a team to help you, and you will begin operations as soon as we cross the border.”
I had met him on August 20 1939, and on August 23, they signed away the fate of Poland, Latvia, Estonia, and Finland. By September 1, I was in my staff car following the troops into Poland. As they marched, my brother was at home, packing. He knew what was to come. He was a Social Democrat, and that was as dangerous as being a Jew in those times. He and Mother left without saying a word; but it wouldn’t have mattered to me then where they went or what they were doing. All that mattered to me was that I was part of the aspirations of my führer to set the world right for my people who had been humiliated at Versailles, beaten by the Depression, and now, like Lazarus, resurrected, vigorous and determined to take what was ours by right.
I remember the wind in my face as we crossed the borde