A Right to Plunder
Brendan O’Neill
© Brendan O’Neill
Brendan O’Neill has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 2020 by Murragrane Press.
For Murder though it have no tongue,
will speak with most miraculous organ. (Hamlet)
Matthew 21.38
“Come let us kill him and let us seize on his inheritance – that so, from mere servants we may become Lords”
Dedication
To all victims of plunder
Table of Contents
Author’s Note
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
PARIS: 1942
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY ONE
TWENTY TWO
TWENTY THREE
TWENTY FOUR
TWENTY FIVE
TWENTY SIX
TWENTY SEVEN
TWENTY EIGHT
TWENTY NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY ONE
THIRTY TWO
THIRTY THREE
THIRTY FOUR
THIRTY FIVE
THIRTY SIX
THIRTY SEVEN
THIRTY EIGHT
THIRTY NINE
FORTY
FORTY ONE
FORTY TWO
FORTY THREE
FORTY FOUR
FORTY FIVE
FORTY SIX
FORTY SEVEN
FORTY EIGHT
FORTY NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY ONE
FIFTY TWO
FIFTY THREE
FIFTY FOUR
Author’s Note
A Right to Plunder is a story of fiction incorporating historical fact and personalities of the tumultuous period of conflict in Europe during and after the Hitler years. The great untold story of the Second World War is the suppression of evidence, and failure by the Allied authorities to demonstrate a willingness, to prosecute corporations who cultivated collusion to achieve the aims of Nazi Germany. These were crimes of enormous proportions that went unanswered and had international repercussions. The establishment of Einzatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg (ERR) task force in 1941, headed by Alfred Rosenberg, effectively gave the ‘green light’ for state sponsored plunder by the Reich. This organisation was approved by Hitler personally and targeted the valuables of Europe, particularly Paris, and its abundant treasures.
A classic example was Alfred Lindon, a wealthy Jew who fled Paris in 1940 and entrusted his valuable art, jewellery and antiquities collection to Chase Bank, who had remained open for business during the German occupation of France. These were plundered from the bank by ERR and were intended for display in the Führermuseum, Linz Austria. When interrogated at his trial in Nuremberg regarding these acts of looting, Rosenberg’s pathetic response was ‘The owners were all away’. He was found guilty on all charges and executed by hanging on 16th October 1946. In the broader sense, the plunder was not confined to art works and other valuables,it was also extended to the ‘populations’ of the occupied territories. Vast numbers, estimates are in excess of seven million, were ‘shanghaied’ and transported to Germany to work in slave like conditions in factories to maintain war output. This was a clear infringement of The Hague and Geneva conventions. See note below.
The complicity of some of the largest American corporations assisting in the growth and functioning of the Third Reich has been well documented (see attached list of recommended reading). This story highlights the activities of some of these major companies: IBM, Chase Bank, Bank for International Settlements and Standard Oil. There are many more, also guilty of corporate piracy by knowingly enabling the Axis powers. They acted with impunity, having no fear of admonishment or sanction and in hindsight they were proven right. The few that are mentioned in this story forfeited their morality for the money. They stand indicted in the court of humanity in pursuing the profit motive and abandoning the principles of conscience. It is a matter of record that the Third Reich was an attractive market for American companies to explore. Emerging from a deep depression and uncertainty in their home economy, it was the National Socialists who promised growth in a labour environment free from union constraints and, who more importantly, paid the bills! The morality issue, if it ever existed, became submerged in the lure of monetary reward, which dispassionate research for this story has revealed.
A Right to Plunder records in novel form the pursuit of profit and the unbridled immorality of some of these corporations, which if the American public had known at the time, there would have been riots in US cities. American soldiers, Navy and Air Force personnel were dying in Europe, while the icons of American corporate life gave the ammunition and the means to enable the opposition to wage and prolong the carnage of the Second World War, in order to increase their wealth. It is estimated that over four hundred thousand (400,000) American service personnel died in World War 11. Winston Churchill is credited with the proverb ‘’History is written by the victors’’. It is not fanciful to surmise that there should have been a ‘Nuremberg’ style trial of the executives of the American companies who enriched themselves, while the armed forces sacrificed a generation of youth who innocently died to defend and protect democracy. If there had been public disclosure of the corporate support given to the Nazi’s, the scandal would most likely have led to strikes and rebellion in the armed services. Giving aid and support to the enemy in time of war is a treasonable offence. There were seven trials of American citizens for treason after the war, but all of these were acts that were committed by broadcasters and propagandists who espoused the Axis cause. Not one of the business executives of the major American corporations who assisted the German war effort was indicted or tried for treason.
Note. Russian allies did not sign the conventions. Ref., the massacre of twenty thousand Polish military officers in Katyn forest 1940, a crime which they had committed and for which they blamed the Germans, even audaciously trying to enter it in the prosecution at Nuremberg.
ONE
FLIGHT FROM BERLIN. 1945
Destruction, death and decay were everywhere. The smell of sulphur and spent cordite wafted through the pungent air. Seeping sewage from a fractured system flavoured the intermingled rotting flesh of both humans and animals among the charred building ruins. The hovering hoards of flies and gorging rats feasted on this carnage. Occasionally, earth tremors followed the distant rumble of artillery directed by the rapacious Russians in their methodical advance to ensure extinction of a once proud capital city and misguided people.
Anna held her mother’s arm tightly. Even in their ragged state, the filial resemblance was noticeable. Anna promised to soon reflect her mother’s Aryan blond, long-limbed good looks. Their flight from war-torn Berlin had started after midnight, seven days previously.
Her mother's closeness was her only connection to human comfort in the surrounding nightmare. Half running, half dragging, her arm and shoulder ached from the effort, but her mother's panic and sense of urgency extinguished all possible protest. Their torturous odyssey was accompanied by an exodus of exhausted, confused humanity. The road north of Berlin to Hamburg heaved in the dust-laden heat of early summer as men and women of all ages sequestered makeshift transport in the form of half-starved horses, lorries short on fue
l, bicycles and handcarts that carried lifelong precious possessions. But mostly the shuffling, seething lines of human misery were on foot.
A discarded newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter, a widely read weekly, proclaimed that “Berlin will never be abandoned it is an integral part of the front”. Its empty rhetoric only served to goad and further inflame the defeated detritus of humanity who glanced in its direction as they passed.
There was no authoritative voice issuing directives, but occasionally a warning was shouted to seek shelter from an approaching Russian aircraft which would mercilessly strafe the shifting throng with machine gun fire and leave the air filled with anguished cries from the unlucky wounded.
Thirst and hunger were their constant companions. Burning sulphur and the smell of rotten horse flesh was everywhere. On the seventh day, their bloodied feet had brought them to within ten miles of the destroyed city of Hamburg. Their clothing had long given up the pretence of offering a barrier to even the most benign weather. One great-coat salvaged from a Wehrmacht soldier covered their huddled bodies from the frost-laden nights. The remaining pitiful portions of food were consumed underneath a shattered rail bridge as mother and daughter silently surveyed a sombre skeletal city outline in the distance amidst descending gloom.
Overriding the extreme physical ordeal being endured was the heightened level of terror that her mother was transferring to her daughter. As they left the temporary shelter of the bridge, her mother’s pace quickened again as if she was determined to seek sanctuary. With twilight approaching, the heavy throng they had joined in Berlin was now a trickle with others choosing side roads that seduced them with a promise of tenuous freedom. It had now started to rain and the little girl’s long blonde hair was matted with the dust and grime hindering her vision. Finally, after a further couple of hours, reaching a small square, they stopped to check a dilapidated road sign in the now rapidly fading light. She heard her mother speak.
“This is the square, Ottensen in the Borough of Altona”. With outstretched arms she hugged her protectively and whispered in her ear. “It will soon be over Anna”. Holding her tight she said “I want you to stay here in the shadows while I go into the square and check out the building to make sure that it’s safe. Keep watching me carefully and I will signal you to come and follow me”.
Anna nodded and watched as her mother’s tall figure walked across towards an imposing building that looked to be intact among the surrounding dereliction. The rumble of heavy artillery shelling could be heard far off into the distance but Anna was too young to know that this was the day the American and Soviet troops met on the Elbe River, effectively extinguishing the last vestiges of life in a choking Third Reich. Standing there in growing gloom, apart from the artillery rumble, she finally noticed the silence. The entrance to a ruined concrete doorway beside her had chalk graffiti: wir leben (we are alive), but there was nobody there. When the warm gentle wind casually changed direction, it carried a rancid stench from the city, whose body, heart and soul was long dead.
She watched as her mother reached the doorway and searching her pockets for a key, she opened the heavy hall door and disappeared from view. Momentary panic gripped Anna as she saw her vanish into the building and she felt the fear of isolation. She watched intently and moments later she received the signal of her mother’s beckoning arm to run and join her.
The inner hallway was dark and dreary, smelling of musty decay. Through her long matted hair, she could see the outline of a massive staircase. It looked enormous and foreboding but courageously they moved towards it across a cold tiled floor, holding hands. For the first time in seven days, she was aware of her mother, Maria, breathing heavily and sobbing to herself. Few words had been spoken between them throughout their journey from Berlin, but despite her youth, Anna knew that there was no point seeking an explanation to their dilemma.
As they ascended the wide staircase, the large landing area benefited from the last lingering light of the fading evening, the high gothic style window reluctantly filtering the dying rays, rattled to the whim of the tapping wind and rain. Passing up to the next landing, they opened a door that revealed a room full of half-light and dancing shadows. Adjusting to its visual tempo, they could make out the chaotic disorder within. Large wooden crates and boxes dominated old pieces of machinery and huge bales of cloth were strewn about in abandoned fashion. It was deathly silent as they both stood and stared at this unwelcoming refuge. Hesitantly, they made their way across the room, carefully avoiding the sharp-edged crates and broken furniture.
Both their breaths were coming in short gasps and when they reached the only floor to ceiling window they instinctively dropped to their knees and sat with their backs to the frame absorbing their new surroundings. Exhausted, they finally gathered strength to take down what looked like an old curtain rail with some cloth lying on a dusty surface. Drying their hair and faces, they now saw that the room was L-shaped, a fact that had not been obvious to them when first entering. More dilapidated debris and broken wooden crates disguised this area. Silently, Maria brought Anna over to this L-shaped area and behind a large amount of crumpled and discarded debris she arranged a makeshift bed which would offer her daughter some solace. Anna watched her mother make her way back towards the window area and strip off her damp clothes. From her vantage point behind the stacked shelving and cluttered machinery, she saw her naked silhouette join the shimmering shadows. They both settled down in their respective beds of expedience and peace of a sort descended.
An indeterminate time had passed when a tremendous bang jerked Anna from a deep sleep to her knees. Transfixed with terror, on the verge of apoplexy, she peered between the machinery and debris at the catastrophic scene unfolding before her. The door hung at an angle and the dancing particles of a dust cloud were illuminated by the moon. Anna watched silently as a dark-haired heavy set man slowly and purposefully approached her mother. Maria’s fabric-draped body stood like a statue in front of him, braced with anticipatory tension for the assault to come. It was no contest. His hands squeezed her neck in a vice-like grip and as he expunged the air from her body, she gave out a plaintive whine and managed to scratch at his face as she submitted. Further enraged he went behind her back, placing his forearm around her neck, he viciously wrenched her lithe body backwards, bending her spine. This time, there was a sharp crack as her neck vertebrae were broken and like a rag doll, she slumped to the floor.
Anna watched, silently shaking. As the man bent over the lifeless body, she saw he was bleeding badly from the scratches. He took a length of rope from his pocket and tied it around her mother’s neck. The body convulsed at this moment and she could see the startled staring dead eyes focussing on the ceiling. He was now covered in blood, stopping to take off his tunic and undershirt he revealed a strongly built torso. Taking the lifeless body, he hoisted it over his shoulder and displaying great balance and agility, he stood on the platform of one of the large machines thrusting the body upwards towards a large wooden beam that was one of the trusses underneath the high ceiling. Wrapping the rope around the beam, he suspended the body from the neck to hang about four feet from the floor. Totally unaware of Anna’s existence and that he was being observed; he extended his left inner arm as he adjusted the rope around her neck revealing a small tattoo marked AB in black outline and gothic lettering against clear white skin just above the elbow. Transfixed, she watched as he jumped down from the machine platform and the suspended body began to slowly turn into a macabre movement amidst the swirling particles of dust in the light from the evening moon. Producing a knife from his pocket, he proceeded to hack off the thumb from the right hand of the still warm corpse. Blood flowed everywhere as the severed artery gushed forth onto the wooden floor. He then wrapped the thumb in a piece of cloth, put back on his tunic coat and furtively looked around the room. In a motionless petrified state, Anna watched his gaze survey the surroundings. Satisfied and totally unaware of the girl’s presence, he turned toward
the door opening and carefully made his way across the littered room, leaving the chaotic scene behind him. Anna heard his boots descend the tiled staircase followed by the main hall door closing.
The next few hours passed in a catatonic state. Anna was beyond confusion as she rocked back and forth before finally passing out in an exhausted stupor. Once again it was all silent. When she awoke, it was dark. A yellow street light from across the square cast long shadows through the high window. Dust continued to dance in erratic form and she began to realise that her body was sticky warm and covered in her own faeces and urine.
Crawling out from her hiding place among the crates, she saw her mother hanging from the beam. The smell in the room had changed; it was no longer the earlier deep disinfectant type odour, but was now sickly sweet that threatened to make her retch. She made her way on her hands and knees across the splintered fragments which dug into her exposed flesh as she crawled into the shadowy darkness. She reached the dangling body, got up and touched the feet which were ice cold. She rubbed them gently, hoping for reaction but she did not understand anything. Her mental and physical pain, were now beyond tolerance level. She wanted to cry or scream but could do neither as she stood immobile holding the icy feet, she urinated. The smell was overpowering. She knew that she had to leave the dangling cadaver. She watched the severed thumb of the right hand ooze and drip a putrid fetid body fluid. Naked, except for ragged soiled underclothes, she dragged herself to the open doorway. Looking back at the swaying corpse, she saw her mother’s bulging eyes that seemed about to pop from her barely recognisable parchment yellow face.
Sliding slowly down along the wall of the stairwell and now conscious of the splintered glass and wooden particles in her feet, she reached the bottom of the stairs and with a superhuman effort she managed to open the hall door. Outside, she lay on the wet cool pavement in the night air, barely conscious. Shortly afterwards, when an elderly member of the Hamburg civic authority turned the corner on his way to work, he could not believe the sight of the young girl lying in front of him on this Thursday night, 26th April 1945. Her name was Anna Krantz, she was fourteen years of age.
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