Category Archives: Jack Rees: The Watch

New Underground Secrets from Nazi Past


Never before published photograph of destruction of a Nazi underground research facility. The man in the light coat (left center) has been identified as a British MI6 agent involved in Operation Paperclip. The photo was taken in 1946 (author’s files).

A 75 acre underground factory hidden by the Nazis at the end of World War II—and missed completely by the Russians and Western Allies as they plundered such sites for new technology—has been found by an Austrian documentary maker. Andreas Sulzer found the factory while researching at BergKristall, another massive underground facility that built Hitler’s jet aircraft, the Messerschmitt ME 262.The Nazis were the first to build jet powered fighter craft, just one example of the amazing advanced technology that was developed by the Nazis under the direction of Heinrich Himmler and his high technology general Hans Kammler.  As the war progressed the Nazi specialized in building underground facilities where everything from V2 Rockets to the strange Die Glocke—The Bell—device, were built.

It has long been thought that somewhere hidden in the vast complexes built by Kammler was one where the Nazis were developing an atomic bomb. Salsa may have found it. According to The Times of Israel. Salsa was led to the new facility by the diaries of a physicist who survived the mass killings of scientists and technicians by the Nazis as the Allies closed in on them. High levels of radiation have been detected at the site.

In my book “The Watch: Churchill’s Occult War for the Soul of Germany” I use a fictional platform to reveal new details about Himmler and Kammler and the underground industrial complexes of an area called Die Reise—The Giant. It was here that 2,500 crack SS troops disappeared into the Wenceslaus Mine. The mine was sealed from the inside, and yet it was found completely empty when Russian and American forces finally opened it up.

Himmler (or at least someone who looked much like him) was found dead of cyanide poisoning after being captured as he wandered the backroads of Western Germany among refugees escaping the Russians. Kammler was last seen near the Bergkristall site. He is thought to have orchestrated the transport of advanced weapons out of the Wenceslaus Mine aboard two of Germany’s largest cargo planes as the Red Army closed in. He has never been seen since. It is generally believed that he was brought to America via Operation Paperclip and given a new identity.

The Watch is also available from Amazon. Sample chapters can be read on


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Get the first segment of The Watch by Jack Rees

There is a million ways to start a book and twice as much advice out there on how you should do it. Everyone says there should be a “hook” those first few words that draw the reader in and then encourage them to start turning the pages. The Watch was a complicated piece to craft. The story has elements that span time from the far reaches of the primordial Universe, the ancient beginnings of the tribes of Israel–to the not too distant future when America faces a security challenge unlike any other. Central to the story is the hidden war Winston Churchill waged against Hitler and the occult forces he gathered under the guise of the SS and its organizational mastermind Heinrich Himmler. This very real and still largely secret war was waged by a group Churchill called The Watch. It consisted of Hermetic magicians, witches, warlocks and fortune tellers. So…there are two beginnings, one in the distant reaches of the galaxy, and the other on a Minnesota dairy farm a few years before the start of The Great War:

The Watch: Churchill’s Secret War for the Soul Of Germany

Dust to Dust.

Some would have it that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in the Amazon can have an impact on the path of a tornado in Texas. On such inconsequential things can rest the lives of humankind. There is something far beyond, for in truth, when some fold in space and time causes two grains of dust to smite each other in the vast, cold reaches of the galaxy, the fate of great nations can be decided, and even the very destiny of a world determined. 1: Saturday, August 30th, 1913, Thief Lake, Minnesota: 

Old Lars.

The wind whistled outside the barn. It was cold, and getting colder. Soon the ground would freeze as winter descended from the Canadian border. The family would withdraw into the farmhouse and the outbuildings and tender the dairy cattle and the other animals through the short days and long, dark nights. Well before then old Lars wanted to plow the south field, the one never turned over before. His grandfather, and great grandfather before him, had used it to graze the dairy herd. Now Lars had it in his head that the sod needed to be turned over to lie fallow and frozen throughout the Minnesota winter. Next spring, he’d plant a crop. “The tractor would do it in half the time, farfader.” Ben Størgaard used the Danish name in hopes of moving the old man. “And with half the effort. The work and the cold are good for you, Benjamin. You have to feel the ground, feel the horses. You get none of that breathing diesel fumes and planting your arse on a tin seat.” Even at eighty-five the old man could plow a furrow as straight as an arrow. They swapped around at the end of each row, one steering the horses, the other at the plow as it ran deep through the rich black soil. Halfway through the south field, Ben, seventeen, was aching, his back and arms tiring from steering the plow. Lars chuckled. “If you’re set on joining the Army next year you’d better toughen up, Benjamin. Mikkel and Charlotte will tease you if farfader has to finish the south field on his own.” Ben forced a grin and hunched down on the plough. Yes, his mother and father would never let him hear the end of it. He was thinking about a suitable retort when the plow blade screeched and shuddered as it met something huge in the ground below. The horse harness pulled the handles forward, up into the air. The crossbar slammed into Ben’s cheek, a bolt-end gouging a furrow across his cheek and forehead. Lars stopped the horse team and was leaning over him seconds later. He pulled a clean rag from his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Ben insisted on getting up. “I’m okay granddad, really. It’s just a scratch.” The bleeding did stop, mostly because Ben willed it to. After a few moments, against the old man’s protests, he stood and checked the plow. The rig was not damaged though the blade had hit the edge of a large, flat rock under the dirt and grass. “Let’s get a hook and have the horses pull it out…that’s if you’re up to it, Ben.” The grappling hook held under the edge scored by the plough blade. The horses strained forward and the rock lifted and rolled over onto the grass. Lars leaned forward to free the hook. “It’s big. We’ll have to pull it over the edge of the field. I hope there are no…” Ben stepped forward to look. The old man had fallen silent as he looked at the slab. One end was ragged but the sides were straight and the other end was carefully rounded. It looked like a huge tombstone. His grandfather was staring at a line of marks on the slab. He leaned forward and scraped more of the damp earth off the surface. Ben could see that the marks were intentional, row after row of them across the slab. “Grandad, the marks, they look like runes.” Old Lars muttered under his breath, repeating something in Danish. Ben strained to make sense of his utterances, but they were ancient words in a dialect he did not understand. His grandfather’s hands shook as they exposed the rest of the script. Finally the old man stepped back. He seemed withered and very, very old. “What’s up, farfarder? Let me read.” “They are the most ancient runes I have ever seen. Runes, here, in Minnesota.” “The stone came from across the sea?” “No. This is local rock. It was carved here. A long time ago.” “What does it say? Let me read it.” Ben leaned forward to read. His grandfather’s face was strained and seemingly more lined than before. “You already know the Størgaards are a family of rune masters, Ben. Or at least they were until your father would have none of the old traditions.” His voice was cracked and rasping, his breathing labored as if recovering from some great blow to the chest. “Your wound, Ben, it has begun to bleed again.” “Sorry, Granddad, maybe I should go back to the house and get it seen to.” The old man turned away, he was pointing to a symbol on the earth-stained rock, muttering strange words under his breath. Ben leaned forward to see and hear. His blood dripped from the wound onto the rock. The old man froze in horror. He began to cry, the tears washing clear rivulets through the mud and dirt on his withered face. Ben pressed the rag to his wound again. He could never remember, ever, having seen his grandfather show emotion. “What is wrong granddad?” “Read for yourself, they speak of an age of war. An ocean of blood to come, Ben.” “You mean, in the future? When?” “They say when the sun wheel on the rock is bathed in the blood of the Hammer of Wotan. ” The words made no sense to Ben. He looked at the sun wheel, a swastika, covered in his own blood. “Let’s get back to the house. We can finish this tomorrow.” To Ben’s surprise, his grandfather offered no objection. They put the plow and the harness up, fed the horses and then went back to the main house. It was late in the afternoon. His mother tended to the wound on Ben’s cheek and forehead. Old Lars took his favorite chair at a window overlooking the distant fields of the Størgaard farm. They found him still there when dinner was ready hours later. He was quite dead. Ben sat in his room, sorting the clothes he would take with him, but mostly just looking at the walls and the furniture he had grown up with, knowing it might be many years before he would see them again. He still could not shake off the expression on his father’s face when he told him, or the guilt. Four generations of Størgaards had owned the farm at Thief Lake. His great-grandfather Adalwolf had brought his son Lars from Denmark seventy years ago. Two other sons followed. Lars was the oldest and it was to him that the entire farm went when the old man died. This was to be the way, so that the farm would remain intact. The younger brothers went west to become little more than cards at Christmas with a scrawled “God jul.” When Lars reached the remarkable age of 84, he deeded the farm to Mikkel, his oldest son. Mikkel’s sister married and his youngest brother went west to find his own way. Mikkel had married and along came Ben, his sister Clara and youngest brother, Little Lars. Mikkel had managed the farm well, expanding the dairy herd, milk and cheese production. He bought land from some of the sons and daughters of the German farmers that migrated to the Thief Lake area. Ben stood to inherit considerable land and wealth. But he wanted something else. He looked out his garret window at the hillock behind the farmhouse. How many times had he sat up there, next to the grave of Adalwolf and looked across the great expanse of land that was his father’s farm. This was to be his world, his future. The time and the generations would flow through him, Adalwolf, Lars, Mikkel, Benjamin. Spring planting, fall harvesting, birthing calves, milking cows, curing cheese. The cycle went around and around–an eternity of Størgaards into the distant future. And yet he knew there was a world beyond the lakes and green fields of Minnesota. A world that called to him. Three months before he and his father were stacking cheeses into a wagon. They would be sent across the border to Winnipeg. “Far?” His father stopped in mid-cheese. It wasn’t often his son used Danish. “Ben? What is it?” “I’ll be eighteen soon. I want to join the Army.” Three months later his father and mother were still resisting. Family and farm came first. There were rumours of war in Europe. He would lose his inheritance to Little Lars. Ben was resolute. He was going to leave. Now Old Lars was lying beside Adalwolf on the hill above the house. Mikkel waited with the horses and the wagon bent on taking him on the first leg of the journey down to St. Paul. Ben said goodbye to farfarder Lars, kissed his mother, sister, hugged Little Lars, slung his foot locker into the back of the wagon and left. He never looked back. 2: Tuesday, September 14th, 2032, Chicago

 SS Obersturmbahnführer Grauber.


You can order a copy of The Watch: Churchill’s Secret War for the Soul Of Germany  from The Hamburg Press at:   or from Amazon at:

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Why Did Churchill Recruit Ian Fleming?

 The young Ian Fleming:

James Bond author Ian Fleming

In a recent Brit television series, the young Ian Fleming is portrayed as a very savvy (if heartless) agent working for British Intelligence. Is this really how the creator of Bond, James Bond, got his start?

            We may never know the true story – or even the official story – but we can be sure he was not the suave and skilled agent the BBC portrays. We do know some interesting facts that pose questions and provocative questions. Fleming spent part of his education and formative years in Germany. It is a fact that he had an affair during that time with a woman, Monique Panchaud de Bottomes, later known to be a member of the Thule Society. The Thule was the secret group of German hermetic sex magicians who provided the money to fund the fledgling Nazi Party. The Thule was in fact yet another cover for the Order Templi Orientis, the original OTO of Golden Dawn fame. Could this be part of the reason Winston Churchill approved of Fleming’s recruitment into the darker folds of the British intelligence community? Certainly he had little else to recommend him. At the time Fleming was a failed stockbroker with no intelligence experience or connections at all. His personal life was also said to be a mess, the result of continuous affairs, most notably with Ann O’Neill, wife of an English Baron. At this same time Fleming was sharing O’Neill’s favors with yet another British aristocrat. Rather than going into MI5 or MI6, Fleming was placed in the Admiralty. He worked on projects that brought him into the orbit of other stranger characters working for British Intelligence.

WheatleyDennis Wheatley

             Dennis Wheatley was one of the country’s most experienced researchers (some say practitioner) in black magic and England’s rich history of the occult. His job for Churchill was inventing ‘dis-information’ projects to be fed to the Nazis. Louis de Wohl was another in this circle of influence.

http://earthstation1.simplenet.comLouis de Wohl

              An astrologer, he advised Churchill on what German astrologers might be telling Adolf Hitler. He also worked on dis-information projects, creating ‘back-dated’ forgeries of German astrology publications that ‘foretold’ of Hitler’s failure to lead German to victory. De Wohl even ‘revised’ the Nostradamus prophecies to forecast Hitler’s doom. Fleming worked on the successful plan to convince Hitler favorite Rudolf Hess to fly to England during the war. He had been convinced that the UK was ready for right wing revolution and would overthrow Churchill. Hess was reached through his own astrologers, another link for Fleming to de Wohl who knew them personally.

??????????????Rudolf Hess. One of the closet confidants of Adolf Hitler. The two met for four hours before his flight to England – Hitler later denied knowledge of the event and declared Hess insane.

            I took these tenuous threads and wove them into The Watch: Churchill’s Secret War for the Soul of Germany. “The Watch” was the name given by Churchill to a still largely secret group of British witches and magicians who were asked to work against the occult forces within the Nazi Party – Heinrich Himmler and his black priesthood of the SS being the prime target alone with Hitler. The book – only partly fiction – provides the backstory for Fleming’s entry into the secret world that was later to provide the inspiration for the iconic 007. The Watch follows Ben Størgaard, a Minnesota farm boy (and Viking descendant) who ends up as an agent working for Churchill from deep inside the SS. A supporting cast of characters from Adolf Hitler to Gerald Gardner fills out the narrative and provides answers to some of the most puzzling and enduring questions about the occult activities of the Third Reich. Photo credits: Ian Fleming: Dennis Wheatley: Louis de Wohl: Rudolf Hess:


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