Tag Archives: Hitler

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: http://www.thehamburgpress.com   or from Amazon at: http://www.amazon.com/The-Watch-Churchills-Secret-Germany/


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Hitler In Argentina

picture deleted from Wikipedia's Harrer biography page

picture deleted from Wikipedia’s Harrer biography page

Argentinian journalist Abel Basti is suing two English writers for using his research without acknowledgement in a new book claiming that Adolf Hitler arrived in Argentina in 1945 after the defeat of Germany. In the book “Grey Wolf: The Escape of Adolf Hitler” writers Gerrard Williams and Simon Dunstan detail Hitler’s life in Argentina with Eva Braun until his death in 1965. The story, now making headlines all over the world, draws attention once again to the myth that will not die–that Hitler actually did survive the war. Much is made of the fact that Stalin said as much in 1945, insisting that Hitler’s was not found in the gardens of the Reichs Chancellery. The claim is further fueled by photographs of the body that have surfaced that show a man’s face that resembles Hitler–but is clearly not the actual man. In “The Watch: The Secret War for the Soul of Germany” I write a fictional account of Hitler’s escape from Berlin-and reveal exactly who was shot and left for the Russians to find in a crater in the Reichs Chancellery garden. It was Karl Harrer, the Nazi party member who supposedly ‘died’ in 1926. In the book I detail how Harrer was used as one of Hitler’s ‘doubles’ a practice followed by a number of WWII leaders, most notably Winston Churchill. In the book Hitler, along with Himmler and others, leaves Germany from the Kiel submarine yards aboard U-530. I have written about the arrival of U-530 in Argentina earlier in this blog.


Hitler an official picture–are their subtle differences in these two men? (Courtesy Google Images)

Was there is an uncanny likeness between German Karl Harrer and Adolf Hitler? Wikipedia published a picture of Karl Harrer in a Harrer biography–and removed it this year. It appears over the name Karl Harrer at moonmentum.com (link at bottom of post) and is now saved among a collection of pictures of Hitler on Google images. Did Wikipedia get it wrong? Why do so many others think this is a picture of Harrer, not Hitler? While the picture mostly likely is that of a younger Hitler, the ‘mistake’ lends further fuel to the argument that it was Harrer not Hitler whose burned corpse was found by the Russians. Was Stalin right? Probably not–but then “Uncle Joe” was playing his own Hitler game. Anthony Beevor, author of Berlin: The Downfall 1945” –an excellent and well researched and acclaimed historical book–noted that on May 3, 1945, Generals from the 1st Belorussian Front were present at the Chancellery building when the body of man with a “…toothbrush moustache and diagonal fringe was found.” It was initially identified as the corpse of Hitler–but was then rejected as his corpse “because its socks were darned.” I emphasize this for two reasons, first why wouldn’t Hitlers socks be darned? It would not seem to be a dictator’s style–but then style was hardly a consideration in the last desperate days in the Führerbunker! Secondly–a fact that seems to have escaped historians–clearly there was a dead Hitler look alike in the Chancellery ruins. On May 5 Russian Lt. General Aleksandr Vadis was informed that two burned bodies were found wrapped in a Wehrmacht blanket in a crater in the gardens. Vadis was an NKVD officer, the Chief of Counterintelligence for SMERSH. The corpses were smuggled out of Berlin–General Zhukov in charge of the Red army was not informed (did not learn of the discovery until 20 years later!). Beevor reports that Vadis found Hitler’s dentist and ‘she’ examined the jaws of the skull–and confirmed that it had Hitler’s bridge work. Wouldn’t she have confirmed this even if it were not so? Even if it were Harrer’s jaw? Especialy if she knew Hitler was alive and well elsewhere? For years Stalin maintained that ‘Hitler’ was not found–part of a ploy (or real suspicion) to accuse the Americans and British of harboring him.


Historians dismiss the latest book, and thereby Basti’s findings. He states that Hitler remained married to Braun and had two daughters (who would be alive in Argentina today). “2000% rubbish” says historian Guy Walters. Can we be that sure? Basti’s information, the other accounts of survival dating from 1945 and the word of the NKVD (later the KGB) concerning the jaw bone findings – all leave enough doubt for the myth to linger.


Fortunately I can use the cloak of fiction to explore the ‘myth’ further–as readers will see.



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October 28, 2013 · 3:33 pm

The Beast 666 & The Rise of the Nazis


The late years of the 19th and the early years of the 20th centuries saw the zenith of an interest in the occult that spread across Europe and into the rest of the world. For England’s upper crust this meant a penchant for dabbling in Secret Societies such as the Golden Dawn and its offspring. The origins of these societies can be found in the burning of the library at Egypt’s Alexandria-but of that more later.

These societies hid beneath the veneer (or perhaps rock) of fashionable occultism in the Victorian and Edwardian age. They were true seekers of gnosis for reasons both good and bad-and Aleister Crowley was among the most outrageous of them all. Crowley was born wealthy. Early in life he set foot on the spiritual path and actually accomplished amazing things.

Much of this was hidden beneath a drive to replace his long spent wealth and an even stronger drive to feed the world’s press with material designed to enhance his public reputation as “the wickedest man in the world”.

The reputation lives on and few are aware today that he played roles as an intelligence operative in New York during the First World War and in London during the second. Fewer still are aware that during the early years of the formation of the Nazi Party, Crowley was drawing the attention of the long established occult masters of Munich, Germany.

Crowley privately published many books and papers on his occult research and experiences. In one of them he revealed information he claimed had been imparted to him from a spirit from the Inner Plane. German members of an ancient occult society recognized their own information-and accused Crowley of stealing and exposing secrets. Crowley met with them in Munich. His accusers soon learned the truth-Crowley really did receive the information “from the other side”.

Realizing he was in communication with “The Secret Chiefs” (read Blavatsky: The Secret Doctrine) they took Crowley under their wing and empowered him to start a branch of their society in England. These same men later formed the Thule Society-the driving force politically and financially behind the fledgling Nazi Party and Hitler. Crowley plays a role in The Watch as an advisor to Winston Churchill on the secret rituals of the SS.

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“The Watch” Beginnings

The three generations that fought WW2, their kids-and their kids are all fascinated by the bizarre story of Hitler’s rise to power.  Not to mention the still barely understood murderous racial policies and the largely still secret “wonder weapons” and advanced technology of the Nazi regime.

I can’t remember a time when I was not reading one book or another about Hitler and World War II. To this very day, every year sees publication of one or more “non-fiction” books on these subjects. From “The Hunt for Zero Point,” “The Nazis and the Occult” to “The Spear of Destiny” to “Brotherhood of the Bell,” these books add some facts but mostly pose more questions than answers. Some of the books are sheer nonsense; some amateurish, some excellent journalism and some, such as Goodright-Clarke’s “The Occult Roots of Nazism” are brilliant academic treatments.

Still, more questions than answers. When I did get answers-they generated more questions. In the 1960s I read “Morning of the Magicians” by Pauwels and Bergier. This fascinating book generated so many ideas, not the least being thoughts about Hitler’s involvement with the occult. From that date I began to bring my general interest in Hitler to a focus. I read many biographies, especially any information I could find on his early life. Much was hidden during Hitler’s lifetime but as time went by more and more archives began to open. The tentative connections the young Hitler made, especially in Vienna, led in the direction of books on Guido von List, Lanz von Lebensfels and others whose roots lay in the busy occult world of early 19th century Germany.

A parallel interest was the development of German technology during the Nazi regime. There’s no doubt the Germans were open-minded when it came to science, medicine and technology. Very open-minded.  As a result, Germany made great advances in practical and theoretical fronts. So much so that even today we owe much to the foundations laid by wartime German researchers. From rocketry to synthetic oil, the Allies reaped a rich harvest from the ashes of German universities and research labs. Then, there were the still prevailing mysteries-fabulous technologies that disappeared with the Nazi scientists-they still haunt the fringe elements of society today…Zero Point Energy, Time travel, Die Glocke…the subject spark vigorous debate throughout the Internet and elsewhere.

In 1995 this research began to coalesce into the concept for a fictional book that brings all these disparate elements together in one compelling story. And so the idea for “The Watch” was born.

In posts that follow, I explore this research and also discuss the process of building the narrative and the characters that populate the novel.

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