Chapter 7

It is the night shift in a Ruhr steel works. The scene is like a miniature volcano.

Sparks fly as the rod-man knocks the plug from the Bessemer Electric furnace and starts to fill the huge pot slung from overhead trolley. When the pot is nearly full, the rod-man fits another plug to his rod and drives the fireproof pottery plug in the hole that has molten steel flowing from it. The metal stops ... the next trolley is towed to the rod-man and the process continues.

The trolley man guides the huge vessel along a maze of overhead beams, switching from this beam to that by pulling the switch chain that controls the switch until the bubbling pot of molten steel reaches its destination. Too fast and the steel slops out of the pot ... too slow and the man with the next pot might have to sidetrack. Everything has a direction ... a schedule ... and a destination ... timing is precise. Hundreds of men are at the whim of the men with the pots.

The pours from vessel to mould are showers of sparks as the hot metal hits the colder moulds. Last night the moulds were Panzer turrets. Tonight they pour locomotive drive wheels. Tomorrow they pour flat sheet for knives, forks and spoons.

There are mould makers, men who form the sand into the intricate shapes of the outline of the castings ... there are other men who knock the mould to bits and free the new casting from its confinement. That casting is still very hot for all it's cool enough to retain its shape.

There are GEFAHR and WARNUNG, VORSICHT and AUFMERKSAMKEIT signs everywhere. Flashing red, blue, yellow warning lights are set in places where the danger is too great for a plain sign no matter how large. Years of operation have shown management the truly fatal places.

It's HOT ... it's GEFAHRLICH and it's continuous. The Bessemer is constantly having new iron ... whether ingots or wornout engine blocks ... added to the very top. A metered amount of carbon is added from another source. It's too dangerous to stand at the top and stare down as each new piece of metal melts ... sometimes the newly added metal is imperfect and explodes as it melts.

At the very top of the furnace, three black haired men in black suits, two with suspicious bulges under excellently cut jackets and wearing dark glasses, open an aluminum case ... each man has a key ... the keys are inserted in a specific order and turned in a choreographed pattern.

They have practiced this pattern the entire time of the 'questioning' of the possessor of the reason for the case ... there must be no mistake in the pattern ... the case will explode if opened incorrectly. The Third Reich knows suitcase bombs ... this is one such device.

At the bottom of the long climb to the top, the shop manager is filling out forms while halfway up the stairs a pair of men dressed as SS block access to the remaining steps to the top, They carry MP28's (Maschinenpistole 28, one of Hugo Schmeisser's better ideas.)

The three men at the top stand and shake hands. Two start down the steps as the third snaps the latches. His eyebrows raise... 'Wir müssen es getan haben recht.' Inside the case is a smaller case. Taking the gloves from between the two cases, the man dons them. The tattoo on his wrist is momentarily uncovered. From his pocket he removes a gas mask that just covers his nose.

The smell from the case is rank beyond belief. Even with the mask it's a close call keeping his lunch down. The man pulls the three keys from the larger case, places two of them in a small black cigarette sized case, and removes the smaller aluminum case. He lifts a cover on the interior of the large case, enters a code ... a green light flashes once and then steadies. He used his key to open the small case. The inside is a red silk wrap. Unwrapping the silk, he removes the rotting hand and forearm and pitches it into the furnace. The small case is returned to the larger case ... he closes the large case, removes his gloves and mask, wraps them in the silk cloth and tossed them in the furnace. They ignite and vaporize almost instantly.

Closing the case he descends the stair, the SS following behind. At the bottom, the fourth suit retrieves a second aluminum case, hands it to the shift manager, the four men load up in the blacked out black 1934 Maybach SW 38 Cabriolet Zweitürer, the SS mount their sidecar Zundap motorcycle and the two vehicles speed away. From the Maybach there sounds a 'pfft."

Some miles later, the Maybach enters what could only be called a Wagen-Wiederverwendungszentrum, (a junkyard) three men ... now dressed in workmen's trousers and ragged shirts ... dismount, enter a second much more indiscript vehicle and power away from the junkyard. Somewhat down the road, a country Haufbrau welcomes the men as regulars.

At the Wagen-Wiederverwendungszentrum, the black Maybach is picked up by a giant forklift and hauled to a 'cube crusher.' Minutes later the cube is just another one of many cubes on the back of a flatbed on the way to the Bessemer Furnace ... there is a red stain on one cube.

The hand and forearm ignite instantly ... ligaments curl and flash ... the few nails left burn ... it is gone.

The watch floats in a pool of white hot metal ... it begins to sink ... suddenly, and with no warning, the furnace erupts, a gob of molten metal is VIOLENTLY expelled ... projectile vomited ... in a high arc.

The Ruhr drainage has the three things necessary for heavy industry, coal, iron ore and water. The workers? Herrgott noch mal! ... those are easy to get ... round up a few more unerwünschte Ausländerin. The GERMANS are needed for the vast military.

The Leader knew people ... he also knew that twice the amount of chlorine gas added to purified water made the people more settled ... controlled ... easily led.

The vomited globule of ore completes its arc in the river ... it splashes and steams ... a wels catfish slinks out of its hide in the riverbank and swallows the trophy whole ... serious mistake. Although the crust is grey, the interior is still molten. The gigantic fish is cooked from the inside out. It thrashes its way over the dam that forms the huge pond and the corpse begins a long journey that ends in the Baltic Sea.

By the time our catfish tumbles over rocks, rots, loses flesh to scavengers and generally deteriorates to a skeleton surrounding a glob of iron, a river barge drags an anchor during a storm and the carcass is caught in the flukes. The river barge is shunted to the east/west canal just north east of Essen. Dortmund and east.

There begins a peaceful voyage to Lubeck and the sea.

Germany's industrial might needs transportation and the west rivers all flow to France and Belgium. Busybody inspectors, tariffs and German mindset demanded better access so ... very early on Germany began linking her rivers with canals ... and not little ones. Rivers were confined, deepened and connected by canals ... just to keep German goods shipped from GERMANY ... I'd like to say on German bottoms (ships) but I can't, because I don't know. Germany has SHIP canals ... SHIP locks ... SHIP lifts ... in the interior!! If it's not deep enough for a ship it's damn well deep enough for a river barge.

Our particular river barge hoists anchor but the bargeman in charge sees the anchor is fouled with a huge and stinking Wels catfish ... they have been caught in German rivers weighing in at 180 kg... 2.204 pounds per kilo ... and measuring in at 3 meters ... NINE feet seven inches. Big fish ... big stink ... much cleaning ... icky.

'Just leave the anchor in the water ... the mess will wash off ... and nobody will know, ' he thinks. The crewman gets busy with other matters and forgets the cadaver.

Eventually? Lubeck. Tides. The Wels falls off the anchor and the tide and river current take over.

Lubeck before the war is in a shipping frenzy. German craftsmen are the best. German products are for sale ... lots of military goods are shipped to countries with cash ... the industry keeps pounding out more. German industrialists are getting rich and rich people spend ... If you got it, flaunt it.

Enter the British: Lubeck is a port ... lots of ships and boats and yachts and like that. The British are an island nation. If a Brit wants to go someplace outside of Britain they go by boat or airline. In 1934 there weren't a lot of planes and flight was expensive. England has people with OLD money ... and youngsters who want to see what the fuss is about ... you know ... the world.

Camper & Nicholson of Gosport, built a lovely yacht in the summer of 1929 for a pretentious upstart American who promptly dove out the window of his Wall Street office when the market crashed.

The Darcys, unexpectedly come into the title, bought her.

"Pretty little thing," said Lord Darcy, opening his cheque book and handing a signed blank to Charles Nicholson. "When can I pick her up?"

'Pretty Little Thing' was one hundred seventy feet of luxury and comfort.

Lord Darcy was sailing around ... visiting ... and he, his wife and the children visited Lubeck. Generally, the children of the aristocracy speak English, French, Italian and German ... it's in the rulebook.