3 Mischlinge Who Received the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung

No fewer than twenty-one generals, seven admirals, and one field marshal of Jewish descent served with Hitler’s consent. And thousands in the lower ranks of the Wehrmacht remained there because Hitler personally exempted them from the laws. Hitler did so mainly because they looked Aryan (that is, had blue eyes and blond hair), had good military records, had rendered Germany a unique service, or had come from distinguished families.

Two men in this chapter, Field Marshal Erhard Milch and General Helmut Wilberg, were leading Luftwaffe personalities. Milch was second in command and basically ran the Luftwaffe with the help of Wilberg and a few other distinguished air force generals. Wilberg was a brilliant tactician who helped develop the operational concept called Blitzkrieg (lightning war) today.¹ These men’s accomplishments help explain why Hitler Aryanized them.

Most who received Hitler’s Deutschblütigkeitserklärung (declaration of German blood) had distinguished themselves in war and proven their worth as soldiers. As historian Omer Bartov wrote, “Both Nazism and the military tended to idealize battle as the supreme test of the individual.”² Admiral Bernhard Rogge would prove his value by becoming the most successful surface raider captain during World War II, sinking or capturing almost two dozen Allied ships with a combined total of 150,000 metric tons. Hitler awarded him the Oak Leaves to his Knight’s Cross (roughly equivalent to two Medals of Honor). Historian Martin Gilbert wrote that Rogge’s ship, the Atlantis, was one of Germany’s “deadliest” and most “effective” raiders.³

However, Hitler declared not only high-ranking officers like Milch and Wilberg deutschblütig (of German blood), but also other, less distinguished Mischlinge, such as half-Jew Ernst Prager. Hitler moreover did not want seriously wounded Mischling veterans to suffer further discrimination. So on 4 May 1941, the Wehrmacht issued a directive stating that severely disabled Mischling veterans in the Stufe III category⁴ who had received their wounds because of actions “above and beyond the call of duty” should apply for the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung.⁵ In February 1942, the government wrote that Hitler had decided that half-Jews severely injured in war should be declared deutschblütig, because he did not want soldiers who had rendered the Reich such service to experience further difficulty. Although this declaration appeared to be automatic, most Mischlinge still had to apply before Hitler granted them clemency.⁶

Hitler also did not want to be “ungrateful” to Mischlinge who had made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. He decreed that those killed in battle were to receive the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung posthumously.⁷ That meant Hitler should have given thousands of fallen Mischlinge the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung.

These actions show that Hitler granted exemptions only when military necessity or social stability indicated he should. Many wanted Hitler’s exemption to protect their relatives and careers. However, this award did not protect a recipient’s family as much as expected, as Prager’s story demonstrates. Moreover, had Germany won the war, many who received these exemptions, as Colonel Ernst Bloch’s story in chapter 5 illustrates, would have been discharged from the service and found their Deutschblütigkeitserklärung no longer honored.

Half-Jewish Field Marshal Erhard Milch⁸

Erhard Milch was a political animal and cared only about himself and his career. He was an opportunist and rarely worried about those he had to step on in order to climb the ladder of success. As a result, he had no problem becoming a Nazi Party member, and his actions also showed that he believed in many things the Nazis espoused. He was indeed an incredible organizer of the Luftwaffe, but also a nasty person and a hardcore Nazi.

Erhard Alfred Richard Oskar Milch, born on 30 March 1892 in Wilhelmshaven, became a powerful man of the Third Reich in contrast to most of the other men in this book. Milch also became a field marshal (the U.S. equivalent of a five-star general) who, according to historian James Corum, “ran the Luftwaffe and was its most powerful figure for personnel and planning issues, production and even strategy.”⁹

images — Half-Jewish Field Marshal Erhard Milch. Hitler declared Milch Aryan. He was awarded the Knight’s Cross for his performance during the campaign in Norway in 1940. He was also a Nazi Party member.

His father, Anton, was a Jewish convert to Christianity. He ran a retail drug business and during World War I served as a quartermaster general for medical supplies. Milch’s mother, Clara (née Vetter), was a gentile, although some people suspected her of being Jewish as well. In addition to Erhard, Anton and Clara had five other children, three daughters and two sons.

Milch grew up in a strict family and did well in school. Although raised in the Protestant church, he later was agnostic. He was a passionate patriot and ambitious man. After completing high school in 1910, he enlisted as an officer candidate in the First Heavy Artillery Regiment in Königsberg, East Prussia, and was promoted to lieutenant a year later for his performance and leadership. Milch felt proud of his work and enjoyed the artillery since technical matters interested him.

When World War I erupted in August 1914, he served as a battalion aide on the Russian front. Although he liked the artillery, he transferred in 1915 to the Imperial Air Service and became a first lieutenant. The army awarded him the Iron Cross First Class in June 1916 for a courageous reconnaissance flight during the battle of Verdun. During a brief wartime General Staff course in 1917, he met Helmut Wilberg, a distinguished officer, who was also a half-Jew. He became friendly with Wilberg, who eventually made Milch a squadron commander. Since Milch excelled at navigation and reconnaissance, he successfully directed artillery fire. Due to his exceptional organizational talents, his superiors later assigned him to serve as a General Staff officer and air specialist. In 1918, they promoted him to captain.¹⁰

Immediately after the end of World War I, Milch commanded a flight unit of the Border Defense Corps, which worked with the Freikorps, the paramilitary groups formed after the war to fight Communist enemies both inside and outside Germany. In 1920, he moved to Königsberg and studied economics at the university there and later transferred to Danzig Technical University. Throughout the 1920s he worked in mail, transport, and travel service companies using airplanes. In 1926 Milch became one of three directors who merged several of these companies to form Lufthansa, Germany’s national airline. One of the other directors was Martin Wronsky, another half-Jew. Under Milch’s leadership, Lufthansa became one of the world’s most modern and efficient airlines. As one of the leading personalities of Lufthansa, Milch also worked with the Reichs wehr to prepare an air force. He supported the idea of converting airliners into bombers in case of war. And after Göring was elected to the Reichstag in 1928, Milch paid him 1,000 RM a month to lobby for Lufthansa. When questions arose about whether this was legal, Milch arranged for Göring to receive 100,000 RM in one lump sum. And during the first speech Göring gave to the Reichstag, he supported higher subsidies for Lufthansa. Milch also attended parties where he met Hitler and other Nazi leaders.¹¹

His support of the Nazis typifies how Milch operated. He was a skilled politician and intriguer and quite adept at getting along in the political world of Germany in the 1920s and 1930s. He behaved in a way that most professional officers did not respect, mixing with politics, something most Prussian officers’ code of behavior prevented. But Milch simply saw that the Nazi cause furthered his ambition.

As the Nazis gained power, Milch often met with Göring to discuss a new air force. He granted the Reichswehr access to Lufthansa’s archives to stay abreast of modern technology in airplane design and perfor mance. In 1929 he told Göring that he was ready to join the Nazi Party. The fact that he wanted to join the Nazis at this time, when only a minority of Germans thought Hitler could come to power, shows he truly believed in the Fascists’ ideals. According to James Corum, Milch was an officer who “fell completely under Hitler’s spell.” However, Hitler felt at that time they should wait to make him a member. The party issued him membership card number 123,885 but left it blank so Milch could claim it in the future. Only in March 1933 did he become a member retroactive to April 1929.

When Hitler took power in 1933, he wanted Milch to help build an air force and told him, “Now look, I haven’t known you for very long, but you’re a man who knows his job, and we have few in the Party who know as much about the air as you. That’s why the choice has fallen on you. You must take the job. It’s not a question of the Party, as you seem to think—it’s a question of Germany and Germany needs you.”¹²

Milch admitted later that this talk with Hitler convinced him to take the job but his ancestry still remained a thorn in his side. Göring, Hitler, and other high-ranking Nazis took care of this problem. Milch noted in his diary as early as 1 November 1933 that Göring had discussed his ancestry with Hitler, deputy head of the party Rudolf Hess, and the minister of defense, General Werner von Blomberg, and that “everything was in order.”¹³ Historian Klaus Hermann believes that the way he described his ancestry in his diary was “entirely self-serving . . . to prove beyond doubt his Gentile origin.”

Once Göring took care of Milch’s racial question, he decided to place Milch in a position of power with the up-and-coming air force. Göring knew that he did not have the abilities for organizing the Luftwaffe and felt Milch’s record with Lufthansa made him the logical candidate to control the Air Ministry. So Göring appointed him secretary of state for aviation.

Future field marshal Milch’s method of securing Aryanization was the most famous case of a Mischling falsifying a father’s identity in order to gain exemption from the racial laws. In 1933, Milch’s mother, Clara, gave her son-in-law, Fritz Heinrich Hermann, police president of Hagen and later SS general, an affidavit stating her uncle Carl Wilhelm Bräuer had fathered her six children rather than her Jewish husband, Anton. Both her uncle and husband were deceased at the time of her affidavit. She said that her parents had prohibited her from marrying her uncle because of the close bloodlines and that her Jewish husband knew about the relationship. She also claimed her Protestant church had denied her permission to marry Bräuer, although, according to the law, she could have done so. Some say she only married Anton, who really loved her, because she had become pregnant with her uncle’s child.¹⁴

Only after the SA colonel and chairman of the Messerschmidt Airplane Development Company Theo Croneiss denounced Milch to Göring in 1933 did Göring take Milch’s mother’s affidavit to Hitler. Croneiss was not only an anti-Semite, but also jealous of Milch, feeling that Hitler should have picked him for the post of secretary of state for aviation. Croneiss made his accusation based on the knowledge that Milch family members were buried in the Breslau Jewish cemetery.

However, Croneiss’s denunciation did not succeed. In 1935, Hitler accepted Clara Milch’s testimony and instructed Göring to have Kurt Mayer, head of the Reich Office for Genealogy Research, complete the paperwork. On 7 August 1935, Göring wrote Mayer to change the name of Milch’s father to “Carl Bräuer” in his documents and issue papers certifying Milch’s pure Aryan descent.¹⁵

After the war, according to one of Göring’s interrogators, John E. Dolibois, Göring felt proud that he had helped “the half-Jew Milch” remain in “his Luftwaffe.”¹⁶ However, Göring’s “act of generosity” was done more out of the need to have someone competent to build the Luftwaffe than to help Milch.

As previously mentioned, there were suspicions that Milch’s mother was Jewish. Historian Robert Wistrich claims that she was indeed Jewish; however, he does not give his evidence for this. No known documents exist that prove Milch’s mother was Jewish. If Wistrich is correct, then Milch would have been “100 percent” Jewish and not a half-Jew, making his position more precarious. In a rare moment of partially admitting his origins, Milch said at his trial in 1946 that “it is possible [my father] was partially Jewish, but of that I am not ashamed.”¹⁷

Adding evidence that Milch was partially Jewish is the fact that his middle names—Alfred, Richard, and Oskar—were names of his Jewish father’s nephews. These names came from the Jewish Wehlau family, sons of Sigmund and Fanny Milch Wehlau (Anton Milch’s sister). As historian Klaus Hermann said, “I certainly find [these names] considerably more than just ‘accidental.’”¹⁸

In Milch’s case, the Nazis did not object to incest, but Jewish ancestry was indeed a problem. Milch’s mother sacrificed her reputation as well as her husband’s to protect her children. Without her lie, Milch might have lost his career and, along with it, his ability to protect his youngest daughter, Helga, who had Down syndrome, from Hitler’s euthanasia program, which murdered at least 100,000 disabled people, among them Aloisia Veit, Hitler’s own cousin.¹⁹ Moreover, Clara Milch’s affidavit allowed one of Milch’s sisters to remain married to her husband, an SS general. Milch’s mother did what thousands of other Aryan mothers attempted, most of them unsuccessfully, to do: erase their children’s racial stigma. She also helped another son, Werner Milch, become a major in the paratroopers who would earn the Knight’s Cross for bravery.

Milch “possessed tremendous drive.” He wanted to build up Germany and create the most powerful air force in the world. He had a “thorough knowledge of the production capabilities of the German aircraft industry, a detailed understanding of its managers and designers, and perhaps most importantly, excellent connections within the political leadership” of the Third Reich.²⁰ After he put his “Jewish past” behind him and convinced the right people that he was indeed Aryan, he could pursue his dreams.

Since the Versailles Treaty was then still in effect, the building up of a Luftwaffe had to remain secret. In laying its foundation, Milch became adept at getting around most of the prohibitions of the treaty. One of the cleverest things he did was to found and promote the National Socialist Flying Corps, a large flying unit of the Nazi Party, which the Allies believed harmless. It not only stimulated interest in flying but also trained future Luftwaffe pilots. In addition, Milch developed close contacts with the Nazi elite, entertaining the likes of Himmler, Goebbels, Hess, and Blomberg at his home.²¹

In 1935 Hitler revoked the Versailles Treaty and announced the creation of the Luftwaffe. Now Milch did not have to worry about operating in secret. Most Germans welcomed the new military service and took pride in its development. Milch by this time had been promoted to the rank of colonel. According to James Corum, the greatest contribution Milch made “to the Luftwaffe was organizing the massive program of aerial rearmament.” By 1936, under Milch’s leadership, “the German air industry had become a first-class organization” producing modern aircraft for the Luftwaffe. Hitler had claimed in 1936 that “two names are . . . linked with the birth of our Luftwaffe,” Göring and Milch.²² On 1 April 1936, Hitler promoted Milch to general and on 30 January 1937 awarded him the Golden Party Badge. Milch felt that Hitler had done much for Germany, especially rebuilding the military and the country’s infrastructure and putting millions of unemployed back to work. He firmly believed that Hitler was the right man to lead Germany into the future.

Probably because of the favors Hitler did for Milch and the recognition he received for his ambitious modernization plan, Göring became jealous of the subordinate who was running “his” Luftwaffe. He would later say to another general, “What is this Milch? A fart out of my asshole. First, he wanted to play the part of my crown prince, now he wants to be my usurper.” Consequently, Göring designated General Ernst Udet head of the Technical Office, a position previously held by Milch.²³ Milch took this slight personally and felt deeply hurt. However, Milch found himself in a difficult situation. On the one hand, he felt that an injustice had been done, but on the other hand, he owed his livelihood and position to Göring, who had made sure he remained in the Luftwaffe despite his ancestry. Because of this and probably other reasons, he did not resign.

In April 1940, when the Norwegian campaign ran into difficulties, Milch’s skills as an excellent organizer helped lay the “foundation for the success of airpower in Norway” and victory. If the Germans had not secured their northwest flank in Norway, Hitler would probably have been unwilling and even unable to launch his invasion of France one month later. Hitler therefore presented Milch with the Knight’s Cross for his efforts during the Norwegian campaign. A few months later, after the successful conclusion of the war in France, Milch was one of three Luftwaffe generals Hitler promoted to field marshal.²⁴

At the outbreak of war with Russia in June 1941, the relationship between Milch and Göring continued to be on the rocks. Göring was tired of always being in Milch’s shadow. Milch wanted more power and freedom to enact policies he felt necessary, something Göring denied him almost categorically.

Nonetheless, although handicapped by Göring’s unwillingness to give him more responsibilities, he continued to perform well. For his continued brilliance in organizing the Luftwaffe, Hitler gave Milch a present of 250,000 RM on his fiftieth birthday in 1942. From 1942 on, Milch worked more and more with Albert Speer, the minister of armaments. When subordinates claimed they could not do something in the years when Germany’s fortunes took a turn for the worse, he would often reply, “The word ‘impossible’ does not exist.”

In January 1943, when the Stalingrad battle was going poorly, Hitler called on Milch to relieve the Sixth Army, putting him in “charge of the entire airlift operation.” However, it was too late for Milch to achieve this goal. Nonetheless, it was important to note that in this critical situation, Hitler called on Milch.²⁵ Hitler valued his skills and appreciated his loyalty.

When Udet died at the end of 1941, Milch took over as head of the Technical Office. It was only producing 1,000 aircraft a year under Udet. He had been a failure and committed suicide. He left a note behind that read, “Iron Man [Göring’s nickname], you left me” and have “surrendered [me] to those Jews Milch and Gablenz.”²⁶ (Carl-August von Gablenz was not a Mischling, but his wife was quarter-Jewish.)

Milch succeeded Udet and turned around Germany’s lagging airplane production. Germany’s defense against Allied bombing in 1943 and 1944 happened largely due to Milch’s production program. Under Milch’s foresight and leadership, and with Speer’s support, the manufacture of aircraft by 1944 reached its highest level, and according to some figures, the Germans made more aircraft in one month in 1944 than in the entire year of 1940. In July 1944, 3,000 fighters were produced. Milch also stimulated the production of the V-1 flying jet-bomb, or in modern parlance, cruise missile.

Yet, for all his successes, Milch had several shortcomings. Early on, he believed that the Luftwaffe would only fight short, intense wars and never thought that Germany would fight four long years. With such beliefs, Milch helped cripple the Luftwaffe later in the war since he had not supported an expanded training program or expanded production plans in 1941. So, by 1942, when the Luftwaffe fought against England, Russia, and the United States throughout Europe and Africa, it found itself desperately short of planes and pilots. Production figures dramatically increased from 1943 to 1944, but the quality of pilots decreased significantly. By 1944, the average training of a pilot was 100 hours’ flight time, compared with 400–450 hours for their Allied counterparts.²⁷

Although he had been declared Aryan, Milch’s Jewish past continued to haunt him. The later Bundeswehr general Johannes Steinhoff reported that when he went to receive the Oak Leaves for his Knight’s Cross, Milch asked if he could do anything for him. Steinhoff first requested more ammunition. Milch said this would be done and asked if there was anything else. Steinhoff then requested help for the half-Jewish fighterace Feldwebel (staff sergeant) Heinz “Johnny” Schmidt, whose Jewish mother and grandparents had been deported. He told Milch, “You, of all people, should know how difficult it’s to fly missions against Russia all day fearing the Gestapo might be waiting to interrogate you when you land.”²⁸ Milch’s reply and what happened to Schmidt’s relatives remain unknown.

By 22 February 1944, Milch ranked seventh among Hitler’s subordinates. Immediately after the unsuccessful bomb attempt on Hitler’s life on 20 July 1944, he sent Hitler a telegram: “[I cannot begin to express my] heartfelt joy that a merciful Providence has protected you from this cowardly murder attempt and preserved you for the German Volk and its Wehrmacht.”²⁹ Perhaps Milch really believed what he said, or perhaps he only protected himself, knowing as he did that the events on 20 July made the situation for Mischlinge more precarious.

Contrary to expectations, this study has documented that some people of Jewish descent participated directly as perpetrators in the Holocaust, primarily because of their rank and responsibilities. But like most high-ranking Nazi officials at the Nuremberg Trials, Milch lied when he swore that he did not know about the Holocaust.³⁰

When asked at Nuremberg about Nazi extermination policies, he denied all knowledge of the Holocaust and said that until after the war, he had only known about Dachau and Sachsenhausen. After hearing so many rumors about those camps from 1933 to 1935, he had asked permission from Himmler to visit Dachau. Himmler granted him permission and Milch visited the camp in 1935. Milch talked to many inmates and most were criminals. Several had participated in the Roehm Putsch (known as the Night of the Long Knives), during which people like Himmler and Göring murdered leaders of the SA and used treason as their justification. Milch claimed that nothing appeared abnormal to him, but did not know “if we were shown everything.” He claimed he had no knowledge of what the Nazis did in other camps during Hitler’s rule.³¹

But he had read reports from Sigmund Rascher, the notorious doctor at Dachau who conducted brutal experiments. Milch wrote the head of Himmler’s personal staff, SS General Karl Wolff, on 20 March 1942 about the “interesting” experiments at Dachau. On 31 August 1942, Milch also wrote Himmler to express his interest in Rascher’s high-altitude physiology tests in Dachau.³² These tests were approved by the Luftwaffe and resulted in painful deaths for the human guinea pigs. Nonetheless, useful data were collected. Tests also involved immersing inmates in freezing water to see how long pilots shot down over the sea could live. All inmates died in these experiments and Milch was kept fully informed. Some inmates were actually turned over to the Luftwaffe testing facilities in Munich, where it conducted these tests itself.

When the Nazis conducted these tests, Milch and the Luftwaffe, not the SS or Dachau, were directly responsible for them. These experiments were done with Milch’s support and on his initiative. As a result, according to historian James Corum, “This alone makes Milch a genuine war criminal.” As the tribunal wrote of Milch, he was not upset about the inhumanity perpetrated by the Nazis. He was upset only by the fact that Germany was losing the war.³³

Besides approving of these horrible experiments, Milch also served as cochairman with Speer on the Pursuit-Plans-Staff, which needed about a quarter-million slave workers. Milch knew of about 100,000 Hungarian Jews expected in Auschwitz whose labor his project could use.³⁴

With respect to slave labor Milch (probably in 1942) told General Carl-August von Gablenz that he wanted him “to get in touch with [General Hermann] Reinecke concerning the French POW’s. I demand that if the people refuse to work they immediately be placed against the wall and shot.”³⁵ So Milch was guilty of war crimes.

In 1947, the Allies sentenced Milch to life in prison at the Second Nuremberg Trial for deporting and mishandling foreign workers and conducting criminal experiments on human beings. As historian Georg Meyer asserted, Milch can be considered a “German Jewish war criminal.”³⁶ However, his sentence was reduced and in 1954 he was discharged. He then advised the German air industry until his death in 1972.

As an incredibly gifted organizer, Milch helped the Luftwaffe develop into the menacing force that it became by 1939. Although half-Jewish, he did not let this get in the way of obtaining the power he so desperately craved within the Third Reich. He viewed his ancestry as a tiny speed bump in the race to the top of Hitler’s regime. He believed in Hitler and his goals for the Fatherland and did everything he could to make sure Germany would win the war. He made a Faustian trade-off and had no regrets. Unfortunately, there were many like him at the top of the Wehrmacht and government. And if they did not support the regime like Milch, they were “forced to echo it and suppress their own thoughts.” As philosopher Immanuel Kant rightly noted, “War is an evil inasmuch as it produces more wicked men than it takes away.”³⁷

Half-Jewish General der Flieger Helmut Wilberg

Helmut Wilberg was an officer and a gentleman. He radiated confidence, was built like a linebacker, and had clear blue eyes that stared out from his square face. He was apolitical, a consummate professional, a devoted family man and patriot. Although he served in armed forces loyal to Hitler, he disliked the Führer. Like many documented in this study, he fought for Germany but not for the Nazis. Full Jew Edgar Jacoby (see chapter 1) gave the same explanation for why he served, and like Jacoby, Wilberg believed in his country.

Historian Matthew Cooper eloquently describes the dilemma in which Wilberg and many others found themselves under Hitler: “The generals who were faced with National Socialism were the prisoners of their own proud heritage. The tradition bestowed on them by their predecessors was one of unconditional personal obedience to, and identification with, the autocratic Head of State, coupled with a self-imposed isolation from the world of politics—an isolation which, although elevated to the status of a military virtue, took the form of political naivete and ineptitude.”³⁸ With this in mind, one can somewhat understand how officers like Prager, Rogge, and Wilberg served their nation with such passion and loyalty. It was a tragic situation for them. In hindsight, it does seem they sold their souls in continuing their service.

Wilberg was born on 1 June 1880 in Berlin to a Jewish mother and a gentile father, who was a famous painter of landscapes and buildings. He had one brother, who died in combat in World War I. As a child, Wilberg excelled in sports but not in school. His mother worried that he was not intelligent. Considering Wilberg’s later accomplishments, her concern now seems absurd. He became one of the most distinguished airmen of World War I, earning the Knight’s Cross with Swords of the Royal House of Hohenzollern (the equivalent of the U.S. Medal of Honor), the Iron Cross Second and First Class, and the German Flyer’s Badge.

Wilberg’s father died when he was one year old and the family fell into difficult times. With his background as a commoner, one might think it surprising he became a General Staff officer. However, at that time, the General Staff was becoming a meritocracy no longer limited to aristocrats. Yet, it was extraordinary that he ever became an officer, as he was flat-footed, a condition that kept many from serving. However, Kaiserin Auguste Viktoria, as a crown princess, had taken painting lessons from his father and liked the family. Consequently, she looked after the Wilbergs when the father died. When Wilberg finished his Abitur in 1898, the Kaiserin fulfilled his wish to join the army, and he started training with the Eightieth Infantry Regiment. Despite his Jewish mother and his flat feet, the officer academy accepted Wilberg, and he performed well. Later he received a special assignment as military tutor to the Kaiser’s relatives, a position usually given only to officers of high academic standing. Then in 1910, his superiors selected him to enter the General Staff Academy, a high honor and rare opportunity for any officer.³⁹

He then became one of the first pilots in Germany; he held Imperial Pilot’s license number 26 and trained on the Wright B Flyer, a dangerous plane that took the lives of many pilots. On completing the General Staff course in 1913, he became the adjutant of the aviation branch. This important position put him in touch with central figures like Wilhelm Siegert, who built up German aviation. Before the outbreak of war in 1914, he served in the army’s Aviation Inspectorate. During World War I, he gained valuable experience in aerial strategy and became a successful air commander. He was one of the leading experts on ground attack tactics and commanded the air units that supported the First and Fourth Armies. He also pioneered the use of radios in airplanes to coordinate strikes with the infantry, an ingenious use of the new technology at that time. During 1917–1918, he sometimes commanded over seventy squad rons.⁴⁰

The army regarded him as one of the pioneers of ground support tactics who laid the foundation for the strategy later known as Blitzkrieg, as he was the first German air commander in World War I who employed whole squadrons for ground assaults. He was one of the senior officers of the Luftstreitkräfte (air force in World War I) and commanded over 700 planes on the Flanders front in 1917, one of the high points of German airpower during the Great War. At Flanders, under Wilberg’s command, pilots used radios in the planes to coordinate attacks, used observation aircraft to drop supplies for forward units, and bombed enemy troops.⁴¹ He was on friendly terms with the half-Jew and later field marshal Erhard Milch and gave him a squadron command. This relationship may have helped Wilberg in his career in the Third Reich when Milch rose in power within the Luftwaffe. His relationship with Milch was not unusual. Wilberg was on good terms with most air force leaders.

After the war, General Hans von Seeckt picked him as the commander of the secret Luftwaffe from 1920 until 1927. That someone as brilliant as von Seeckt chose him says a lot about Wilberg.

From 1923 onward, Wilberg organized and monitored German civil airfields, flight schools, aircraft factories, and repair shops as well as their equipment for an emergency air force in case France or Poland invaded. He became the Reichswehr’s leading air theorist and successfully evaded most of the Versailles Treaty’s restrictions on training pilots. He sent fighter pilots for schooling to the Russians at Lipetsk. As in the armor school at Kazan in Russia, the training program for Reichswehr airmen at Lipetsk provided unique opportunities for pilots between 1925 and 1933. Known as the Shadow Luftwaffe, Reichswehr officers were able to develop skills that could not be developed under the watchful eyes of the Inter-Allied Military Control Commission. At Lipetsk pilots trained for combat with the most modern equipment. More importantly, Wilberg cultivated a training at Lipetsk focused on maneuver warfare. German officers were thoroughly instructed in fighter tactics and ground attack operations, thus developing another key element for future Blitzkrieg success. In accordance with the emphasis on large-scale maneuvers, the Shadow Luftwaffe participated in Russian military exercises involving mobile ground forces. Much to the later regret of the Soviets, the Germans thus obtained practical experience in combined arms tactics.⁴²

In addition, Wilberg encouraged future pilots to take up glider flying, another way of giving Reichswehr officers flying lessons. During the Weimar Republic, Wilberg often met with Milch, then one of the leading Lufthansa personalities, who gave him access to long-distance flight data. Without the training and research conducted by Wilberg, the Luftwaffe would not have grown at its incredible rate in the 1930s. He was a serious airpower thinker during the interwar period and widely respected in the aviation field. Corum argues that “Wilberg did a brilliant job at building up a shadow Luftwaffe and Göring had a firm foundation when he became air minister in 1933.”

Though Hitler took over power in Germany in 1933, Wilberg entered the Air Force Ministry as a major general, indicating that having a Jewish mother, if known at the time, was not initially detrimental. Wilberg did not regard himself as a Mischling, which, even in 1933, he defined as the offspring of a black person and a Spaniard. Then, to Wilberg’s great surprise, the 1935 Nuremberg Laws officially labeled him a Mischling because of his mother. But he continued his duties and later that year Hitler granted him “100 percent Aryan status.”

Wilberg may have experienced a lot of mental anguish during that time. His son claimed that his father wanted to forget his Jewish past. In 1934 Wilberg had written in his diary that he had little hope for mankind and, without ever especially referring to his own situation, repeatedly discussed the Jewish problem. Corum wrote that Göring had taken his case personally to Hitler and obtained a signed order from him to Aryanize Wilberg. As Corum wrote, “Göring was not about to lose the services of a talented officer no matter how ardent the Luftwaffe’s official commitment was to the ideology of National Socialism.”

When the Luftwaffe was officially formed in 1935, Wilberg prepared the Conduct of Air Operations manual, which served as the Luftwaffe’s “primary expression of battle doctrine” into World War II.⁴³ He had started work on this doctrine in 1934, when he took command of the Air Ministry. It laid out six missions of the Luftwaffe: to maintain air superiority, support ground troops, support the navy, disrupt enemy communication and supply, attack sources of enemy power, and destroy the enemy’s governmental centers. According to Corum, this doctrine, also known as Regulation 16, “expressed Wilberg’s balanced approach to air doctrine.”

In 1935, he commanded the War College and in 1936, the military appointed Wilberg as the chief of staff for Germany’s Legion Condor during the Spanish Civil War; he was responsible for arranging support and logistics for the whole operation.⁴⁴ Given only vague instructions by his government on 26 July 1936, Wilberg and the Luftwaffe general staff created Special Staff W (for Wilberg) in two days and started sending supplies and men to Spain. Within a week Luftwaffe pilots had already airlifted Spanish troops from Morocco to Spain to support Franco’s forces.

From the end of July until mid-October 1936, the Luftwaffe airlifted 13,000 Spanish Nationalist soldiers along with a total of 271 tons of equipment, including artillery pieces, machine guns, and ammunitions, in what was “one of the decisive military operations of the Spanish Civil War.” Wilberg made four clandestine trips to Spain from 1936 to 1938 to arrange support and requirements for the Condor Legion.⁴⁵

To work with the Spaniards proved difficult because the whole infrastructure of the country had been destroyed. Also, Spanish military leaders lacked experience in modern warfare and thus, Wilberg had to teach them how to fight with the new technology the Germans provided. Hitler did not think much of the Spanish military leadership and even told Erwin Jaenecke, Wilberg’s chief of staff and later a four-star general, that they “are dumb, lazy, arrogant and untrainable . . . it is regrettable that the Reds did not kill more of them.”⁴⁶

Untested when it entered Spain in 1936, the Luftwaffe left that country as a confident and well-honed air power, having helped Franco gain victory. In 1964, the Spanish government posthumously awarded Wilberg a distinguished medal for valor for his service in the Legion Condor and its support of the Spanish army in “its war against international communism.” Jaenecke wrote of Wilberg at that time that he was one of the oldest and most famous officers of World War I and highly respected for what he was doing both abroad and domestically.

The German presence in Spain helped Franco’s government maintain power and gave the Luftwaffe invaluable experience conducting almost every type of air warfare. During the Spanish Civil War, the Germans utilized and perfected “strategic bombing, interdiction campaigns, naval anti-shipping campaigns, close air support, and air superiority campaigns.” The Legion Condor consisted of almost 5,000 soldiers and provided the testing ground for the Luftwaffe’s most modern weapons.

While the legion’s experience furnished necessary information for revising the Luftwaffe’s operational air doctrine, it also provided the Luftwaffe with the most experienced corps of officers in the world. German officers spent between nine and twelve months with the Legion Condor and following their tour of duty, the military assigned them to various operational units of the Luftwaffe to disseminate the lessons learned. The Luftwaffe also practiced strategic bombing during this conflict, and the famous painting of Picasso’s Guernica depicted the attack on this city and the killing of hundreds of its civilians there. Although the international press and Picasso described it as a terror bombing campaign, the Germans conducted this raid according to international law. They conducted this operational attack to close the retreat routes for the Basque army.⁴⁷

Although Wilberg was by now a lieutenant general and one of the most distinguished Luftwaffe commanders, the Luftwaffe dismissed him in March 1938. His son said it happened because of his background. Supposedly, it occurred in connection with the Blomberg-Fritsch affair when Hitler got rid of several generals he disliked. Yet, Hitler recalled Wilberg as the Luftwaffe’s chief of training right before he invaded Poland.

In June 1939, Wilberg had breakfast with Hitler. Although critical of the Nazis, he did not display such views in a letter he wrote to a close friend after the meeting. He described how freely the Führer discussed and developed his ideas. In September 1940, the Luftwaffe promoted Wilberg to General der Flieger (General of the Aviators—a three-star general).

Without Wilberg, the Wehrmacht might not have performed as well as it did from 1939 to 1941 invading Poland, France, and Russia. Many in the air force considered him the “natural commander of the Luftwaffe.” General Jaenecke noted that “Wilberg, owing to his abilities and career, was the obvious choice to command the Luftwaffe, a position given . . . to Göring because of party politics. He was tall, good-looking, gifted and an officer who was a pleasure to work for, but, unfortunately, he was a 50 percent Jew.” Jaenecke said that no one would see that Wilberg was “Jewish” in any way, referring to his supposedly German looks and behavior. Yet, his skills and reputation saved him, and Hitler granted him an exemption. But according to Jaenecke, Hitler still refused to allow Wilberg in his presence to seek advice even after his Aryanization. As a result, Jaenecke, chief of Wilberg’s staff, often had to attend meetings with Hitler in place of his boss.⁴⁸

Wilberg was an apolitical career soldier who did not like the Nazis. Nonetheless, he remained loyal to the Luftwaffe until his death in a flying accident outside Dresden on 20 November 1941.

Wilberg’s tragedy was that he brilliantly served a nation controlled by Hitler. He hoped that Hitler’s star would soon fall and that Germany would come under more honorable leadership. He loved his nation and to maintain his code of conduct, he had to serve Hitler. Unlike Milch, he was honest about his ancestry and hated the Nazi government. Yet, he was unable to act against the regime because of his upbringing and sense of duty as well as the threat of expulsion and death. That was a tragedy not only for Wilberg, but also for thousands of other German officers.

Half-Jewish Captain Ernst Prager

When Ernst Prager talked, he sounded like a Prussian officer. He loved the army and thrived in combat. Even after the war, he worked in the armament industry. He was rather short but stocky and athletic. With a clear voice, he balanced his thoughts in answering questions and never made decisions quickly.

Prager was born on 24 May 1909 in Kulmbach. His Jewish family had lived in Germany since at least 1598. Ernst was the second son of Heinrich Prager, a reserve army officer and director of a brewery, and Thekla (née Meseth). His father was a Jewish convert to Christianity and his mother was gentile and had been raised as a devout Protestant. Prager’s parents raised him in a religious and patriotic home and he spent a lot of his childhood in a youth group similar to the Boy Scouts. He enjoyed camping, playing war games, and learning the history of his country.

His family had a strong military tradition. During World War I, his father had a company command and earned the Iron Cross Second and First Class and the Bavarian Military Service Medal with Swords, Fourth Class, as well. His father’s brother Stephan became a major and earned the Iron Cross First Class, the Wound Badge, and the Bavarian Military Service Medal with Swords, Fourth Class. His grandfather Felix Prager had already served in the Prussian military and took part in the Franco-Prussian War from 1870 to 1871 as a lieutenant. All Pragers served their country in times of war.

After his Abitur in 1929, Prager entered a military flying unit. Crashing his plane in July, he broke his right foot. He worked hard during his rehabilitation and after several months returned to duty, and by 1933, the army had promoted him to lieutenant.

When Hitler came to power, Prager informed his superiors of his Jewish father. But Defense Minister General Werner von Blomberg reassured him that “nothing stood in the way of his promotion.” Apparently, Prager’s good standing with his superiors got him the required endorsements to convince Blomberg to retain him. However, this goodwill was short-lived; he had to leave the service in 1934 because of the race laws.

For the next seven years, Prager worked in the arms industry developing howitzers. But in 1941, Hitler granted him the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung after a long application process, and he returned to the army as an officer. Gaining reacceptance in the army took a lot of effort, and the trials Prager had to go through merit further explanation.

Prager’s Jewish uncle Stephan helped with his application and knew how to work the German bureaucracy from his business experience. The family believed if Prager could get the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung it would protect them. This belief was common among Mischling families. However, Prager’s situation is different from others in that he struggled to get clemency while outside the army.

On 19 July 1937, Prager wrote his uncle that the authorities had sent his case to the Reich Ministry of the Interior, but by late August, he still had heard nothing. Although this was disheartening, Prager’s family worked on his case by writing to governmental officers, gathering documents, and seeking advice from lawyers and officers.

Luckily for Prager, he had the support of the famous World War I fighter pilot and well-known Luftwaffe general Wilhelm Haehnelt, friend of State Secretary Hans Heinrich Lammers, who asked Lammers and the Wehrmacht to help Prager. On 22 December 1937, Prager told his uncle Stephan that Haehnelt had heard that the bureaucrats had started to review his case. But on 14 February 1938, he informed Stephan that his application for Aryanization had been filed away because the government was not in a hurry to deal with him. Another possible reason Prager had to wait so long was that the authorities were being bombarded with applications and they did not have the manpower to process this new form of government activity. Prager continued trying to obtain the exemption throughout 1938–1941, but without success.

When the war in the Balkans broke out in spring 1941, Prager wrote the Wehrmacht’s High Command again on 24 May 1941, emphasizing his family’s Christian values and military tradition and his desire to go to the front. “I chose the career of a soldier due to my deepest conviction and with a firm desire to be the best that I could be,” he explained. Prager also wanted to marry his fiancée, Hella Koberger, which he could only do if proclaimed deutschblütig. Without Hitler’s approval, Prager could not legally marry an Aryan or have children with one. He had already lost one fiancée due to his racial status and did not want to lose another. A friend suggested that if he did not get clemency, then he and Hella could learn to “live for one another” instead of having children. Prager explained that such a position “contradicts the natural inclination of a woman. Hella loves children.”

A few months later, Prager met with Hitze, who was working in Bernhard Lösener’s office for racial matters in the Ministry of the Interior, to discuss his options. As he entered the office, Hitze said, “You came here, Lieutenant, because of marriage? You’re making things difficult for yourself.” Hitze explained that since Prager could not serve, he could not receive an exemption. Only when he had done something noteworthy as a soldier could he expect to get it. So since Prager could not serve, he would not be able to get an exemption. The meeting ended. “I then went to the district court,” Prager wrote, “totally consumed by my worries, nervous, and held together only by my will and ability to pull myself together in the hope of finding out whether I could again serve.”

In the court, a civil servant told Prager the situation was “hopeless. We all had to fight, and the service of your ancestors will be considered, but I don’t think it’s enough for a Genehmigung to serve.” Despairing, Prager believed he would not be able to pursue the career he so desired, marry the woman he dearly loved, and protect the family he cherished. However, on 26 June 1941, he informed his uncle Stephan that his application and that of another half-Jew had reached Hitler’s adjutant, Gerhard Engel. If approved, they would be the first half-Jews to reenter the army.

At the end of October 1941, four months after the invasion of Russia, Hitler granted Prager the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung. It remains unclear why Hitler decided to give Prager the exemption. Perhaps it was because of the heavy officer casualties. Between June 1941 and March 1942, “no less than 15,000 officers were killed.” In July 1941, there were 12,055 first lieutenants in the army, but by March 1942, “their number had diminished to 7,276.”⁴⁹ Prager was also most likely brought back because State Secretary Lammers had recommended this case for his friend Haehnelt.

When Haehnelt heard about Prager’s exemption he said, “Finally some good news during these shitty times.” Prager wrote that Haehnelt cried because he was so happy for him. In his diary, Prager wrote, “I finally belong to the army again.” He could legally serve, get married, and have children. After his wedding, he wrote his uncle Stephan and said, “Thank you for your good wishes . . . I know that you rejoice with me, and that a large stone has been removed from your heart.” Prager’s uncle could not travel to the wedding because Jews were banned from traveling in Germany. Prager believed his Deutschblütigkeitserklärung unique, a customary response of most who received it. Most simply thought their case was special. As he wrote his uncle Stephan, “We can once again hold up our heads with pride . . . This decision shows, especially during this particular time, the special handling of this case . . . This exemption would’ve been impossible without grandfather’s, yours, and father’s attitudes and convictions. This fact should always maintain you and father when you have problems.”

On 26 November, Prager learned that at least two other Mischlinge had also received the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung: “another lieutenant with the same situation has been approved. A third one . . . was in China as an instructor . . . then he was in Spain and now he’s a captain who received the Ritterkreuz (Borchard[t]!). So, a well-deserved equalization [of a Jewish person with an Aryan]!”

Prager continued to talk to his uncle about his Aryanization: “Hella seems now to dream the most. That poor child has suffered so much. She could really only believe what had happened when Hitler’s letter came in the mail. Along with the documents came the news that the Office for Racial Research will send me a certificate concerning my equality with Aryans. The letter further stated that I’m allowed to say I’m deutschblütig in questionnaires, as can my children.” But Prager’s Jewish uncle had to continue to wear the Jewish Star because Hitler’s clemency gave only his nephew permission to declare himself non-Jewish. While Prager felt proud to once again serve, he was a nervous wreck and exhausted. The process to get the exemption had taken its toll. Once back in the military, his responsibilities snapped him out of his melancholy. Prager quickly adjusted to his duties as a company commander and was soon sent to Russia into the thick of battle, where warfare was often a “smoking chaos, a wellspring of continuous fear . . . and thousands of explosions.”⁵⁰

On 31 March 1942, Prager almost lost his life. Early in the morning, he and his men attacked an area around the town of Krasnaya Gora in Belorussia south of Smolensk. Two feet of snow covered the ground and a chilly wind blew the powder up in swirls. As they attacked, two Soviet T-34 tanks started to fire on their position. After a thirty-minute battle they destroyed one of the tanks, but the Russians opened up with an artillery barrage, killing many of Prager’s men. Prager decided they must take over the position quickly or die. He led two platoons and moved forward.

Along with his men, Prager neared the Russian lines by crawling down through one of the tank tracks left in the snow. As they approached the Russians, a bullet grazed his forehead. As blood streamed down his face, Prager directed his men. Then a shell splinter hit him in the head. Although blood continued to drip on his neck and clothes, he organized his men in their attack. At that moment, a Russian tank started to outflank Prager’s position and lay down enfilading fire. As Prager hit the ground, another bullet grazed his neck. Looking around, Prager found they had been cut off.

Prager’s men lay helpless as the tank’s cannon and its machine gun opened up, killing many. He unsuccessfully tried to get his men to fire into the tank’s observation slots. In the chaos, Prager received his fourth wound, a bullet through his left shoulder. He wanted to return to headquarters to report the situation, but the tank prevented any movement. He worried that if the tank moved a few more meters in their direction, it would drive down the tracks in which they hid and finish them off.

Suddenly, the tank found their position and came toward them. Prager jumped out of the snow trench and landed in an artillery crater. When he did this, he received his fifth wound—a bullet through his neck, which knocked him to the ground. Remarkably, the bullet missed his arteries and veins. As he lay on the earth feeling the blood ooze down his neck and back, he tried to assess the situation. Suddenly, another bullet ripped through his left shoulder. He tried to bury himself in the snow and earth when he received his seventh wound—a bullet wound in the back of his head that only penetrated his skin and skull, but passed through without hitting his brain. Giving up for the moment, he rolled over on his back, pulled off his helmet, and awaited death. Examining his helmet, he saw that it had two bullet holes. After a few minutes, the will to live took over and he searched for better cover. He had now been in battle for over three hours. He crawled down to the bottom of the crater into a pool of cold water, hearing the pops and whizzes of the bullets flying overhead.

As he lay there hearing the battle travel west from his position, he knew the Russians had taken over the area and waited for the enemy to show up. Sure enough, three Russians walked up to him and pointed their rifles at him. He awaited the blackness of death.

Looking at the Soviets, Prager pointed to his wounds and the blood that covered him as if to ask, “What more do you want to do to me?” One Russian “with beautiful clear blue eyes” explained that he would soon be captured if he lived long enough. The Russians executed the other wounded Germans. Soon after this, Prager saw the Russian who had spoken to him get shot in the head and drop dead. Prager does not know why he was spared. He waited there for a long time hoping for relief from four Panzers he knew were in the area. Unbeknownst to Prager, the Soviets had already destroyed three of the tanks and the remaining one was engaged in action far away from him. He was alone.

As he lay in the pool of water, he noticed ice forming around the edge of the crater. He struggled to stop his teeth from chattering as the sun set below the horizon. Watching the ice, he heard the sound of German Stuka dive bombers. This gave him strength, and he watched the planes rain down their bombs on the Russian positions. He thought about life and death, imprisonment and freedom. Prager wanted to live more than anything. After the planes left, some Russian soldiers returned to his position and plundered his belongings, and then one Soviet left a weapon with some ammunition next to Prager in case he wanted to commit suicide. Apparently, Prager looked quite bad and the enemy felt he would soon die, so why not spare him some misery? The Russians then left.

After a while, Prager crawled to his lines, which lay about 500 feet behind him. He came across three of his dead comrades, one of whom had his head crushed into a flat mess of flesh and brains by the tank. Every few meters, he had to stop to rest. His breathing was heavy and his pain horrible. He thought about his Jewish family and knew if he died, they would die also.

After he struggled for hours to get to his lines, he yelled out for someone to get him, and two comrades carried him to a first aid station. Since many had witnessed the attack on Prager’s position, they were surprised he was alive. That night, a battalion doctor took care of Prager and within a few days, he returned home to recover. Many of his comrades felt amazement at his heroic deeds. Other Mischlinge behaved bravely on the battlefield as well, often, like Prager, feeling a deep compulsion to prove themselves. For example, quarter-Jew Artur Becker-Neetz received the Knight’s Cross in the fall of 1941 for preventing his company from being destroyed even though he had taken a bullet to the head. He received the award personally from Hitler as well as the Genehmigung.⁵¹

After Prager returned home, instead of receiving an award from the Führer like Becker-Neetz, he found out that, contrary to his hopes, Hitler really had no intention of protecting his relatives. Prager’s father had to perform forced labor, and the Nazis had sent his uncle Stephan to Theresienstadt. Had Germany won the war or prolonged it, the Nazis would probably have deported Prager’s father. After learning about Prager’s serious injuries, he said to his daughter-in-law, “If he dies, I’m finished.”

When the Nazis persecuted Jews at home and deported them, they traumatized thousands of Mischling soldiers like Prager. During his trial in Israel, SS Lieutenant Colonel and Chief of the Gestapo’s Evacuation Office Adolf Eichmann said that in 1941 and 1942, Hitler and General Wilhelm Keitel, the Armed Forces High Command’s chief of staff, had expressed concern that when Mischlinge went on leave, they would become distressed to discover that their parents had been deported. The desk officer for racial law in the Reich Ministry of the Interior, Dr. Bernhard Lösener, also worried about this. On 4 December 1941, Lösener wrote that the government should grant special consideration to Mischlinge and their families, especially during the war. According to Lösener, it seemed illogical to let Mischlinge serve while the government persecuted their parents. Lösener described Prager’s situation as an example of this problem. Even after Prager had received Hitler’s Deutschblütig keitserklärung, the police detained Prager’s father and threatened him with imprisonment if the authorities saw him talking with an Aryan in public. The Nazis also required him to wear the Jewish Star and made him perform forced labor. Prager was lucky, though, in some respects. Many learned that a parent or grandparent had been deported and their fates remained unknown. At least Prager knew where his father was, and that he was alive.

After his return to Germany for recuperation, Prager helped a few of his relatives who were in danger. Prager actually met with Eichmann two and a half months after being injured and sent home. Although his doctors warned that traveling might kill him because of his wounds, he decided to leave Nuremberg for Berlin. Because of his serious wounds, Prager’s wife, Hella, accompanied him to several SS buildings. When SS personnel learned that he had received Hitler’s Deutschblütigkeitserklärung and was a decorated frontline officer, they treated him with the utmost respect and greeted him properly for his rank and status. Eventually, he was told to visit Eichmann’s office. Surprisingly, Eichmann admitted him.

Wrapped in bandages, Prager marched into Eichmann’s office with only a subtle hint of lameness. After an exchange of formalities, Prager explained the situation of his father, who was performing forced labor, and of his uncle Stephan and aunt Mathilde Blanck, who were incarcerated in Theresienstadt. According to Prager and his wife, Eichmann responded by describing Theresienstadt in positive terms as a new home for Jews where they were well treated and could decide their own fates. Prager became so irritated with Eichmann that he jumped up and said sarcastically, “Next you’ll tell me you regret not being Jewish so you could spend a holiday in Theresienstadt.” Eichmann then became serious and admitted that he could do nothing for Prager’s father since he had not been deported yet, and thus fell outside of Eichmann’s jurisdiction, but assured him that his uncle would be moved to the “Prominent Jews’” barracks where he would receive better food and not be deported to a death camp. Eichmann’s promise to help Prager’s uncle was carried out. Nothing was said about the aunt, whom the Nazis later murdered. Although Prager by now knew more than the average person about what the Nazis were doing to the Jews, he still failed to grasp the true extent. He later claimed, “It was all just too unbelievable.”

As one can see, Prager’s Deutschblütigkeitserklärung and his devout service did not prevent members of his family from being persecuted. Haehnelt again wrote Lammers on 2 April 1943 to help Prager when he heard about his plight, informing Lammers that Prager, an “outstanding soldier” who had been wounded several times and had proven his bravery, had experienced several problems. Haehnelt asked that Prager’s father, Heinrich, remain protected, though his Aryan wife had died: “The son shouldn’t have to continually worry about his father.” Lammers answered Haehnelt on 8 April 1943 and told him that he had long been aware of Prager’s case and assured him that he would help within the realm of possibility. Fortunately, his father was not deported and was only required to perform forced labor in his hometown of Kulmbach. Prager, with help from his friend Major Eberhard von Hanstein of the Wehrmacht’s High Command, was also able to get support to protect his father. But, as we have seen, several other relatives did not benefit from Prager’s unique status. Prager ended the war as commander of a replacement battalion in Bayreuth.

Prager’s time in the military ended on a negative note. At the end of the war, four soldiers under his command deserted their post. He caught them and sentenced them to death. Before carrying out the sentence, Prager gave a speech in which he claimed he was a “convinced National Socialist” and that these men had behaved despicably. He had the condemned men stand before their coffins and then told those present that if any of them decided to abandon their comrades, they would meet the same fate. Then he had the four men executed. After the war, Prager was brought to trial for this action. Prager claimed he acted according to military law. He also justified his fanatical speech, saying that he did so to protect himself and his family. Eventually the court found him innocent, but this event indicates that when Prager was placed in a position to show mercy, he did not. For a man who owed so much to others for their mercy, Prager showed no empathy for men unwilling to continue serving a lost cause. Soon after the executions, the Americans entered Kulmbach.

Prager’s story is absorbing. He struggled to conform to his society, and his Jewish family endorsed his decision to get back into the military. Yet, the Hitler exemption ultimately proved to be a pyrrhic victory in many ways, with Prager suffering horrible wounds and losing several relatives in the Holocaust. Many of his comrades, one of whom was a famous general and former head of the Bundeswehr, Ulrich de Maizière, recognized the horrible dilemma that Prager faced, and at his funeral, his comrades stated, “You had the courage while resisting the discrimination against your family to serve your Fatherland and go to the front to fight . . . you were a true, self-sacrificing comrade.”

Many of those who, like Prager, sought the Deutschblütigkeitser klärung did so for the sake of their family members and girlfriends. They tried everything to be accepted by their tormentors, who continued to persecute them and their families. The political philosopher Isaiah Berlin eloquently described this situation when he wrote,

I desire to be understood and recognized . . . And the only persons who can so recognize me, and thereby give me the sense of being someone, are the members of the society to which, historically, morally, economically, and perhaps, ethnically, I feel I belong. For what I am is, in large part, determined by what I feel and think; and what I feel and think is determined by the feeling and thought prevailing in the society to which I belong. So much can I desire this, that I may, in my bitter longing for stature prefer to be bullied and misgoverned.⁵²

Berlin’s point that society determines a person’s identity is shown dramatically with Prager, who was willing to go to the heat of battle in his desire to be accepted. He even went further at war’s end when he carried out draconian measures against deserters in 1945 and attributed his actions to the need to protect himself and his family. According to his daughter, Thekla Pesta, Prager never got over executing the deserters. Prager’s story displays the tragic events many Mischlinge experienced as they did their best to live under a brutal regime that rejected them.

Quarter-Jewish Admiral Bernhard Rogge

Bernhard Rogge stood six feet three inches tall and weighed 220 pounds. He carried his body with control and excelled at sports. His military bearing exuded confidence and he was a strong leader. His demeanor commanded respect, and he was the soldier-gentleman par excellence. He always wore neatly starched and ironed clothes, and his whole appearance, from his precisely combed hair to his manicured fingernails and spit-polished shoes, showed that he paid careful attention to the details of life. He was a machine who always did his duty with 100 percent of his being. He took responsibility for everything that happened to him and around him.

Bernard Friedrich Carl Edgar Rogge was born on 4 November 1899.⁵³ His mother was a homemaker and his father a government official. His maternal grandmother was Jewish, but her husband was Aryan. It appears he did not really care about his Jewish background until the advent of the Third Reich, when he was classified as a quarter-Jew. On the other side of Rogge’s lineage, his paternal grandfather, Bernhard Rogge (1831–1919), after whom his parents named him, was a Lutheran who served as the clerical figure in the Kaiser’s court.

The two things that charted Rogge’s course through the dark and mysterious waters of the Third Reich were his faith in God and his unswerving dedication to the German navy even while it was under Hitler.

Rogge’s lengthy career spanned four navies. He served under the Kaiser, the Weimar Republic, the Third Reich, and the Federal Republic of Germany. At the age of fifteen, he volunteered for the navy and by 1917 had become an ensign. During World War I, he served on cruisers, including the Moltke during the great sea battle at Jutland in 1916, until the armistice was signed and hostilities ended in 1918. His generation witnessed the embarrassment of the mutiny of the navy, an event that career officers during World War II swore would never happen again. In 1919, he left the navy for a few months, then reentered in 1920 and served in different capacities throughout the Weimar Republic in a force dramatically weakened by the Versailles Treaty. The Allies had specified limits on the quantity, offensive class, and armament of German ships. The Versailles Treaty also imposed manpower limitations and prescribed that officers would serve for twenty-five years to reduce the intake and training of men. This resulted in the creation of a small cadre of highly experienced and dedicated naval officers, such as Bernhard Rogge.

In 1933, the navy made the transition to the Third Reich. Rogge had some trouble in 1934 when the Aryan Paragraph came out. He reported to Admiral Hermann Boehm that he had a Jewish grandmother, but as a World War I veteran and a friend of Boehm, he avoided discharge. His half-Jewish mother, who died in 1924, was spared from experiencing the Third Reich.

Rogge’s ancestry started to plague him in the early 1930s. He later wrote about his ancestry problems: “One could curse one’s birth and ancestry; however, one cannot make it not to have happened. One can never step out of his family tree, no matter how much one wants to . . . He may keep it a secret, may hate it, may feel ashamed because of it; however, in his secrecy, his shame, his hate, he will in his disgust have to recognise it.”

Rogge experienced great personal hardships during the mid to late 1930s from Nazi hardliners who wanted him out of the service until the grand admiral of the navy Erich Raeder took his case to Hitler. Raeder helped several Mischlinge. Besides wanting to keep qualified people, perhaps Raeder also helped because his own son-in-law was a Mischling. Raeder wrote after the war, “When individual cases came to my notice, I made use of my right to approach Hitler and various high Party authorities.” Cases existed to which Raeder turned a blind eye, but he helped Mischlinge more than one would have expected.

Supposedly Admiral Karl Doenitz also took Rogge’s case seriously and helped him. After being asked at Nuremberg in 1945 whether the navy supported any anti-Semitic policies, Doenitz said no and then continued,

I had four Jewish high officers that I can think of at the moment. One was Rogge, a vice admiral who was in charge of the education of naval cadets all along until the end of the war. Another was a captain. I had an affidavit from Rogge for my defense. If any of those four Jewish officers had known about what was happening to the Jews inside Germany or elsewhere by Himmler and Hitler, they would surely have told me. There was a letter I received from Hitler once in 1943 saying that the party complained because a Jew was in charge of the education of naval cadets. He meant Admiral Rogge. I replied that he should mind his own business.⁵⁴

So, besides Raeder, it seems other high-ranking officers helped Rogge.

Soon after Raeder took Rogge’s case to the Führer, Hitler in 1939 declared him deutschblütig. This change of status saved Rogge from great despair. Earlier in 1939, several Nazi Party officials had made Rogge’s life a “living hell,” and both his wife, Anneliese, and mother-in-law committed suicide due to the persecution. The prank and hate-filled phone calls they received and the constant worry about his career and their future had taken a dreadful toll on the family. It seemed, though, that Hitler’s Deutschblütigkeitserklärung in 1939 prevented bureaucrats from further attacking Rogge, who accepted this “privilege” and carried out his duties as a typical Prussian officer. After the tragedy of losing his wife, all he had left in the world was his naval career and a dog, a small terrier named Ferry, who was often onboard with Rogge as a crew mascot. After 1939, available records indicate, Rogge faced little overt harassment due to his Jewish background.

Although the Aryanization happened only in 1939, he did not have many problems conducting his military duties throughout the 1930s. In 1935 and 1936, he served as the first officer of the cruiser Karlsruhe during a world training cruise, which included a lengthy stay in Japan. Although the cruise stood him in good stead, his attitude toward the Nazis and their silly pageantry was displayed in a privately published book by Rogge and the captain of the Karlsruhe. As a humorous view of naval life, it included matters regarding the 1936 change to a flag bearing a swastika. The book included a drawing of Rogge marching down the corridor in a bathrobe mockingly making stiff arm salutes.

In the 1936 Olympics, Rogge served as a yacht sailing judge, and Admiral Raeder referred to him in his memoirs as “one of our best yachtsmen.” From February 1938 until September 1939, he commanded the sail training ship Albert Leo Schlageter, the sister ship of the U.S. Coast Guard ship Eagle. Rogge’s star seemed to be in the ascendant. He was one of the few officers to merit the distinction of having a book written about him. It covered his leadership of a sail training ship cruise with his main focus of teaching the men how to rely on one another during times of stress. In times of peace few military officers inspired anybody enough to become the subject of a book.⁵⁵

After war broke out his duties changed. By winter 1939–1940, he prepared for his command on the ship Atlantis (formerly known as Goldenfels), built for the Hansa line in 1937. It was a rough start because the ship had to go through many stages of development before it was ready for war, but ultimately, this ship and its accomplishments would secure Rogge’s name in the history books.

He moved to Bremen and took up residence in the Hotel Columbus, located right across the harbor from where the ship was berthed. He had to convert a cargo ship into a man-of-war called a surface raider.

The German navy responded to its material weakness with surface raiders. Since the German navy was numerically inferior to the British, it had to devise ways to compensate for this weakness. One of the obvious areas in which the Germans succeeded in doing this was producing hundreds of U-boats and attacking with them in numbers. Yet another less known but efficient way the Germans sank ships was with surface raiders, also called auxiliary cruisers or Q-ships.

These ships masqueraded as merchant ships until they got close to an enemy. Then they would drop hidden doors, revealing their guns, and order the opposing ship to surrender or be destroyed. To their enemies, they were known as “mystery ships” or “rattlesnakes of the oceans.”

Rogge wanted “to harass and to do damage to the enemy for as long as possible and at constantly changing places, to disrupt his sea-borne trade and to tie up his forces.” He further stated that their “task was not to sink every ship we sighted, but to spread alarm and despondency among the enemy, to force him to sail his ships in escorted convoys and to upset the economy of his dominions and colonies.” The Germans had had a lot of success with such ships in World War I and wanted to use this type of warfare again. Yet the naval bureaucrats felt skeptical, thinking these ships would be decimated by the British, and thus called them “never-come-back liners.”

Nevertheless, these ships lasted longer than any “paper pusher” imagined and spread confusion and fear among the Allies by disrupting their supply lines. This tied up many warships assigned to hunt them down. As historian of the German raiders August Karl Muggenthaler rightly noted, “the raiders constituted a serious threat and thus served their limited purpose extraordinarily well.”⁵⁶ Rogge was the first World War II German surface raider captain to prepare a boat for war.

To transform the merchantman into a raider, Rogge had to have its entire inner structure reconfigured and the fuel capacity increased. The water tanks were increased to hold 1,200 tons, since 350 men would be sailing it instead of the usual crew of fewer than 50. A raider would have to stay at sea for several months if not a year or more, and therefore, Rogge had to change the ship dramatically.

The navy had to outfit the crew with several types of clothing to take care of them when they sailed in tropical seas of the Pacific and Indian Oceans or in the bitter cold seas near the southern regions of the navigable globe. The military supplied the crew with helmets, fur-lined watch coats, combs, erasers, jacks, lightbulbs, nails, boots, soap, papers and pens, razors, zinc oxide, toothbrushes, winter boots, and gloves as well as other items. The coal bunkers to fire the freshwater condensers had to be increased to 1,000 tons.

The refitters had to build sections within the ship to house prisoners, crewmembers, mines, sand ballast, chicken coops, torpedoes, and ammunition for the cannons. The engineers armed the ship with six 5.9-inch main gun batteries, cannons (one 75mm, two 20mm, two 37mm), and torpedo tubes. And Rogge and his men built a new ventilation system and a special compartment to house the ship’s seaplane.

Since many raiders were originally built to carry cotton, sewing machines, sacks of cocoa beans, automobiles, cloth, and other items, the process of conversion took time and required much imagination and effort. Rogge involved himself with the work down to its tiniest details. One day during this process, Rogge wrote in the vessel’s log, “We’ll be proud of our ship by the time she has put on her makeup. But like so many ladies she takes an interminable time preparing.”

Since Rogge had served in the navy’s education department, he quickly realized that many shipmates assigned to him were substandard. Consequently, he sent half of them packing. Moreover many in the High Command did not have much faith in the surface raiders and did not send their best officers there. After Rogge applied for new officers, the navy’s personnel branch replied, “What! You want nineteen officers for drowning?” But Rogge finally got his officers, many of whom had already served under him.

Although a firm disciplinarian, Rogge treated his men well. He pushed himself and made sure his men knew he shared their fate no matter what. Sometimes during the cruise of the Atlantis, his exercise included stoning the ship decks (using rocks to smooth the wood surface) with the crew.

As one of the most chivalrous and honorable naval leaders of World War II, it was ironic that Rogge should be burdened with the “world opprobrium” of being a “pirate” captain. Surface raiders were indeed masters of disguise and stalkers of the sea. Their captains had to operate them according to strict codes, and although they were detested by the Allies, international law permitted such ships in times of war.

The Atlantis could change its appearance to mirror several ships from Japan, the Netherlands, and Norway, just to name a few. Using artificial stacks, masts, and superstructures, Rogge and his men could dramatically change the ship’s appearance to confuse even the most experienced sea captain. Sometimes Rogge had “women passengers” with wigs and dresses pushing baby carriages on the deck to give the illusion to others that it was a passenger ship.

The ship started with a bad omen before reaching the open sea for its gunnery trials at Kiel—it ran aground while under the control of a harbor pilot. Many worried the navy would relieve Rogge, but the admiralty said, “It’s not enough for a raider captain to have skill. He must have luck as well.” The navy had faith in Rogge.

On 31 January 1940, Raeder came to see Rogge and his crew to wish them a successful patrol. Once properly disguised and armed, the ship left Germany for the South Atlantic on the last day of March, crossing over into the first day of April. Many felt that to leave on April Fool’s Day was the second bad omen.

Disguised as the Russian ship Kim, the Atlantis made its way to the open sea. Since the British did not want to create any incidents with any of Stalin’s navy, Rogge’s masquerade provided good cover. Rogge reasoned that since the Soviets moved their ships around unaccounted for, and since a lot of political friction existed between England and Russia, the English probably would not interfere. And besides, Rogge noted, most English sailors did not speak Russian, so he did not have to worry about radio contact. Traveling through hostile waters full of enemy warships and mines, Rogge and his men continued to avoid danger. At first, a torpedo boat and fighter planes escorted them. The navy also sent a U-boat and a seaplane to help out.

By 16 April, Rogge sailed past the British blockade and into the open sea. He had just missed running into a formidable British force a week earlier. A lookout had spotted a British warship over the horizon and Rogge ordered his men to their battle stations and increased speed. The raider escaped this time.

Rogge did not like fighting England because of his profound respect for their government and people, but he had to do his duty. Now having reached the open ocean, Rogge headed to the South Atlantic to take pressure off the Germans in the north. The first ship they encountered was a sailing ship from a Scandinavian country. As an avid yachtsman, Rogge said that “even if she’d been packed with contraband, I still couldn’t have sunk her.” Besides, it was bad luck for a steamship to attack a sailing vessel. Atlantis let it sail on unmolested.

Though they had made it safely to the South Atlantic, they heard by radio that the British had reported a suspicious-looking Russian ship and, as a result, on 24 April, Rogge transformed the Atlantis to look like Japan’s Kasii Maru. On 2 May, they passed the British liner City of Exeter and Rogge had his men go into action, having some of his shortest men dress up like Japanese women and push baby dolls in carriages. Several of the “Japanese sailors” even waved to the British. Although Rogge’s men wanted to attack the liner, Rogge refused to be bogged down with so many prisoners so early in their voyage and before he arrived in his assigned operational area.

On 3 May 1940, one of the officers ran down the passage to the bridge yelling, “They’ve got one, they’ve got one just ahead to port!” “Buck-fever” ran high on the ship and many wanted action. Men hurried to their posts and waited for Rogge’s command “Enttarnen!” which meant “Drop the hidden gates and fire.” One of the officers measured the distance of the enemy through a range finder hidden in a water tank. Suddenly, Rogge raised the war flag and put out the signal “Heave to or I’ll fire; you’re prohibited from radioing.” The British steamer Scientist refused to obey and continued on its course. Rogge ordered a shot over its bow. The vessel then started to radio the QQQQ message, meaning that a suspicious ship had stopped it. Rogge’s ship opened fire and the shells tore into the steamer. The crew started to get into their lifeboats, and radio transmission stopped because the Atlantis had destroyed the wireless room. One of Rogge’s most trusted officers, Adjutant Ulrich Mohr, got a boarding party together and they motored over to the smoking hulk. After looking through the ship, Mohr found that its captain had destroyed important documents and code books. There was little intelligence to gather.

As the ship sank, one of Atlantis’s crewmen said, “That’s the stuff. That’s how I’d like to see all their bloody old tubs go down.” Overhearing him, Rogge shook his head and then said, “I don’t agree. Let’s just look at it as a necessary job. Ships are rather like human beings, you know. Each has a life of its own and each dies differently too. Yes, I’m sorry to see them go.”

He took a total of seventy-seven prisoners. Rogge’s crew gave them toiletries, soap, and blankets and they separated the black merchant sailors from the white. They were put to work, with the whites earning 40 pfennigs and the blacks 20 pfennigs a day. In those days, men were often segregated by race and nationality, not only by the Nazis.

On 10 May, Rogge approached the Cape of Agulhas off Africa on a clear night and dropped ninety-two mines in the shipping lane there. Afterward, Rogge proceeded to the Durban-Australia track but found no ships to hunt—the lack of ships there was due to the City of Exeter’s warning of a suspicious Japanese ship that might be a surface raider. As a result, Rogge quickly changed the Atlantis into the Dutch Abbekerk and moved it up to the Durban-Batavia and Mauritius-Australia shipping lanes. By now, reports of the victorious German armies in France had reached the crew. Many on board fretted that they might be robbed of glory. Others looked forward to what they would do with their lives once peace was declared. No one on board dreamed the war would last five more years.

On 10 June 1940, Rogge spotted the Norwegian ship Tirranna. Rogge flagged it to stop and then fired warning shots. Due to the fierce African sun the Norwegians did not see Rogge’s warnings since his shells fell short. As a result, the ship continued and Rogge fired a few more shots. This time, the message was clear. Tirranna tried to make a run for it and radioed for help. The men on Atlantis jammed its signal and Rogge opened fire. The Norwegians tried to fight back with their single 4.7-inch gun while zigzagging wildly as they tried to escape. After Atlantis fired 150 shells, the Norwegians finally stopped. Although terribly mauled, the ship was captured as a prize.

When the Germans boarded the ship, they found its deck literally covered with blood. The Norwegian captain was on the verge of crying. Dazed, he said, “But Norway made peace with you today.” Tirranna was a great prize, since among many other things it carried 3,000 tons of wheat, 178 trucks, 5,500 cases of beer, 300 cases of tobacco, 3,000 cases of canned peaches, and 17,000 cases of jam. In addition to this, it had plenty of fuel. With such booty, the Atlantis could continue hunting without many worries about fuel, water, and food. Rogge would repeat this technique with many ships, sometimes sinking them after he took their supplies, and other times sending them back to Germany, as he did with the Tirranna.

After this victory, Rogge learned that the actual Abbekerk had been sunk, so he changed his disguise to imitate another Dutch ship, the Tariffa, and moved to the Aden-Australia and Sunda-Strait-Durban sea lanes to find new prey.

On 11 July 1940, Atlantis sank the British steamer City of Baghdad and on 13 July 1940, the British passenger ship Kemmendine. On 28 July 1940, it sank the Norwegian ship Talleyrand and on 24 August 1940, the British steamer King City. On 9 September 1940, it sank the British steamer Athelking and on 10 September 1940, another English steamer, the Benarty. On 17 September 1940 it sank the French passenger ship Commissaire Ramel, which at 10,061 metric tons was the biggest kill to date. On 22 October 1940, it captured the Yugoslavian steamer Durmitor. On 8 November 1940, it sank the Norwegian tanker Teddy. On 10 November, it captured the Norwegian tanker Ole Jacob and on 11 November 1940, sank the British steamer Automedon. Rogge and his men seemed unstoppable. The significance of the loss of the Automedon was profound and only recently became the subject of study.

Before they sank the Automedon, Rogge’s men seized several bags full of documents—some of which would prove invaluable to the war effort and allow Rogge to have a significant impact on the manner in which Japan conducted its invasion of Asia in 1941–1942. They were “highly confidential” documents drawn up by the British War Cabinet for its “Commander-in-Chief Far East,” detailing the British military strength in East Asia, including the number of Royal Air Force units, the number and type of ships, an assessment of Australia’s and New Zealand’s military roles, copious notes on the Singapore fortifications, and an assessment of the feasibility of Japan entering the war. Most importantly, the secret documents made it clear that no effective reinforcement or counterstrike could take place for at least a year after a possible Japanese assault because the British Empire was under too much pressure nearer to home. Rogge turned these documents over to the Japanese, who, on behalf of the emperor, awarded him a samurai sword for his contribution to their success. Besides Rogge, only Reichsmarschall Göring and Field-Marshal Rommel received such swords from the Japanese emperor. The Japanese war planners appreciated the confirmation that the only major credible military force that could oppose their expansionist aims in the Pacific was the American fleet based at Pearl Harbor. For his accomplishments, Hitler awarded Rogge the Knight’s Cross, and Rogge continued his hunting.

Rogge had a lighter side to his personality. He often enjoyed a good joke and had fun with his men. For example, in the middle of war, during Christmas of 1940, he dressed up like Santa Claus and went around the vessel spreading good cheer. Yet, these moments of letting “his hair down” were rare, and Rogge never took his eye off his mission of creating fear and worry among the British High Command. Soon after Christmas, Rogge would strike again.

Atlantis spent Christmas of 1940 at sea in the remote Kerguelen Islands, which are the southernmost islands in the Indian Ocean. The ship needed to take on fresh water, change disguise, and give the men a rest. Unfortunately, two disasters marred the event. The first occurred while Atlantis made its way to a hidden anchorage where it struck a submerged pinnacle of rock and became impaled. It was likely that the ship would never leave the spot, as attempts to flood and counterflood, shift cargo, rock the ship, and all other means failed to free it. Eventually, a shift of wind saved the day and permitted the ship to swing free. Rogge himself went over the side as a hard hat diver on multiple occasions to plan for and inspect the progress of hull repairs.

A second incident cost the life of a crewman who fell from a stack while painting after engine exhaust cut the rope holding him. He was buried on one of the islands after Christmas. By January, Rogge and his men had left the island on their way to hunt Allied ships once again.

On 24 January 1941, Rogge and his men sank the British steamer Mandasor. On 31 January 1941, they captured the British steamer Speybank, and on 2 February 1941, the Norwegian tanker Ketty Brövig. In March Rogge helped the Italian submarine Perla with supplies under trying circumstances, for which Mussolini awarded him the Bronze Medal for Military Valor.⁵⁷ On 17 April 1941, during a brilliant moonlit night, Rogge observed a zigzagging ship that operated under black-out conditions. Fearing it was an auxiliary cruiser like his own, Rogge moved in for the kill and opened fire. Six shells from the Atlantis tore into the ship, hitting its engine compartment, radio room, and waterline. When the ship stopped and its identity became known, Rogge felt sick to his stomach. It was the neutral Egyptian steamer Zamzam, which had been a British troop carrier, but was now a passenger liner. There were 109 women and children on the ship out of 202 passengers, 140 of whom were Americans. Since Germany was not yet at war with the United States, the killing of that many Americans passengers was a potential international disaster similar to the Lusitania incident of World War I.

Even though the Zamzam had exhibited belligerent behavior and carried contraband cargo such as British-owned oil, steel, and ambulances, Rogge worried about world opinion. To make the situation even worse, 150 of the people were missionaries who belonged to the British-American Ambulance Corps. Most of the 107 Egyptian crewmen took to the lifeboats “in true cowardly fashion,” while leaving the helpless people on board to fend for themselves.

Rogge ordered his men to drop their boats and assist the helpless people on the Zamzam. Luckily, they saved everyone from the “sinking ship.” Now Rogge had to care for them. He had his crew make the people as comfortable as possible, even building a sandbox for the children. Soon after taking these prisoners, Rogge felt thankful that the supply ship Dresden rendezvoused with him so he could transfer most of his prisoners to this vessel headed for France. Unfortunately for Rogge, one Zamzam passenger was Time-Life photographer David Sherman, who left Atlantis with film of the raider hidden in a toothpaste tub. These photographs would later appear in Life magazine and make their way into the intelligence files of the Royal Navy.

Luckily, the Zamzam incident never caused the diplomatic problems Rogge had feared. Even if it had, this incident could not have made relations worse. Hitler went on to declare war on the United States in December 1941 regardless. It was also unlikely America would have gone to war over such a small incident, since the liner was not American. Lest one forget, it still took two years after the sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 and the Zimmerman telegram before America entered World War I.

On 14 May 1941, Rogge and his men sank the British steamer Rabaul; on 24 May 1941, the British steamer Trafalgar; on 17 June 1941, the British steamer Tottenham; and on 20 June 1941, the British steamer Balzac. On 10 September 1941, they captured the Norwegian ship Sivaplana.

On 22 November, Rogge was ordered to resupply submarine U-126, a dangerous job for a raider in the South Atlantic. This proved especially risky since the Atlantis had had engine problems and one of the motors was dismantled to replace a piston, thus dramatically reducing its speed. To make matters worse, the seaplane Rogge normally used for scouting was out of service, giving him no reconnaissance capabilities. If an enemy ship showed up, Atlantis was a sitting duck. Rogge hoped its disguise would hide it if a British man-of-war approached on the horizon.

Suddenly Rogge’s worst nightmare became reality when the British cruiser Devonshire showed up at full steam and demanded Rogge identify himself. He cut the fuel lines to the submarine and the U-boat submerged. Rogge radioed he was a merchantman, but the cruiser saw through his subterfuge. The British captain had Sherman’s photographs and, after communicating with the Admiralty, confirmed the ship was indeed the Atlantis. The English opened fire with 8-inch shells from 10 miles. As the shells tore into the Atlantis, Rogge made the order to abandon ship and scuttled the raider. He saved all his men except twelve. As the ship sank, the crew gave it three cheers. With tears coming down his face, Rogge saluted his ship as it went down.

Fearing the German submarine, the Devonshire departed after Atlantis made its way down to the ocean’s floor. Soon the U-boat surfaced and divided the survivors into three groups. They put a group into the submarine, another group on the deck of the boat, and the rest in lifeboats. Two days later, the supply ship Python picked them up. Two days thereafter, on 26 November, the British cruiser Dorsetshire caught the Python supplying two U-boats. The U-boats dove and the Python was immediately scuttled to prevent casualties as shelling began. Rogge and his men found themselves in the water again after being sunk twice in four days.

Admiral Karl Dönitz sent more submarines to help with the rescue effort since there were now two crews to care for. Traveling home, Rogge fell into a deep depression. He knew he would no longer be master of his own little world on a ship and had to return to the land dominated by Hitler. He also was returning to an empty house, and his dead wife’s ghost haunted him.

Rogge later wrote to a friend that he believed God was now taking care of his wife. He also mused that God gives people hardships to make them stronger.

After several weeks at sea being dragged in lifeboats by the submarines and undergoing a depth-charge attack, Rogge and his men arrived in occupied France. Still accompanying them was Rogge’s dog, Ferry. After landing in Nantes, Rogge took his men to a local church to thank them for their service and God for keeping them safe.

Rogge was the most successful surface raider commander of the war, sinking or capturing twenty-two ships for a combined displacement of 150,000 tons while being at sea for 655 straight days (including 33 days spent being towed back to Germany) and traveling over 102,000 miles. Atlantis destroyed or captured “over twice as much tonnage as the notorious” pocket battleship Admiral Graf Spee. In the modern history of naval warfare, Rogge holds the record for staying at sea for the most days without docking in port. For 622 days, from 31 March 1940 until 21 November 1941, he raided Allied shipping lanes with his surface raider “Ship 16,” taking twenty-two enemy ships out of commission.

When asked how he kept the unity and morale of his men intact for so long, Rogge said that many factors went into doing so, but foremost on the list was to respect every individual and make him feel part of the team. Rogge excelled at creating confidence, something he believed that no man could do without if he wanted to perform well and bravely. When someone had a birthday, he announced it over the loudspeaker, and if someone became ill, he had people visit him in sick bay. He also focused on making sure no one was bored, believing this was the worst enemy for a serviceman. Rogge was a master at human relations in creating an environment where everyone felt he was invaluable.

Many recognized his leadership and accomplishments. On 31 December 1941, Hitler awarded him the Oak Leaves to his Knight’s Cross at a reception in Berlin for successfully disrupting the Allies’ shipping lanes and capturing valuable goods for Germany. The Naval High Command initially did not think the raiders would succeed, but Rogge gave them a shining example of the effectiveness of these ships.

From April 1942 until September 1944, Rogge served as education inspector for the navy, a position that, according to Admiral Oskar Kummetz, he fulfilled with professionalism and skill. On 1 March 1943, he became a rear admiral. From October 1944 until the end of the war in May 1945, he ran the education department.

He also commanded the First Battle Group (or Force 1) in the Baltic in late 1944 and early 1945 and helped the army with fire support, especially around Riga and the Kurland pocket. Without Rogge’s support of the army in the Baltic, the Kurland pocket would have never continued its resistance, tying down thousands of Russian soldiers in 1944 and 1945. By keeping a 30-mile corridor open at Riga, he helped twenty-nine divisions and much of their equipment to escape Russian encirclement in 1944.⁵⁸

The troops knew that if they had the support of a warship, the Russians would stay away. As Guy Sajer, who was stationed at Memel on the Baltic Sea during the encirclement there, wrote: “Two warships were standing close by the shore. One of them was the Prinz Eugen. The other was a ship of the same size. To the desperate defenders of Memel, they were a source of support we had never hoped for. The tanks respected their large guns, and kept their distance.”⁵⁹

Rogge also used his ships to cover the millions of refugees leaving Prussia under the savage advance of the Soviet army, especially around Danzig in 1945. In fact, the atrocity stories about the Soviets at Danzig were so horrible that many “civilians in and around” the city committed suicide instead of falling prey to the Russian onslaught of terror.⁶⁰ On 1 March 1945, he became a vice admiral. At this time, Rogge took charge of Battle Group “Rogge” (Task Force 3), which included the battleship Schlesien, heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen, light cruiser Leipzig, and escorts. His flag flew on the Prinz Eugen.

After the war, the Allies took him prisoner and then released him in September 1945. But they later brought him up on criminal charges. One charge claimed he had machine-gunned survivors of a ship he sank. This charge turned out false. The other claim stated that he, just like Prager, executed several men for desertion. This charge was true. He was brought to court, but found innocent. Though Rogge had received much help from others, he did not show mercy for those who no longer wanted to fight for Nazi Germany. Rogge claimed he carried out the executions to follow orders and maintain discipline. Others have found this argument difficult to follow. Historian Georg Meyer said in respect to this situation: “Rogge was hard as steel.” This is the only event where some might question Rogge’s judgment. Placed in perspective, however, his actions may not seem so extreme when compared with the mutiny at the end of World War I, and when one considers the rescue and evacuation mission assigned to Rogge’s battle group.

After the war, Rogge fell in love again and married his second wife, Elsbeth, who adored him. In turn, he cherished her and felt sad that he was unable to have a family due to complications.

After the new German military (Bundeswehr) came into being in 1955, he became the commander of NATO forces for the State of Schleswig-Holstein in 1957, holding that position until 1963. He commanded all land, sea, and air forces composed of German and Allied personnel. During the major flood there of 1962, Rogge was responsible for 8,000 soldiers who conducted the rescue efforts. Interestingly, Rogge worked closely with Hamburg’s mayor, the later chancellor Helmut Schmidt (who also was a Wehrmacht officer and a quarter-Jew). For Rogge’s efforts, the government awarded him the Great Service Cross of the Federal Republic of Germany in 1962. The next year, he retired after a bitter fight with Defense Minister Franz-Josef Strauss.

In retirement, he pursued his passion of sailing while administering the largest school system for sailing, based in Hamburg. He also co-managed the Hamburg-Atlantik line, “a merchant shipping business,” and served as consultant for civil defense matters for the government.⁶¹ Being religious, he also busied himself with church activities, believing “that our destiny lies in God’s hands and this knowledge is our strength.” When asked about his successes, he said his leadership philosophy was responsible for his accomplishments, and stated, “How does one exert leadership? Well, with a Christian respect for the human qualities of others, conviction and trust in oneself.” On 29 June 1982, he died and was buried in Reinbeck outside Hamburg with full military honors. Over 600 people attended his funeral service. The stone above his grave bears the carved likeness of a sail training ship underway.

In an article Rogge wrote for the February 1963 issue of the U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, he attempted to explain the leadership style he used to keep the peace among over 350 officers and men away from home in time of war on board the Atlantis for more than a year. Among many other profound statements, one comment he made sheds some light on his personality. Rogge quoted Baron von Stein’s address to young Prussian officers, “Take careful note of the fact that your rights are not being discussed. Fulfilling your obligations entails establishing your rights, so it can be said that it is your foremost right to do your duty.” Rogge noted that such convictions had become unpopular after the war, but they remained sound in his opinion. Rogge’s conflict with the Nazis, who attempted to destroy his naval career because of his Jewish background, may demonstrate how perfect a creature of duty Rogge had become. He remained loyal to his country and his duty and adhered to his Christian principles in spite of the fact that many Germans then considered him inferior by the circumstances of his birth.

After Rogge received his Deutschblütigkeitserklärung in 1939, it appears he did not have to deal with his Jewish past again. The Nazis did continue to harass him throughout the Third Reich for his religious convictions and for not adhering to Nazi ideals. All in all, it seems that Rogge concerned himself little with the “Jewish Question.” Had it not been for the Nazis, he would have given little thought to his Jewish ancestors. He kept this secret from most, even close friends. It just seemed irrelevant in his life.

As a private man, Rogge shied away from the spotlight. Due to the trauma of experiencing devastating defeats in two world wars, the loss of his wife, the loss of his mother in a mental institution, and Nazi discrimination during the 1930s, he probably wanted to put his past behind him and do his best to live a peaceful life. Everyone interviewed who knew Rogge, both foreign and German, spoke highly of a “true gentleman.” Yet, in many of the pictures of Rogge, as well as the letters he wrote, one picks up on a deep sadness. As mentioned above, many things haunted Rogge.

In a sense, the life of Atlantis mirrored Rogge’s own life in that what you saw on the outside did not mirror the inside. During the Hitler years, he never quite escaped persecution for his ethnicity and religious beliefs. After the war, he sometimes had a difficult time shaking his “Nazi” past and “criminal acts” as a raider captain who served under Hitler. Although he was anything but a Nazi and hated Hitler, he still had to answer several questions about his background after the war. Also, he never recovered from his wife’s suicide, often blaming himself for it. And he regretted the fact that he could not have children. Often, when he fell into depression, he must have feared sharing the same fate as his mother, who after suffering her mental breakdown never recovered. The fact that Rogge did not let his trials break him is a testament to his mental fortitude. He was not only a giant among World War II commanders, but was also a strong human being who, although often knocked down by life, refused to let it defeat him. He wrote his own obituary when he said, “If God decides to call me home, I should not quarrel with my destiny. I have been thankful for every day I have had on this earth. I have lived a full life.”

Conclusion

The Mischlinge who received Hitler’s Deutschblütigkeitserklärung have presented difficult problems for the general public. People often ask how these men could serve under Hitler. Wilberg and Rogge served for several decades and in World War I before Hitler ever came to power; serving their nation as warriors was the only profession they knew. In the case of Prager, although he was not a World War I veteran, the life of bearing arms for Germany was his calling. Milch was unique out of all of them in not being a career soldier, but when his nation called him, he gladly served and, as shown, did well.

Prager’s life also illustrates that sometimes a man pursued this clemency not only to fulfill his calling, but also to protect his family. All these men, especially those with families, believed clemency would protect their immediate relatives to at least some degree.

Although Milch, Rogge, and Prager served until the war’s end, the Nazis dismissed many with the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung after the 20 July 1944 bomb attack on Hitler. He needed to blame someone, and the Mischlinge provided him with an easy target.⁶²

Since Wilberg was dead by 1944, this new change of policy did not affect him. Moreover, Wilberg, like Milch and Rogge, probably would have remained untouched had he remained alive since it seems this purge only affected active army officers. This all goes to show how fickle Hitler was with his convictions about “Jewish” soldiers.

Obtaining a Deutschblütigkeitserklärung was a complicated process and for readers today, it is simply confusing. Although all these men fit the Nazi definition of true Germans and brave warriors, thus granting them the right to apply for clemency, ultimately how and why Hitler went about giving these men such exemptions does not mirror his hardcore ideology. As is often the case with Hitler, it is difficult to find rational explanations for his behavior. His unpredictability with Mischlinge all seemed to stem from his being influenced by their connections, their family backgrounds, their social rank, their military experience, and their phenotypical traits. In other words, Hitler employed no logical and systematic process to determine their racial pedigree, even though Nazi language at the time tried to make the whole “race science” a logical and clear-cut discipline.

That Hitler involved himself so intimately with this process, though, shows how obsessed he was with his racial ideology and how he believed that only he could truly decide who was Aryan. In the end, the power to discern a person’s true genetic, racial, and spiritual worth during the Third Reich was left in the hands of an uneducated fanatic Austrian named Hitler. Erich Maria Remarque, author of All Quiet on the Western Front, had it right when he wrote, “It is very queer that the unhappiness of the world is so often brought on by small men.”⁶³ Hitler’s exemption process for Mischlinge shows how deranged and small the dictator of Germany had become and how his decisions grew out of his pathology, irrationality, immorality, sadism, and racism.

3

Mischlinge Who Received the Deutschblütigkeitserklärung

Half-Jewish Field Marshal Erhard Milch8

Half-Jewish General der Flieger Helmut Wilberg

Half-Jewish Captain Ernst Prager

Quarter-Jewish Admiral Bernhard Rogge

Conclusion

Half-Jewish Field Marshal Erhard Milch⁸