The Everglades - Chapter Three

3

August 1, 1945. General Hochstühl and Colonel Von Unterscheisse had been residents of Miami barely ten days. German precision coupled with slave-like demands on local workman brought the warehouse to near completion. There was no time to waste. If progress lingered, money wouldn’t last. It was imperative to start generating income from whatever sources possible; legitimate or not.

The Germans stood on the concrete warehouse floor soaking in satisfaction associated with an operational facility. They possessed no claim of construction. Similar feelings of superiority hadn’t been experienced since leaving the Fatherland.

A laborer wearing a dark blue workman’s jumpsuit swept away excess dust. Sounds of hammers and saws that dominated the prior fortnight’s air were absent as jobs neared completion. Still to be determined was the manner in which Nazis utilized the space to further their agenda.

New York Financiers set up accounts with overseas manufacturers of plumbing and boating supplies. It was crucial frequent trips to the harbor be viewed as normal within the course of business.

The men glanced at one another and exchanged satisfied smiles. Both wore wool suits. Pants were pressed to a crease. Their appearance spoke of prideful arrogance. They turned and walked toward the stairwell leading to second floor offices. Actions were uniformed and cadenced. They possessed a singular mindset offering lives purpose.

The second floor of the structure extended from the wall bordering SE 2^nd Avenue. It hovered above two thousand square feet of warehouse space. Extending from the exterior wall, its weight was supported by iron poles anchored into the concrete floor.

A Black man wearing bib overalls without a shirt stood next to one support; coating it in black paint. His name was Elijah Williamson.

The Germans walked closely enough to brush against the man; but chose not to acknowledge his presence.

The stairwell was built flush against the side wall and extended to second-floor offices. Steps were iron and had recently been painted black.

The worker watched as the two walked briskly, trampling upon each step. The paint had yet to fully dry and was tacky to the touch.

Elijah shook his head, realizing he’d not only have to repaint each step, but clean the upstairs carpet of fresh tracks left by Germans.

“Master race, my ass,” the man muttered.

An identical flight of steps along the far wall was still raw-iron. It offered identical access to offices. Deliberate was the boss’s disdain for those unlike themselves. Every opportunity was taken to display disrespectfully vile behavior.

Hochstühl and Von Unterscheisse entered the oversized executive office of the former. The General made his way around his mahogany desk. His subordinate sat on a sofa against the wall, underneath a large window that looked south; toward the city of Miami.

As he sat, the General retrieved the day’s copy of the Miami Herald from his desk’s surface. Each man read it from cover-to-cover daily. It was the best method by which to determine the zeitgeist of the community they were tasked with manipulating toward self-destruction. 

The leader tapped a section of the paper whose headline grabbed his attention. “Says here a Florida Navy man was killed on a rescue mission in Oahu. Robert F. Hickey. Do you know anything about that?”

Unterscheisse shook his head. “No. Not one of my operations. May be related to another cell, but you know we’re forbidden from communicating with one another.”

“Yah. I just thought I’d ask. Regardless, it behooves us to know how our global plan is progressing.”

The man continued flipping through the pages of his paper. Another article captured his attention. “There’s an article here about Truman, FDR’s Vice President who took over the presidency upon his death.”

“And?”

“He’s a military man; a very good one.” He paused. “It would meet our objective to remove strong leaders from the country. We need to descend the U.S. population into a more pliable citizenry, like the German Bürger. Too many rugged cowboys who think they’re John Wayne in this country.”

 “How are we supposed to accomplish that?”

The General shook his head. “We won’t, Herr Unterscheisse. The only thing we can hope is to plant the seed that will grow into discontent. We must separate Americans from their God.” The General shook his head. “We won’t be able to accomplish that with anyone living today. We must gain control of the minds of their children.” He nodded. “And then our children and grandchildren will destroy their children and grandchildren.”

“It will be difficult to gain control. Americans love freedom.”

“That’s why we will slowly erode freedoms; so they don’t recognize they’ve been taken away. We need to reduce the population from thinking beings, into mere animals stimulated solely by basic urges.”

“How will we do that?”

The General drew in and exhaled a deep breath. “It will be necessary to weaken their resolve.” He shook his head. “We cannot defeat men filled with the determination we faced during the war.”

Von Unterscheisse’s smile reflected sinister thoughts. He nodded his understanding. “America is the lynchpin. Once its freedom is wiped out, then the entire world will crumble beneath our collective boot.”

The men sat silently for several minutes; basking in thoughts of completely controlling the planet through varying paths of destruction. Although their responsibility was Miami, the global plan must work hand-in-glove.

Another article caught the attention of Hochstühl. “Here’s another article about a Typhoid outbreak. Please tell me that was us.”

“Sorry, General. Although mass pandemics are on our radar, we simply don’t have the method of distribution.”

Dissatisfied, the General shook his head. “I feel like we’re not making any progress.”

The Colonel smiled satisfactorily. “The ovens at Auschwitz weren’t constructed in a month, sir.”

At that moment the General looked beyond his subordinate and through the window. To the southeast, a stream of black smoke ascended above the horizon. “There seems to be a fire burning.”

The Colonel stood from his seat on the sofa, turned, and watched intently.

Von Unterscheisse’s silence resonated within the General. He asked, “did you have anything to do with that?”

The Colonel’s smile was the largest of the morning.

“Tell me. Tell me your plan.” Giddily, he embraced the opportunity to record their subversion. “I must write a report.”

“There was a young man in the Overtown neighborhood…”

“Schwartz?”

The Colonel smiled again. “Yes. He was arrested for punching a police officer. All it took were a few whispers in the ears of some young and emotional members of the community.” He pointed through the window; across the horizon. “And now we have a full-blown riot. And it cost our treasury next to nothing.”

“Ten days and you’re already causing massive destruction.”

“It’s what I do best,” the underling responded.

“Ich liebe das.” And then he repeated more emphatically and passionately, “ich liebe das. I love you, Herr Unterscheisse.”

“I know, sir.”

“We need to replicate that success in other neighborhoods.”

The smile on the Colonel’s face appeared perpetual. “And that’s the beauty of my plan, sir. There are Jewish merchants in the area. We can’t be sure, but hopefully their businesses are being burned to the ground.”

“Jews live in Overtown?”

“No, but they do have businesses there.” He paused. “Those Jewish merchants have been benevolent and giving members of Overtown. If we’re lucky, this will drive a wedge between the two groups.”

“Drip. Drip. Drip.” The General nodded. “Yes, that is glacially slow progress, but it fits perfectly within our inter-generational mandate.” He called to his secretary in the outer office. “Fraulein Weinstein, I have a report I must dictate to you.”

The men sat silently for several moments; considering the enormity of their assignment. Plans for Miami appeared to be progressing nicely, but uncertainty echoed.

“We have made the first step of a much grander plan. It does seem daunting at times.” The Colonel spoke rhetorically.

General Hochstühl smiled satisfactorily. Although their existence in Miami had only just begun, the senior officer couldn’t help but discuss that which would happen long after their deaths. “Have you forgotten about the medical experiments performed in the concentration camps? They were also psychological in nature. Did you think all of that research would be allowed to fall into the hands of the Allies? Did you think all of that research would be lost to history?” His smile grew. “There are so many ways we can use that information. And the best part is, the psychoses we create during our lifetimes will resonate across generations.”

“Do tell,” the underling implored.

“Every aspect of human physiology and psychology has been mapped out. The trick will be to reduce American’s most important decision-making skills to nothing more than emotional reactions. Logic will no longer be considered. Once we infiltrate medical schools, that which is taught by professors will be completely controlled by us. Every scintilla of information Americans receive will be counter to reality; and their God who espouses truth and love.”

“That does make for a great plan. I just wish we could be alive to see it through.” Von Unterscheisse smiled at General Hochstühl. He trusted the man implicitly but had trouble conceiving how the plan played out across decades. “It’s a complicated undertaking.”

“It is.”