This story began in KTB #110 and is quite an eye-opener, but this is only the tip of the iceberg! The first part of this amazing story is the very long letter sent to us by DON ANGEL ALCAZAR de VELASCO (158-+-1985), Chief of a Spanish espionage cell working for the Hitler Government. After this letter has been presented fully in our KTB Magazine, we will also present a mountain of documentation from various Government agencies; USA as well as other countries, and other pertinent facts. You may then decide for yourself who escaped Europe and who did not.

Throughout our journey, the U-Boat remained in radio contact with its base, and daily during the last part of our trip Bormann received messages from the agents awaiting him in South America. To kill time, I repeatedly offered my services to Bormann to help him with his constant writing, but apart from asking one or two questions concerning intelligence work, he refused my offers of assistance.

Consequently I faced long stretches of boredom and took to wandering about the submarine. However, most of the crew to whom I spoke with, were guarded in their answers even in response to innocent questions about their duties. I found that my only escape was sleep, and in order to sleep, I asked the ship’s doctor to provide me with tablets. This officer, whose name he told me was Willy, proved more approachable than most. Oddly enough, he was also the ship’s radio officer, but in neither capacity was he needed for more than a few hours each day.

We became good friends and spent a lot of time talking about our families. Willy’s home was Hamburg, where he had a wife and son whom he had seen only four times since he joined the U-Boat Service in 1939. He was aged about forty and in contrast to most of the crew, had jet black hair. However, in common with them all, he was on the small side. It was a curiosity of the U-Boat service that the men who manned them were almost invariably short.

HARRY’S NOTE - Most were short because there was very little headroom in a submarine.

Willy was a very enthusiastic sailor and liked the life of a submariner, but for myself I had quickly lost any enthusiasm I may have had for underwater vessels. This boat was fitted with the then newly invented ‘snorkel’ apparatus which was supposed to maintain a good supply of fresh air when the boat was submerged. I had been full of praise for it in the first two or three days, but after a week I found the poor circulation of air, the stench of diesel and almost unbearable heat made me feel sick. And I damned the ‘snorkel’ along with every other piece of machinery on the boat.

For Bormann, it did not seem so bad. He rarely left our cabin and spent hours at a time writing in his book. Even this was a torment for me, for at such times he answered me with grunts; for long stretches refused to acknowledge my presence at all. During his long silences, Bormann, whose shaved head had grown and who had by now, a thick stubble of beard, developed a maddening habit of tugging endlessly at his left jowl. It was just one of those little things that can drive you crazy on a long submarine voyage.

After politics, Bormann’s favorite topic of conversation was his family. I was surprised to learn that he was married and had a daughter, then aged fifteen. He said he hoped to arrange her passage to the Argentine as soon as he himself had settled. Years later I learned that the girl had managed to join him and she now lives in Buenos Aires, and is married with children of her own.

However, if I was feeling in a state of nervous collapse, I became aware that my condition was shared by large numbers of the crew. Halfway through the second monotonous week at sea, one of the crew caught his foot in the engine room machinery and was quite badly injured. As a result, he had to spend his time in the seamen’s mess area quite near our cabin. Since the poor fellow couldn’t escape, I fastened on to him as someone to talk to and soon deducted that he was as anxious as I was to see this voyage over. However, he said that this was not as bad as some of the trips he had made, but added his hope that the injury to his foot would be good enough cause for Captain Jui to put him ashore with Bormann and myself when we reached South America. and although it caused him some pain, he seemed almost pleased to have been injured.

From the remarks of other crew members, I began to suspect that he had arranged the accident himself and many of the crew openly congratulated him on his prospects of quitting the boat. It seemed to me that the attitude of some of the more outspoken seamen bordered on the mutinous and my impression of them changed from that of a smart, well drilled and enthusiastic crew to that of a group of dispirited men who only hoped to end their wanderings under the waves. And I thought that Captain Jui might have trouble with them before our voyage was over.

One day I caught Bormann in a philosophical mood. For hours I listened to his explanation of the past, and his hopes for the future. He began by comparing National Socialism with some of man’s most ancient religions, pointing out that as in all beliefs, Nazism looked for a super-human leader to free its people and lead them to world superiority.

Bormann believed that there were only two possible theories in man’s living; Communism and National Socialism. Bitterly he condemned Communism.

“Who wants all men to be equal like animals.” he snorted. “Nazism is the only way. We believe there should be rulers; supermen for the masses to follow. We want to breed a race of men with the brains and physique to lead the world.

We started this with the SS because none of the people selected for the SS had any physical or mental defects. We want to procreate our race, and in a thousand years, the Reich will produce a race of splendid men and women.”

Pacing up and down the cabin, he went on “I am convinced that National Socialism will rise again in Germany. It may take a few years; even a generation; but it will come back.”

I protested that this was an impossible dream, since Germany would be occupied for many years to come and the Allies would certainly crush any reawakening of Nazi feelings. I added that the world is not full of heroes, and men would soon forget the war and this period of German history. They had lost the war; that was enough for most.

Bormann turned on me in a fury. “You bloody fool! Have you lost your faith?” he shouted. “Can’t you see that just by occupying Germany, the Allies will always give the Germans cause to turn against them?” Bormann ended this tirade by predicting “The fools will think they have won the final victory, but if they are so stupid as to go on hating the German people and showing that hatred, then the Nazi cause will never die. they will look to us again for freedom.”

He talked optimistically for finding in South America, a people who would lend themselves to the Nazi teaching of a super-race. “They must be a very clever people.” he remarked.

But on this, I had to disillusion him. “If you expect to find a superrace there, you will be disappointed, Martin.” I told him.

“But is it not true that we have followers there?”

I replied “Yes, but you do not yet know the South Americans. Today they will call you HERO. Tomorrow they could just as easily shoot you in the back.”

At this point, our discussion was ended by the urgent blaring of klaxon horns and a fierce hammering on the door of our cabin. I realized that the U-Boat’s motors had stopped. A rating entered the cabin and told us that Captain Jui wanted to see us urgently, and he led us at a rapid walk to the hatchway leading down to the engine room. In front of a huge bank of accumulators, Captain Jui was talking excitedly to a group of engineers. When we joined them, Jui broke off and told us seriously “We shall have to stop to make emergency repairs to one of the accumulators.”

He pointed to one of the huge accumulators and indicated a crack running the full length of it from ceiling to deck. He explained that in its damaged condition, it would seriously effect the supply of electricity to the motors and unless repaired immediately, would make it necessary to continue our journey on the surface using the diesel engines.

“I have no need to tell you how dangerous this would be for all of us.” he added.

But already the engine room crew had begun to seal the crack, which meant that the immediate danger would soon be passed. Escorting us back to our cabins, Captain Jui again apologized for the defect in his ship, but remembering my conversations with the crew, told him “I am not surprised to find things going wrong. I do not think your crew is a happy one, Captain.”

Jui laughed, “Don’t worry about the crew. We have been in worse situations than this together. I believe the cause is simply that my ship has been heavily depth charged several times and this has weakened the accumulator casings.”

The next day our spirits were given a boost when we neared the River Platte estuary. It meant that we were only a day or two from landfall. Bormann became excited and pulled out a large scale map of South America. He drew a large cross over our point of disembarkation, the tiny port of Puerto Coig in the Argentine district of Patagonia.

Jumbo map of Puerto Coig area (very slow: 360K)

That same afternoon my belief that the crew were determined not to sail again on this boat was further strengthened when another mysterious crack was found in another bank of accumulators. In my nervous state I even imagined disaster overtaking us within a few miles of safety. I was quite certain of sabotage, and I told Captain Jui so. “It is incredible that between your officers and yourself there is no one who can see how this trouble was caused. It was sabotage, you fool. Can’t you see that?”

Captain Jui exploded with anger. In language that would shock a Hamburg docker, he raved at me for fully two minutes. At this moment, Bormann stepped between us. “Captain Jui,” he roared. “You will come to attention and keep quiet!”

Jui was shocked into obedience. Red faced with fury, Bormann viciously abused the stunned Captain. Pale and trembling, Jui suffered an outburst which only Hitler himself could have matched. In a screaming temper, the Führer’s Deputy tongue-lashed the young captain and ended by telling him “You do not deserve to be in command of a German ship!

"This gentleman,” and he indicated myself, “I consider to be a hero. It is thanks to him that I am here at all. And if you insult him, you can consider yourself as having insulted the leader of the Nazi Party!”

He thrust his face close to that of the shivering Jui and snarled “Need I remind you Captain, of the consequences of such a serious blunder?”

With that, Bormann turned and walked away.

After Bormann had left, the officers and crew on the bridge took moments to recover. But by this time, my temper had evaporated and to ease the tension, I stepped forward and held out my hand. “As far as I am concerned Captain, this matter is closed. Believe me, I regret it having taken place at all.” Jui seemed glad to accept my friendship, and together we went to his cabin and split a bottle of French wine.

While we were in the Captain’s cabin, Bormann joined us, seeming also to have forgotten the incident. Almost immediately, a rating appeared with a message. It read: “Everything is prepared and we await you.”

It was signed ‘Rodriguez’. This message, our first direct contact with our agents ashore, brought a whoop of relief from us all. Bormann asked me if I knew Rodriguez personally, and I told him I did not. “This is strange,” he said. “I have been told that he is a priest, and that you will know him.”

“I have only known one priest who worked for us in the Argentine,” I replied, “and his name certainly was not Rodriguez.”

Bormann smiled, “Your name is not Adian, is it Angel? And mine is not Luis. So why should this priest’s name not be Rodriguez?”

The message was not in code, I noticed. And a second signal a few hours later made us certain at last that we had finally reached safety.

It said “You may proceed in perfect safety. We are in complete command. Heil Hitler!”

We had less than twenty-four hours to go before disembarking and the tension was tremendous. But Bormann and I spent the night restlessly tossing in our bunks and were unable to sleep. Willy, the doctor, gave us both a sedative and even suggested that I might like an injection to put me out for those last agonizing hours of suspense, but I would not agree. Even now I could not forget my espionage training and my cardinal rule - never trust anyone. I was the only witness to Martin Bormann’s escape. I was taking no last minute chances.

On the morning of May 25th, Captain Jui gave the order to surface and I felt the rhythmic ‘THUMP THUMP THUMP’ of our diesel engines take over from the electric motors, and the U-Boat thrust onwards on the surface.

Bormann and I raced for the bridge in time to see Jui returning from a brief reconnaissance. Around his neck were a pair of powerful Zeiss binoculars.

“You have a reception committee waiting for you.” he told Bormann.

“How many?” asked Bormann

“I have counted eight men and two cars.” Jui replied

But I could wait no longer. I brushed past Jui and scrambled up the steel ladder to the observation platform on the conning tower. It was my first sight of land in eighteen nerve-racking days. Through the mist I could see the beach quite close, and a number of figures waving at us.

Once ashore, I watched Martin Bormann walk up the beach near the tiny town of Puerto Coig with a feeling of intense satisfaction. My most important job as an espionage agent of the Nazi cause had been accomplished. Bormann, the most wanted war criminal in the world, had been safely smuggled out of Europe and was now safe on the friendly shores of the Argentine.

I stood on the stony beach that morning in May 1946 and took a last look at the vessel which had brought us out of Spain. In the mist I could vaguely make out the glistening steel plates and her crew standing stiffly to attention on her upper deck, their arms outstretched in the Nazi salute.

Bormann turned, a thick-set, wind-blown figure at the crest of the steeply rising beach, and stretched his arm toward the distant U-Boat. Three minutes later, the rubber dinghy which had brought us ashore had returned to the boat and eager hands hauled it aboard. I gazed seaward and caught sight of Captain Jui alone now on the conning tower. Moments later he too, disappeared and the U-Boat vanished in the mist. Its last mission completed, the boat was heading for Buenos Aires - surrender and asylum.

NOTE - Please remember that DON ANGEL could possibly insert any amount of mis-information in this letter to deflect the reader’s thinking in an incorrect direction.

We had been met on the beach by the Nazi agent Rodriguez, a priest whom I had recognized as a man who had worked with me some years before in that country under the name of Father Vogamiz. Rodriguez, wearing Roman Catholic garb, greeted Bormann enthusiastically. I doubt whether the good priest, or anyone else there, realized that they were the Welcome committee for the new Nazi Führer.

More Don Angel Alcazar de Velasco

Part 1: Berlin 1945 and Hitler's Bunker (#110)
Part 2: From Spain 1944 to Berlin 1945 (#111)
Part 3: Meeting Hitler (#112)
Part 4: Meeting Bormann (#113)
Part 5: Final Days of April 1945 (#114)
Part 6: Hitler Alive? Leaving Berlin (#115)
Part 7: Hitler Arrives at Bavarian Redoubt (#116)
Part 8: Escape to Switzerland and Spain (#117)
Part 9: Martin Bormann Arrives in Spain (#118)
Part 10: Martin Bormann in Spain 1946 (#119)
Part 11: Martin Bormann Leaves Spain (#120)
Part 12: Martin Bormann and Hitler (#121)
Part 13: U-Boat Trip to Argentina (#122)
Part 14: South America and Hitler, 1952 (#123)
Part 15: Martin Bormann, 1957 (#124)
Part 16: Home to Madrid (#125)

Note:

This story began in KTB #110 and is quite an eye-opener, but this is only the tip of the iceberg! The first part of this incredible story is the very long letter sent to us some years ago by DON ANGEL ALCAZAR de VELASCO (158-+-1985), Chief of the Spanish spy ring working for the Hitler Government during World War II.

Was he really a spy working for the Hitler Government? Yes, we confirmed this with CAPT BOB THEW (333-+-1987) when BOB was in our HQ some years ago. He said that DON ANGEL was not a very good agent, but he certainly was one. And from the other side, PETER HANSEN (251-LIFE-1987) also confirmed DON ANGEL was an agent for Germany but not a very good one. Is everything in the letter from DON ANGEL true? Judge that for yourself - but wait until all the data has been presented.

Please remember that we ask you to keep these facts in mind while reading this incredible story by DON ANGEL.

1) DON ANGEL was an ardent NAZI throughout the War and up to the time of his death. This is obvious from time to time in the text of this letter, so don’t let it bother you.
2) Spies and agents usually tend to embellish their feats and DON ANGEL was no different, so we must ‘add a grain of salt’ to some of these revelations.
3) There are twists and turns in this long letter; some HARD facts in our files we’ll print after this letter. DO NOT FORM AN OPINION until you have read all the amazing facts you’ll see here on our INTELLIGENCE PAGE.