[Transcript of interview with Prisoner N-7832, December 22, 1944. Interviewer, Maj. A.D. Swindler, U.S. Army Intelligence.]

I am indeed Count Otto Von Sturmann. I see that my name speaks for itself. With the possible exception of two others, who are mediocre aviators at best, I have the highest kill total of any fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe. Need I tell you how many Allied airmen have succumbed to the sweet music of my machine guns? Judging from your expression, I do not. They hated me, too. Their emotions clouded their reasoning, fogged their wits, slowed their reflexes, and so they died in the skies above Germany, even those who leapt from their blazing aircraft. Yes, I shot the parachutists as they drifted helplessly toward the ground. Their lives were mine to take, for I had already defeated them in combat. And what is victory, if there is no. . . coup de grace, as the French would say? While you continue to fly your B-17s and B-24s and other elephants of the air, my Kampfgeschwader [Transl. Squadron. -ADS] is now flying the latest Messerschmitt jet fighters, far superior to any of your aircraft. We will shoot you down until the skies again belong to us. That time is not far away, as I suspect you already know.

It is obvious from your name and your bearing that your family is of German origin. Is this not so? You are of Aryan blood, denial of which is pointless. For this reason alone I will speak to you of certain things, the better to convince you why America must join with us and help us defeat those who are descended from bestial stock. I refer of course to your swine allies, the Bolsheviks. How your Mr. Roosevelt can bring himself to deal with Stalin is beyond understanding. You will soon discover, to your cost, that Stalin is a monster.

Our Fuhrer, by contrast, is a gifted visionary who can see one thousand years into the future. He has personally mapped out the destiny of our Reich for the next ten centuries. Does this fact astound you? It should. To possess the smallest fraction of his total knowledge would leave you quite bewildered. You should know that since the early 1930s, the Fuhrer has sent expeditions to the far corners of the planet, with orders to bring all the knowledge and treasure they discovered back to Berlin for analysis. Ah, if you only knew some of the things those expeditions found. There is evil in the world that makes even the Bolsheviks appear civilized. Evil that is older than anything we can imagine. Evil that sleeps, and then awakens. I see doubt in your eyes. I also doubted once, but since then, I have witnessed the unspeakable.

You see this? [Prisoner N-7832 indicated medal & ribbon worn at the neck, the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds. -ADS] It is the highest honor any German soldier can hope for. The Fuhrer presented it to me personally at Berghof [The so-called "Eagle's Nest" -ADS] only recently. The weather that day was not all it could have been. It grew dark very early in the afternoon and we retreated inside rather than risk being caught in a thunderstorm. The presentation ceremony continued as planned. Three other airmen accompanied me. I did not know them but they were fellow fliers, and so we enjoyed an easy camaraderie. However, we could not help but notice how nervous the Fuhrer's Black Guards appeared. These hand-picked soldiers are renowned for their courage and loyalty to our leader, yet the slightest noise startled them. Sometimes a door opening or closing would cause them to react, raising their weapons or shifting their positions. At first we smiled at this unusual display, but our humor vanished when we realized the strangeness of their behavior.

Reichsmarschall Goering arrived before the Fuhrer. He welcomed us and told us how proud he was of our achievements. He especially singled me out and thanked me for my contribution to the defense of the Fatherland. [Prisoner N-7832 became highly emotional at this point. -ADS]

But even Goering, the fighter ace of World War One, the bravest of the brave, evidenced unusual behavior. Often he would stop talking in mid-sentence, his gaze would go to the windows, and he would study the billowing black clouds that raced across the sky, saying nothing for long periods of time, ignoring our comments and questions. We all agreed it was filthy flying weather, but this was good in that it would prevent American airmen, who fly during the day, from finding their targets. As much as I appreciated the honor of being summoned to Berghof, I longed to return to my squadron so that I might rise above the clouds and fix the enemy bombers in my gun sights.

The Fuhrer arrived shortly after, an imposing figure in his neat, light brown uniform, his eyes ablaze with power. His personality filled the entire room. Goering made a great fuss of us, introducing us in turn, myself before the others. My chest swelled with pride when the Fuhrer awarded me my Diamonds. He knew everything about our new aircraft and even commented on my latest victory, a British Lancaster bomber I had blown out of the sky the previous night. The Fuhrer laughed when I related the story of how I machine-gunned its crew as they attempted to parachute to safety, and Goering smiled his approval. But then their humor vanished when the twin doors at the end of the room suddenly crashed open as if blown by a strong wind.

The sentries drew back, clearly made afraid by this seemingly ordinary event. I imagined a window must have been left open somewhere in the building and a gust of wind was responsible for the doors parting as they did. Certainly no one stood in the outer corridor. Goering gestured angrily to the soldier nearest to the disturbance. The man looked doubtful, and for a moment I wondered if he had not understood the Reichsmarschall's order; but then he took a deep breath, stepped forward and closed the doors, before hurriedly returning to his former position.

What is the significance of this, you ask? At that time I did not know, although I do now. The Fuhrer, after glaring at the soldier, resumed his social duties and spoke with the other airmen. But now Goering no longer glanced out the windows. His glances were aimed at the other half of the room, although what attracted his attention, I could not say. Not then.

To my surprise, Goering took me by the arm and led me into a corner. "Listen to me, Von Sturmann," he said. "I wish you to leave immediately and take a car to the airfield. There you will find a Junkers dive bomber, fueled and ready for take-off."

"I do not understand, Reichsmarschall," I said.

"You are required to fly a special mission," he told me. "The Junkers is fully armed. You will find a map under the seat, with a target clearly marked. The target lies sixty kilometers to the northeast of the airfield."

"May I ask, Reichsmarschall, whether this is some kind of jest?" I said.

Goering's expression did not suggest this might be the case. "You must do as I say, Count. We are depending on you, the Fuhrer and myself. I cannot stress the importance of this mission. You must--"

He stopped talking then, and an unmistakable look of fear crossed his face. I could only wonder what the devil was going on. Goering took hold of my hand and pressed something into it, closing my fingers around the object. "Put this on," he said, "once you are in the air." His voice was pitched so low that I could barely hear the words. "It will protect you from what you will encounter."

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