The Vonkrueger Faction

By Richard J Johnson

The VonKrueger Faction weaves the story of two men who long to do something daring and excitingsomething that is a total secret from everyone. In the summer of 1962, Patrick Collins, an alcoholic, middle-aged real estate broker from Dayton, Ohio, and his friend, Ralph Prinz, decide to take a road trip deep into central Canada. They embark upon a two-week canoeing trip into unchartered northern territory. While deep in the wilderness, Patrick is suddenly and unexpectedly separated from Ralph, who is the experienced canoeist and woodsman. Patrick, who has never been successful in any facet of his life, is then forced to take bold and decisive measures just to survive.

After successfully overcoming many basic survival challenges, he is confronted with a faction deeply involved in a diabolical scheme to control and dominate the entire world. Patrick Collins single-handedly musters all of his strength, ingenuity, and cunning to thwart their frighteningly evil and deadly plot. More than four decades later, Patrick Collins, now in rapidly failing health, decides to finally reveal the chilling details behind the story of The VonKrueger Factiona heart-stopping journey that takes many twists and turns in the Canadian wilderness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426961465

Richard J Johnson

Richard J Johnson is a physician and scientist who lives in Centennial, Colorado. He has written two books on the science behind sugar—“The Sugar Fix,” Rodale, 2008, and “The Fat Switch,” Mercola.com, 2012. Here, he tells a mystery loosely based on historic sites and myths and legends from Egypt and other countries.

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Contents

~Foreword~

~Chapter One~

~Chapter Two~

~Chapter Three~

~Chapter Four~

~Chapter Five~

~Chapter Six~

~Chapter Seven~

~Chapter Eight~

~Chapter Nine~

~Chapter Ten~

~Chapter Eleven~

~Chapter Twelve~

~Chapter Thirteen~

~Chapter Fourteen~

~Chapter Fifteen~

~Chapter Sixteen~

~Chapter Seventeen~

~Chapter Eighteen~

~Chapter Nineteen~

~Chapter Twenty~

~ Chapter Twenty-One~

~Chapter Twenty-Two~

~Chapter Twenty-Three~

~About The Author~

 ~Foreword~

This story is an intriguing but disturbing narrative about a small group of extremely dangerous fanatics who were a vestige of Adolf Hitler’s evil Nazi regime calling themselves The VonKrueger Faction. Their aim was to control and dominate the world by using some of the most fearful and deadly weapons imaginable. Had their terrifying ‘Mitternacht Plan’ succeeded, mankind as we now know it may have ceased to exist. Still, it was entirely possible they may have found an improbable solution to the dilemma of survival in what they considered to be a dangerous, greedy, corrupt and politically out-of-control world.

Patrick S. Collins single-handedly played the most important role in defeating the faction, and ever since many doubts and fears had dogged his mind. His spellbinding story is a carefully documented journal of events which began in the fall of 1959 and ended in summer in the year 1962. After the passing of almost five decades, some of the less important details he had forgotten, but the most significant elements of his experiences he had faithfully related to me and they have now been dutifully recorded within the pages of this book.

Whether or not the extreme and drastic action he took at that time to thwart their improbable, evil, and diabolical plan was the right thing for him to have done, I must leave that judgment to you after you have read the details from his journal. Patrick Collins will never know what that judgment might be because he gave me permission to publish this journal, which he titled The VonKrueger Faction, only after his death.

Richard J. Johnson

 ~Chapter One~

An endlessly twisting gray ribbon of road unfolded before me and slid evenly past my vision, with the blur of countless pine trees to accentuate the soothing effect. I was fast becoming mesmerized by the almost hypnotic sensation which was both calming and relaxing. Slowly I began drifting into a half-conscious mental state, and just as it was about to take me under, I quickly jerked my mind and body free of it.

Tightening my grip firmly on the steering wheel, I began playing a little mental game that I had used in the past in similar situations while driving. Gazing ahead as far as I could see, I would select an object. Usually it was a group of trees or a bridge or anything else that was distinctive. I would then glance at the odometer, note the reading, and try to guess the distance between me and the selected object. Then, as I passed it, I would again glance at the odometer and determine the distance I had traveled. Playing this game over the years, I got to be pretty good at it, and I found I was usually correct to within a few tenths of a mile. This mental exercise helped to keep me alert and saved me from falling asleep and driving off the road. I was into this game, having just sighted a bridge far ahead of the car, when the voice of my friend, Ralph Prinz, broke through my concentration. I think we will get there before dark. How much farther do you plan on driving, Pat? You’ve got to be getting pretty tired, he said as he looked at the gas gauge to determine how much fuel we had left.

I am tired, I answered as I realized that I had not calculated that last odometer reading to the bridge ahead. Sensing Ralph’s willingness to talk now that he was awake, I quickly abandoned my mental game in favor of conversation.

How long have I been out? Ralph asked.

I guess about two hours or so, I answered as I quickly braked the car to avoid a deep pothole in the center of the road. You haven’t missed a thing. The scenery throughout this entire area is as boring as it can be. All I have seen since you took your little snooze were trees, trees, and more trees. I also haven’t seen more than a dozen cars. Most of them passed us going the other way. Maybe they know something that we do not know about what is waiting for us in the direction we are headed, I said with a snicker.

The farther north we go, the fewer cars we will see because there is not much around here, Ralph answered through a wide yawn.There are a few isolated fishing camps, some broken-down motels, and a few rather unappetizing eating places, but that’s about all. We may as well be heading to the backside of the moon. It has been a long time since I traveled this road, but nothing has really changed as far as I can see. This place will probably still be like this a hundred years from now.

There are a lot of places like this, Ralph, I said as I looked ahead through the dusty window. Worn-out land. Impossible places for people to eke out a living. Places like this may as well be a million miles from anywhere or anyone. While I was traveling out west some years ago, I saw whole states of sand, desert, and cactus. It was mostly land that is not worth a damn to anyone, except perhaps to a few poor, bony cattle scratching the ground for a few mouthfuls of dried grass. As far as I am concerned, they can keep it!

I do not think your description applies,Ralph answered. This is not exactly infertile land, you know. It is only that it is a rather harsh climate this far north, with a very short growing season. To begin with, there are not too many people here to make the best use of the land, but I rather think this will all change in years to come. Maybe not during our lifetime, but sometime in the far-distant future.

I did not answer him. I simply grunted an acknowledgment that I had heard what he said.

Ralph continued, I thought you liked the great outdoors, Pat. At least that is what you are always telling me. That is also one of the reasons we are taking this trip. Is it not? He asked that in a rather condescending tone.

I had now become a little irritated with this line of conversation and answered him rather sharply, Maybe you’re right, but I’m not convinced. Perhaps I’ll feel different after we return from this trip. Besides, Ralph, it’s not the same thing. You know very well what I mean. It may be all right for a week or two, but I’m sure I would not want to spend the rest of my life in this kind of place. I am, after all, a city boy. Getting away from it all is only a temporary pleasure, and you feel the same way. Don’t bull-crap me! Another thing, this wilderness trip was entirely your idea. I’m here only because you trapped me into it, but I do not want you to get the idea that I’m complaining, I said as I turned briefly to look at him.

Sensing my rather obvious irritability, Ralph spoke in a lower and less offensive voice. Yes, I know what you mean, Pat, and you are right about living in this lonesome place. I like getting away from everything–the noise, the traffic, the everyday routine. It recharges the old batteries, as they say. It seems to me, the older I get the more I enjoy nature and the less tolerant I am of everything else. Most things did not seem to bother me when I was young because I guess I was too busy to have much time to think about it. Somehow, none of that matters to me when I am tromping around in the deep woods or paddling along a river in my canoe. To me, this is like another magical world. I do not have to compete as I do when I am at home. All that I have to do in the wilds is be myself. And, as for me trapping you into taking this trip with me, I guess that is not exactly untrue. But, when it is all over and done with, and you are full of vim and vigor and vitality and excitement, you will realize that it was all for your own good.

I agree, I said quickly just to avoid any more conversation with him on that subject. Now, Ralph, how are the chances of your changing places with me for a while behind this steering wheel? My neck is beginning to get stiff, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep. If that happens, we will both be looking up from a ditch.

Okay, Pat. Pull over and stop and slide over. I will go around the car and get in from your side.

Once we switched places, Ralph must have sensed from my irritability that I needed my sleep a lot more than I needed more conversation, so he did not say any more.

In an attempt to make myself as comfortable as possible, I braced my back into the corner of the seat next to the door, stretched out my legs, and closed my eyes. What am I doing here in this place? I asked myself. I could be home right now in a nice, warm, comfortable bed. Sometimes I think I carry this outdoor stuff a little too far. I remembered that when we made the plans for this trip I never really considered the hardships I might have to face. Up to this point in time, Ralph and I had taken short canoeing trips here and there around the state, but we never were very far from civilization. Usually we would travel no more than a dozen miles or so on a river or stream, but always within a short distance from a city or town. We either brought a bag of food with us, or we banked our canoe along the shore and ate our food in a nearby restaurant.

The longest trip we’d made before by canoe was about eighteen miles. Now we are making a two-week trip on the water, and God only knows how many miles we will cover during that time. I remembered that before we left my home in Ohio, when I put that question to Ralph, he guessed we’d travel more than a hundred and fifty miles. I should expect a lot of sore muscles before the trip is over. Still, it is the prospect of having to portage the canoe and having to carry all of our equipment that bothers me most. I can hardly tolerate sleeping on the ground in a tent and eating strange foods. I guess I’m not really the rugged, outdoor type after all! Actually, I never pretended to be that. This was entirely Ralph’s idea—the two of us taking this wilderness adventure in the wilds of Northern Canada. I could have said no. I should have said no, but I did not want to disappoint Ralph, and I also needed to get away awhile from my home in Dayton and get a rest from my job.

We finally left the smooth tarmac of the road and were now bumping along on loose gravel which jarred me from my deep thoughts. Opening my eyes, I sat up straight and looked ahead through the bug-splattered windshield. All I could see was the narrow, dusty road cutting through the thick pine forest.

I guess that is the last of the highway, Ralph said with a sigh as he glanced my way. According to my map, we have about three hours more of driving before we reach our campsite. It will be rough as hell on us and on the car from this point on, so try to get some sleep if you can. I will do my very best to avoid the worst of the ruts and potholes in this washboard of a road.

I will certainly appreciate that, Ralph. Also, keep your eyes open for any stray deer or moose in the middle of the road. I still remember one of your stories about that problem during your first trip through this general area. Anyway, I hate unpleasant surprises when I am sleeping. Sliding back down into my rather uncomfortable position in the car seat, I again closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the cars engine blending with the noise of the tires on the loose gravel. I sincerely wished that I was back in Dayton sitting in front of my televison set and sipping a double martini.

Our first full day on the road went by rather quickly. Ralph was a very careful and extremely meticulous man about details. We spent some of our time verbally reviewing safety measures, along with the necessary remedies for treating poison ivy, snake bite and hypothermia in the event our canoe was upset. Reviewing a prepared list Ralph had made before we let Dayton, we made certain we had every single item packed into both of our duffel bags, which were now tucked securely away in the back of the station wagon. At one point when I could not definitely remember packing my extra woolen stockings, Ralph was ready to stop driving so we could open my duffel bag and check its contents. However, after giving some thought to it, I remembered that I had brought five extra pairs with me which were packed in my bag along with my undershirts. When I told this to Ralph I had the uncomfortable feeling that it was not my woolen stockings that he was interested in looking for–it was my bottle of gin! We continued driving for another half-hour or so before the subject was again brought up by Ralph.

You know, Pat, this outing can do both of us a lot of good. I am referring to the physical as well as the mental tonic of fresh air, sunshine, and the sheer exertion of our trip. Your very good friend Tom Walsh was not kidding you when he said you have not been looking too well lately. You realize that, do you not, Pat? You know what I am referring to?

I suppose so, Ralph, I barked. But, just where in the hell are you going with this line of conversation?"

I hope you will not get angry and become all bent out of shape if I answer your question outright. Will you? Ralph asked softly as he looked searchingly at me.

Ask, I said with an obvious snarl, again becoming very irritated with his cat-and-mouse game and knowing full well what Ralph was driving at.

Have you brought along a bottle of drinking alcohol in your gear?

For a long minute I did not answer him. Feeling the warm flush on my face, I just continued looking straight ahead through the windshield. He did not say anymore but just continued looking at me and awaiting my answer. After I felt that I had regained my composure, I cast a fast side glance toward him and answered him in a small voice. There was no doubt in my mind that I was feeling a little ashamed at being found out. That was especially true since before we left for this trip we had agreed that there would be no drinking.

There’s a full bottle of Gilbey’s gin that I had stashed in my pack, I said softly. It is in with my shaving gear. When we make camp later, you can lock it in the glove compartment of the car if it makes you feel better. I am really sorry, Ralph. It was not as though I planned on getting sloshed or anything like that. One fifth of booze would not do it anyway, but it just made me feel a lot more comfortable knowing it was there if I needed it. I am as sorry as hell I brought it with me, but I hope you understand why I did it.

Turning his face away from me, Ralph said softly, I understand, Pat. We will not talk about it anymore. I hope you can forgive me for having to ask, but I hope you also understand why I had to know.

That is okay, Ralph. I should have known better, Now, I think that it is time for us to change the subject. If you are up to it, I would again like to hear that story about your last trip up here. There a few more questions I would like to ask you about that experience.

While we continued driving along, I tried to listen to Ralph’s voice droning on and on, but all I could think about was that bottle of gin in my shaving kit. Why the hell did I bring it? Worse than that, why did I tell Ralph about it? Somehow I could not get my mind off that bottle. I must surely be an alcoholic, I thought. Otherwise, I would not have done what I did–hiding that bottle–and I would not now be so miserable thinking about it. In an effort to break free of that disturbing thought pattern, I tried concentrating on what Ralph was saying. His voice began to slowly come back into focus. He was still talking about his previous experiences in the area we were now heading for. This was the one subject of conversation between us that could ordinarily command my full attention. Throughout his vivid description of those earlier trips I was struck by the hardships he endured. I could not help but wonder how a person could derive such enjoyment and pleasure from that kind of physical effort. Again, I was plagued with self-doubt about myself and my actions during this trip.

After hours of driving, and when darkness finally overcame us, we stopped at the entrance to the state park–just as we had planned. Because it was now raining, we did not set up our tent. Rather than doing that, we decided to try to sleep in the station wagon. We knew that it would be uncomfortable, but at least we would manage to stay dry. That decision turned out to be a mistake since there was too much gear inside the car for us to get comfortable. Early the next morning, and by mutual agreement, we left the park–neither one of us feeling very rested for the long drive that still faced us.

It was later that morning when I had finally tired of listening to Ralph talking about his earlier trips. That is when I tried to close my eyes and get some much-needed sleep. However, Ralph seemed to feel it was now time for him to engage in his favorite subject, which was politics and the role of the classes. This was a side to him that was extremely irksome to me, and more than once in the past he had made statements that had totally infuriated me. Not being politically astute, I was not particularly interested in discussing these kinds of matters with him. In addition, his opinions were, it seemed to me, extremely radical. I would have to say they were sometimes to the point of being fanatical. I could not quite classify him as a Fascist, but some of his ideas came dangerously close. Each time he went a bit overboard with his claptrap, it had a very definite, dampening effect on me, and it tended to diminish his stature in my eyes. The instant he started on this topic I recognized the signs, and I made a strong protest. I told him I needed my sleep more than I needed to hear any more about his brilliant ideas for a solution to all the world’s problems. With a grumble he turned his attention to his driving and said no more about it.

Sometime that day Ralph was again driving while I was sitting cramped in the seat beside him. I had been awakened by a lurch of the car and was trying desperately to fall back to sleep. Because my mind began rehashing our earlier disagreement, I found that I could not go back to sleep. In addition, I thought about problems that Ralph and I may run into during this trip. I wondered if I would be able to prove myself to him, and more importantly, to myself. Will it be possible for me to perform my duties without my drinking crutch to lean on? I knew that this experience could be my opportunity to discover any of my hidden strengths and to recognize and overcome some of my glaring weaknesses. This might very well be the last chance in my lifetime to be successful at anything! At that point, I promised myself I would try. I would try like hell! It was a long time later when the swaying of the car and the hum of the engine drew me back into a welcome, restful sleep.

 ~Chapter Two~

I must have slept for several hours because it was dark when I awoke. Not just dark but pitch-black dark, like the inside of a long black tunnel. The only light was cast from our headlights as they played along the trees and onto the narrow dirt road ahead. Ralph had turned off the dash lights inside the car as he usually did while driving at night. He claimed these lights bothered his concentration. I sat there next to him in my cramped position for several more minutes before I was fully awake. Then I spoke, Do you want me to take the wheel now?

So, you are finally awake! No, I’ll finish up tonight. You’ve been out for about three hours, and we’re now within a few miles of the wayside where we’re going to camp for the night. You may have trouble getting back to sleep after we set up camp because of that long snooze you just took.

Want to bet on that? I snapped. Where are we anyway? Can’t be certain we’re even on the road from the way it feels and from what I can see through the windshield.

I can see fine, Pat. I am not being blinded by the headlights of oncoming cars. To tell you the truth, the last car I saw going in either direction was about two hours ago, but I did see plenty of eyes ahead in the glare of the headlights. There must be ten thousand deer up in these parts. I was not able to drive much over thirty because of the deer and this washboard road, but we are still making good time anyway. Say, is there any more of that coffee left in the thermos?

Stretching and yawning from my corner, I reached over the back of the seat and lifted the thermos bottle. It was empty. I shook it to be certain. Sorry, we must have finished off the last of it earlier, but after we set up camp I’ll make a fresh pot on the Coleman. And do not forget that coffee will keep you awake. That is what you’re always telling me, and you need your rest for the morning. I was kidding Ralph, but all he did was grunt and snarl.

Yeah! Maybe we can just drive straight on through and not bother to set up the tent tonight. Like hell we will! Just because you want someone to talk to. Maybe you can go—wait! There is the cut-off to the wayside ahead! Ralph shouted excitedly. We should be there in a few more minutes. That is, if the place has not been abandoned and allowed to become overgrown with brush. Remember, it has been a few years since Mike Dempsey and I were last here. The one thing that sticks out in my mind about it is the wonderful, ice-cold well water, and how we had to use an old hand pump to draw it up from the deep well. I hope it is still working.

I suppose we have come about fifty miles out of our way for that water, Ralph, I said sarcastically. Knowing you, I would not be surprised. I never knew anyone who could enjoy simple water as much as you apparently do. Personally, I’ll settle for a cup of that coffee right after we set up our tent.

Sure you will, Ralph responded, and you will then spend the night tossing and turning afterwards instead of getting a good night’s sleep as I plan to do.

You’re probably right, I answered . If you had not made me give up my bottle of Gilbey’s, we could both have a drink of something that would help to relax us and promote that good night’s rest. Ralph did not answer me.

As we proceeded along the dark road, the headlights of the car picked up a clearing in the trees ahead on our right. When we got closer, I could see in the headlights a weather-beaten wooden plaque that hung from a post next to the road. It read Lost Province Park. Ralph pulled the car off the road into the center of the small clearing and left the motor running and the lights on while we got out. It took us about fifteen minutes to set up our two-man tent while working in the glare of the car’s headlights. After dumping our sleeping bags on the ground inside the tent, I took the coffee pot and the Coleman stove from the pack and began to make a fresh pot using the water from the pump that Ralph was so fond of.

None of that stuff for me, Pat, Ralph hollered from the back of the car. Go ahead and make some for yourself if you insist, and make a full pot while you’re at it because we can probably reheat what’s left for our breakfast. Good night, Pat! I’m as tired as hell, and I’m going right into the tent to hit the hay. Whatever you do, be sure you cover up that packet of food where you took the coffee from, and then be certain to close the car doors tightly. We surely don’t want any unwelcome visitors invading our camp during the night. I’m sure you are not interested in sharing your sleeping bag with a bear.

There’s no need to worry about that possibly happening, Ralph, I answered with a chuckle. I was well aware of some of his earlier experiences with animals that invaded his campsite. I’ll see you at daybreak. After you are up, I will make a good breakfast to help us start the day out right. Good night.

After Ralph had gone to bed, I sat down on the stump of a fallen tree next to the little propane stove with its flickering blue light. It was damp and chilly, and I was glad I was wearing my warm parka. I appreciated the slight warmth generated by the stove. I had the strangest feeling as I sat there that I was being watched from every dark shadow outside of my dull halo of light. Along with the crickets and other insects, I could hear rustling noises in the nearby brush. I imagined I was surrounded by unknown animals, with their night sounds filling my ears. Somehow I felt very vulnerable sitting there in the open, but the sound of the boiling water in the coffee pot distracted me from my disturbing thoughts. As I poured my cup of coffee, I thought about the bottle of gin that I had turned over to Ralph the night before. At his insistence, it was emptied on the ground rather than locked in the glove compartment of the car. I was sorry that I had told him about having hidden it in my gear. Much later I finally climbed into my sleeping bag next to Ralph in the tent. He was snoring softly, and in spite of the several cups of coffee I had drunk, sleep came easily to me.

Shortly after daybreak I was roused by the sound of banging pots and the slamming of the car door. Looking out through the flap of the tent, I could see that Ralph was busy preparing our breakfast. The inviting smell of bacon frying in the skillet immediately invaded my nose. Unzipping myself from my sleeping bag, I became keenly aware of the biting cold. It was difficult for me to believe that this was the middle of July. I roughly gauged the temperature to be around forty degrees; it could not be much more than that. Climbing out of my sleeping bag, I slipped into my trousers, pulled on my boots, grabbed up my parka, put it on, and left the tent.

Good morning! That bacon really smells good, I remarked to Ralph as I approached him. What can I do to help?

Good morning, Pat. It is all done, and I do not need any help. I have been up for about an hour already. When I left the tent you were sound asleep, and I did not have the heart to wake you. What time did you get to bed last night? It must have been pretty late.

Oh, maybe an hour or so after you did, I answered. I could not sleep because of all those noises I heard in the brush. That, plus the six cups of coffee I drank yesterday. I really have to cut down. How’s the coffee that was left over in the pot from last night? Any good?

It will be okay, I guess. I just added some fresh grounds and some more of that good water from the pump. It is always a great morning wake-up tonic.

Yes, it smells great! So does that bacon that is beginning to burn, Ralph. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it, I said as I picked up the fork and turned the crispy strips while I lowered the flame under the frying pan.

How do you like your eggs? he asked as he looked at me.

I’ll take them anyway they come. Broken over is okay, but take it easy on the bacon. I’m trying to cut down a bit on my weight, you know.

When everything was ready, Ralph served the hot food on the tin plates he had placed near the fire to warm. All things considered, it really was not a bad breakfast.

Pour what is left of that coffee into the thermos bottle, will you, Pat? We will be glad to have it later today. Also, do not forget to fill the water jug. We will not find good water like this as we get farther up north. Once we launch the canoe, we will have to start scooping it out of the lake for drinking. Oh, there is nothing to worry about. It is good water, and cold, but I would have to say that it is not as good as this water.

We finished packing all of our gear into the back of the station wagon, and we walked around the clearing to be sure we had not forgotten anything. Just before we got into the car to leave, Ralph asked me to use my camera to take a picture of him standing next to the little rustic sign near the road.

I want that picture to show to a friend of mine. He was the fellow who made this trip up here with me the first time. This is also the same spot where we had stayed that night. I told you about Brad Gunter. He will get a big kick out of it.

Since Ralph had driven the car last, it was now my turn behind the wheel. For about an hour we slowly made our way along the road,