For an Ss Treasure

By Michael Kiker

From the hell of Berlin as it fell at the end of WW2, follow the trail of a treasure of Nazi SS gold bullion to Indochina. Smuggled out of Berlin, as it fell to the Russian Red Army in 1945 by 5 young SS officers, who end up joining the French Foreign Legion, the gold is lost in South Vietnam.

In 1968, after he is given a map to find the lost SS treasure, Mike Bennett returns to South Vietnam to search for the lost gold and his lost love. To succeed in this mission Bennett must fight the enemy from the North and battle the demons of the past to find the SS Treasure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669886969

Michael Kiker

Michael John Kiker After serving over 30 years as a soldier in the Australian Army, when I retired I turned my hand to writing and love the challenge of converting my many story ideas into exciting books which I hope my readers will enjoy. Over many years I served with soldiers who had seen active service in many different conflicts and I heard so many great stories told to me over a beer or two. I try to include some of these true-life tales into my fiction writing. By doing this I hope it gives my readers a chance to experience the life and death situations many of my mates have been in.

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For An

SS Treasure

Michael Kiker

Copyright © 2023 by Michael Kiker.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/03/2022

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1     The Treasure

Chapter 2     The Legion

Chapter 3     Srp In Indochina

Chapter 4     The Temple

Chapter 5     The Battle Of Bac Kan

Chapter 6     Saigon 1968

Chapter 7     Getting To The Temple

About The Author

CHAPTER ONE

THE TREASURE

Huge bombs rained down on the city of Berlin, as they had done for weeks. A glowing orange aura stretched across the clear night sky, as what was left of the once beautiful old city burned.

The relentless daily air raids, carried out by the Allied Armies, had destroyed most of the centre piece of Nazi German’s empire. And now a brutal ground battle for the control of Berlin had begun.

The shells that now fell on the city came from long range artillery pieces of the Russian Army, which was slowly closing in on a final victory over Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich, Nazi Germany.

The war was as good as over and Ernst Kruger, a Major in the Waffen-SS, knew this better than most.

He was a tall, strong, and immensely proud young German with almost white blond hair, shaved short up the back and sides of his noble head. With a strong square jawline, sapphire blue eyes, and a tanned face, he had the striking good looks of an Aryan God.

His blue eyes looked out from under the short black brim of his Waffen-SS officer’s cap. In the centre of the cap, above the brim, was the recognisable silver scull emblem of the notorious Waffen-SS.

Ernst wore the rank of Major with pride on the dark grey jacket of his SS uniform, which fitted his strong, well-built body like a glove. The dark grey trousers of his uniform ballooned out above knee-high black leather riding boots, which were far from the immaculately polished leather they had once been.

His uniform was coated with a film of dust and grime and stained with sweat from fighting the Russians for days on the streets of the devastated city of Berlin.

Just above the left breast pocket of his jacket, he wore the ribbons of the medals he had earned fighting for his beloved Fatherland. Just below the ribbons he wore the most important of his decorations, the Nazi Iron Cross, won for his bravery in deadly battles around Greece early in the war.

Ernst was standing outside a huge vault in the basement of the Deutsche Bank, on Friedrich Straze in Berlin. He was fumbling with a cluster of large keys. One of the keys would open the lock of an iron bar gate that barred entry to the bank’s huge underground vault. The vault was filled with wooden pallets stacked high with gleaming 400-ounce bars of Nazi gold bullion.

The gold shimmered brightly in the light of kerosene-burning lanterns held up high by two of his four companions, who crowded in close behind him.

Ernst was in the bank’s basement with four other young SS officers. They had been friends since they were conscripted from Berlin University in 1939, just after the start of the Second World War.

Ernst Kruger had been studying economics when his conscription papers arrived, requiring him to join the mighty German Army.

Standing close behind Ernst was his closest friend at university, Hans Muller, who had been studying Engineering when his papers arrived.

Hans was a tall, well-built, proud young German, with blond hair, cut in a similar style to Ernst. He to, had blue eyes and strong Aryan features. He had been drafted into the army and now stood a few feet behind Ernst holding five empty German military-issued field packs. On his uniform he wore the ribbons of his medals, and the rank of Captain.

After their initial officer training, the two friends were both inducted into the Waffen-SS as Lieutenants, where they met the other three young men standing with them at the gate to the bank vault, and the stacks of gleaming gold.

Standing to the right of Hans was Dieter Schneider, who had been a political activist at university where he was studying political science, before he happily joined the German Army and was inducted into the Waffen-SS.

Dieter was a staunchly loyal soldier to the Fatherland and the Waffen-SS and a fearlessly loyal friend to his four SS comrades. He stood six feet tall with striking Aryan features, short blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He also wore his medal ribbons on his grimy uniform jacket and the rank of Captain.

One of Captain Schneider’s more important tasks, within the Waffen-SS, was to gain intelligence from captured soldiers or German citizens. Over the years of loyal service, he had become a master in interrogation. He had developed and perfected many forms of torture to gain valuable information. Many of his information-gathering sessions ended badly for the person or persons who Dieter thought were withholding information. He was ruthless and it seemed without remorse.

After the death of a prisoner he had been interrogating, usually in excruciating pain, Dieter would slip a playing card into a pocket, if they were wearing clothes, or between their buttocks if they were naked. The cards became a calling card or warning that Captain Dieter Schneider was responsible for the death.

On the back of the playing cards was the infamous zig zag SS symbol of the Waffen-SS, printed in black on a red background. The zig zag SS was above a skeleton and cross bones SS symbol, printed in white.

Dieter purchased twenty decks of fifty-two playing cards when he first joined the SS and as the war went on, he had used almost half, tagging each of his victims with a card.

Ralf Meyer stood just behind Hans and held one of the lanterns high above his head, giving light to Ernst as he fiddled with the keys and the gate lock.

Ralf was the oldest son of a very wealthy Berlin family and was also studying economics but was a year behind Ernst when he was drafted and allocated to the SS.

He looked different to Ernst, Hans and Dieter with dark hair and fair skin. He was slightly built and stood just less than six feet tall. He was a Lieutenant and his filthy uniform hung untidily from him and looked as though it had not been cleaned or touched by an iron for weeks.

Ralf was well known within the SS as a soldier who had the handy knack of acquiring items that were needed. When he had the chance to spend time with his friends, Ralf would supply the alcohol and food for the parties the five young officers would throw.

The limit to what Ralf could get his hands on was almost limitless. On one occasion when he and his four friends were to spend a few days together in the city of Bordeaux France, Ralf acquired a small marquee and filled it with tables, chairs, food, and fine wine.

The party lasted three days and by the end of the three days the five SS officers had entertained many high-ranking German officers and most of the young women of Bordeaux.

Franz Becker was the fifth member of the group and held the other lantern, waiting impatiently as Ernst tried each key of the cluster in the lock of the vault gate. Franz was the shortest of the group and wore the rank of Lieutenant. He had ginger hair with a freckled face and looked boyish next to his companions.

He had not taken to soldiering well but would never let his friends or the Fatherland down in battle. He was the youngest of the five soldiers and had only just commenced his university studies, in business, when he had been drafted.

Franz’s father had been a greatly decorated German war hero of the First World War. Franz tried his best to live up to the memory of his father and was given many privileges most other soldiers did not receive. Although he tried hard, he was a great disappointment to his beloved father.

All five young officers in the bank’s basement were dressed in the dark grey uniform of an SS officer and had served together throughout the war in various positions within the Waffen-SS.

They spent as much time as they could together throughout the war years, when time and location permitted. They all enjoyed time away from their jobs and the war; drinking, womanising, and having a good time together.

They were all wearing field webbing with two canvas pouches at the front and water bottle holders on their hips, attached to the webbing harnesses. The front pouches were filled with magazines crammed with 9mm ammunition for their MP 40 submachine guns, slung across their chests, and Luger pistols holstered on their right hips.

The water bottles in the holders on their webbing were filled and they had food in small bum-bags at the rear of their webbing; enough to get them through the next few days.

And now, as the city was being destroyed above them, they stood around Ernst and waited for him to find the correct key to open the gate and allow them access to the precious gold within.

"Common Ernst," Hans urged, as Ernst tried yet another key in the lock.

Would you like to do it? Ernst replied tersely as he tried to turn the key. It did not move; the locking mechanism remained unintimidated.

Franz Becker stepped up. Try the last key in the cluster, he suggested. It’s always the last key, he added.

"Shut your cakehole, runt," Dieter Schneider growled angrily.

Ernst flicked through the cluster of heavy metal keys, to the last key on the large metal key ring. He slid the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism of the huge lock rotated with metallic clinks and clunks.

Told you, it’s always the last key you try, Franz noted with a satisfied smile of his grimy face.

"Whatever," Dieter grumbled and stepped forwards as Ernst pushed against the gate and it opened with a loud metal on metal squeaking creak.

They stepped inside the forty-foot square vault and moved quickly to the stacks of gold. The sound of the shelling of the city above was like listening to a distant summer storm. The explosions rumbled like thunder and shook what was left on the building they were in.

Put as many bars as you can easily carry into the packs, Ernst ordered as Hans handed each of them a field pack. I would think that eight bars would be the absolute maximum you can carry, he advised. Any more and your packs will be too heavy and cumbersome if we need to move quickly, he added as he hefted a heavy gold bar from the first stack he stepped up to.

He had to use both hands to lift the bar from the stack. The weight of eight bars will be extremely heavy, he thought as he placed the first bar into his pack.

"Why don’t we just load up a truck with all the fucking gold?" Dieter asked as he lifted a bar from the stack he stood beside, surprised by the hefty weight of the bar that was only seven inches long, three inches wide and just over an inch thick.

We wouldn’t get a truck loaded with gold out of the city, let alone out of the country, Ernst explained. Most of the streets of the city are clogged with rubble and debris from destroyed buildings. We wouldn’t get two or three blocks in a truck before we would have to stop.

"So how are we going to get our treasure of gold out of the city?" Dieter asked as he placed another gold bar into his pack. It made a dull metallic clink when it was laid on top of the bar already in the pack.

You’ll see, Hans informed him. Just fill your pack and trust Ernst, Dieter, he added.

"I would just like to know how our esteemed Major will get us out of the city with all this gold, Dieter grumbled as he slipped a third bar into his pack. Are we going to fucking walk to the border?"

I have it under control, Captain Schneider, Franz Becker informed him, as he slipped a third gold bar into his pack.

"That really worries me, Dieter stated, standing up from his pack. The success of our escape with all this fucking gold has been left up to this fool," he hissed, pointing at Franz.

Ernst stepped in front of Dieter and placed his right hand on his friend’s left shoulder. That’s enough, Dieter, he said. Franz has organised five R12 BMW dirt motorbikes for us to ride out of this hell hole and away from the fucking Russians, he informed his friend.

I am the officer in charge of the Berlin motor pool, Franz informed Dieter, as he lifted another bar off the stack he was at. The bikes will be waiting for us, fully fuelled and ready to go, at the rear of the bank in…, he paused to check his wrist watch, five minutes.

I’ll believe that when I see it, Dieter whispered and bent back to his gold stack to pick up another heavy bar.

When all five packs contained eight gold bars, the SS officers swung the heavy packs onto their backs, over their webbing harness. They felt the enormous weight they were to carry pull down on their shoulders.

Each pack, containing eight bars, weighed almost two hundred pounds. Each pack of gold was worth over one hundred and twelve thousand US dollars. In 1945 this amount of money was a small fortune for each young man to make a new life for himself, in a new country far away from Germany.

Shit, this is bloody heavy, Ralf Meyer complained as he stood up and felt the enormous weight of the pack pull down on his shoulders.

Well you could leave your share here if it’s too heavy for you to carry, Meyer, Dieter stated. Your family has money; you’ll not be poor after the war.

Shut your fucking cakehole you piece of shit, Ralf replied angrily. "I have nothing left in Berlin, he yelled angrily. My family house was destroyed three nights ago, with what was left of my family inside," he informed them all and turned away from his friends.

I’m sorry, Ralf. I didn’t know, Dieter apologised quickly.

Ernst stepped over to where Ralf stood shaking; tears began to roll down his grimy face. Why didn’t you say something Ralf? Ernst asked. We heard nothing of this. What happened?

Ralf dropped the pack from his back and sat on a low stack of gold bars. They had just sat down to an evening meal when a one-hundred-pound bomb, fired from a fucking Russian Howitzer smashed through the roof of our house and detonated right above them, he informed his friends, weeping into his hands that covered his face. They were all killed instantly. The entire house was destroyed by just one of the hundreds of bombs that fell during that night.

In the vault, all remained silent for a moment. The only sound was Ralf weeping and the distant rumbling, as bombs continued to fall on the city above.

You are such a fucking asshole, Dieter, Hans hissed.

How the bloody hell could I have known this had happened, Dieter replied. Let’s just get the fuck out of here, while we can, he added and walked from the vault, to a set of stone steps that led back up to what was left of the Deutsche Bank.

"Wait, Ernst insisted. Hans can you set a few booby traps, for any unsuspecting treasure hunters? he asked. Those fucking Red Army bastards will be all over this place in a few days, and I would like to drop this whole fucking bank down on top of the first Russian bastards that stumble on to this gold," he said, waving his right hand towards the gold.

Hans Muller smiled and nodded his head. Of course I can, Heir Major, he replied and lowered his heavy pack of gold onto the floor with a metallic clink. It will be my absolute pleasure, he added and slipped a wax sealed block of SS Westfalit explosive from one of his webbing pouches.

The packet of explosive was just larger than a cigarette packet. He had four of the explosive packets in one of his webbing pouches. As an SS engineer and demolition expert, he always had some Westfalit explosive packets handy.

I’ll set a charge up on each of the four pylons holding up the roof and attach them to a trip wire from the vault gate. When those greedy Russian bastards open the gate to get to the gold, what is left of this bank will come crashing down on their fucking heads, he informed the others. I’ll meet you out back in a few minutes, he added. We’ll get a bit of revenge for your family, Ralf.

Before we go, put a few of these in your pockets, Ernst suggested, scooping up a handful of 10-ounce gold ingots from a box full of small ingots on the floor, just inside the vault gate. We’ll have to pay our way out of many situations before we are safe, so we’ll need plenty of these, he added, slipping the ingots into a deep pocket of his trousers. Each two-inch by one-inch ingot was worth about three hundred and fifty US dollars.

They each slipped a handful of small ingots into their pockets, and left Hans to work his magic with the Westfalit explosive.

Outside in a compound at the rear of the partially destroyed Deutsche Bank, the night sky was aglow with hundreds of fires that burnt out of control throughout the city. The distant horizon would light up every few seconds as bombs exploded all over the city.

******

Two days earlier, Heinrich Himmler had summoned Ernst into his office which was in a bunker under the Headquarters building of the Waffen-SS on Niederkircher Straze in Berlin.

Ernst had been posted to the office of Heinrich Himmler, as a young Lieutenant in early 1941, working closely with Himmler’s senior advisors. He was promoted to Captain soon after arriving to work for Himmler.

Heinrich Himmler was one of Adolph Hitler’s most senior officers and was the commander of Nazi Germany’s Waffen-SS.

It was in Greece, at the battle of the Klidi Pass, in April 1941 when Ernst first became closely involved with the commander of the SS, when he saved Himmler’s life.

Himmler had been ordered, by Adolph Hitler, to go to Greece and report back on why the Italian Army had failed so badly in their quest to occupy Greece.

Himmler’s vehicle convoy had been driving through the Greek countryside, near the town of Thermopylae, when it was caught in an enemy ambush at the Klidi Pass. Most of Himmler’s staff and his personal guard had been killed at the outset of the ambush.

Ernst was caught in the ambush and quickly realised Himmler would be killed as the enemy pressed their advantage. He gathered what men he could find still alive, and mounted a counter attack against the overwhelming numbers of enemy troops. The SS soldiers he led broke the ambush and sent the enemy fleeing in numbers.

Not long after Ernst had regained the initiative, a convoy of trucks with German reinforcements arrived and Himmler was safely evacuated, thanks to the heroism of Ernst Kruger.

Ernst returned from Greece a hero, and was presented with the Iron Cross for valour by Heinrich Himmler himself. The senior German would never forget his bravery and Ernst became one of Himmler’s most trusted aides.

With his background in finance, Ernst was soon promoted to Major and given a position within the Waffen-SS finance department. One of his jobs was to audit the stock piles of Nazi gold that were scattered around the city of Berlin. It was from one of these gold stock piles he and his four friends had filled their packs full of gold bars.

When Himmler summoned Ernst to his office two days earlier, Ernst knocked on the heavy metal door of the bunker office. He waited a moment before the door was swung open by Himmler’s female personal secretary.

Ah, young Kruger, please come in, Himmler invited, and Ernst stepped past the attractive young secretary as she closed the door. Ernst marched up to his commander’s desk and threw up his right hand, in a stiff-armed salute, yelling Hail Hitler, Sir.

Himmler waved his right hand at the young man on the other side of the desk. Enough of that, Ernst, he said in a sad tired voice. I have just heard that our leader, Adolf Hitler, has committed suicide in his bunker, he informed Ernst and the young man’s eyes dropped to see the dour look on Himmler’s face.

I have only just heard the news, Himmler informed him. The war is as good as over, and it is time for you to leave Germany, my boy.

No, Sir, it is my duty to fight to the very end, Sir, Ernst stated.

You saved my life once, young Kruger, Himmler said. And now I will repay your bravery by saving your life now, he added and stood, walking around his desk to stand beside Ernst.

He placed his left hand on the young major’s right shoulder and smiled, a fatigued thin smile, at Ernst. Go down to one of the gold deposits and take as much as you can carry, then get the hell out of the city and don’t stop until you are well away from Germany, he advised and walked slowly back to his chair on the other side of the desk.

Ernst could not believe what his commander was saying. Sir, with respect, it is my duty to fight until dead for the Fatherland, he said, looking down at his commander, who did not look up from the papers that covered his desk.

The time for fighting and dying has gone, Himmler whispered. The Red Army will be here in days and they will kill everyone in sight, he added, shuffling through the papers that were strewn across his desk. This is the name and the address of a Swiss Red Cross officer in Zurich, he informed Ernst holding out a slip of paper. If you can get to Zurich, this man will help you get out of Europe and away from what is to come, when the world judges us for what we have done.

Himmler paused and looked up at Ernst. Promise me you will flee as I have advised; there is nothing more you can do here, Ernst. If you remain, you will be either killed or imprisoned, he stated in a stern voice. I have done many things that I am ashamed of, young Kruger, but this is one thing I can do that is the right thing, he added, standing again, staring at Ernst with the slip of paper held out in his right hand, and a small cream-coloured envelope in his left hand.

You have served the Fatherland well, young Kruger. Now take this letter and give it to a man called Benzinger, at this address in Zurich, and save yourself.

Ernst reached out and took the small slip of paper and the letter inside the envelope from Himmler. Thank you, Sir. It has been an honour to serve under you, Sir, he stated, then clicked the heels of his black knee-high boots together. He turned and walked to the office door.

Good luck, Ernst, Himmler called as the office door opened. Ernst looked back to his commander. Good luck to you, Sir, he said.

I think it will take more than luck for me to survive this, Himmler replied as Ernst stepped through the door and left.

******

As Franz Becker had promised, five olive green BMW dirt bikes were parked by what was left of the rear door to the Deutsche Bank. Ernst and the three young men with him selected a motorbike each and dropped their heavy packs by their machines, unslung their MP 40s and waited for Hans to arrive.

Ernst moved over to a small wooden crate filled with filthy old overcoats, which had been delivered along with the BMW’s. The crate was on the ground by the bike he had chosen. He reached into the box of coats and selected a heavy, old foul-smelling overcoat and stuffed it into his pack, on top of the gold bars.

Come and pick out one of these to wear, he suggested to the others. When we get out of the city, we’ll need to ditch these uniforms, he added.

The others moved over and pulled coats from the box.

"Fuck me, these things stink, Dieter complained as he sniffed the coat he selected, using only the fingertips of his right hand to hold the garment out in front. It smells like some bastard died in it," he added, holding the coat at arm’s length.

Someone probably did, Ralf informed him, as he stuffed a coat in on top of the gold in his pack. I acquired these coats from the Gestapo prison in town, where they held political prisoners, he explained. Knowing those Gestapo bastards, people probably did die in these coats.

I think I’ll take my chances in my bloody uniform, Dieter stated and dropped the coat back into the box.

You’ll pick one of these coats, Dieter, Ernst ordered sternly. And when it’s time, you’ll get rid of your bloody uniform jacket and put it on, he added, staring angrily at his friend.

Reluctantly Dieter picked up the coat he had dropped back into the box and with a look of vile disgust on his face he looked the putrid coat up and down. A crude yellow fabric six-pointed star was stitched on the left side of the coat, just below the shoulder. JUDE was written in black in the centre of the fabric star.

Dieter seized the four-inch wide star and ripped it off.

"This was a fucking Jew’s coat, he grumbled as he threw the star away. Why the hell will we have to wear this shit for anyway?" he asked angrily.

We’ll need to blend in as refugees when we get out of the city, Ernst explained.

Well, if they all smell like shit, then we’ll blend in just fine, Dieter grumbled.

"Shut up, Dieter!" The others all yelled at once, as Dieter stuffed the coat into his pack.

Ernst slung the MP 40 machine gun he carried across his chest and slipped on his heavy pack of gold. With the weight of the gold pulling down on his shoulders, he stepped over his BMW and stood high on the kick-start lever on the left side of the bike. He pushed down on the lever and the engine rumbled to life; as did the other three bikes.

You have done well, Franz, Ernst yelled to be heard over the din of the bikes as they were revved loudly.

With the light show and the thundering sound of distant bombs exploding, they sat astride their idling bikes and waited for Hans to re-join them.

The weight of the gold on their backs pulled down heavily on the shoulder straps of the packs.

What is taking Hans so long? Dieter shouted, so he could be heard over the noise of the