The Heart Healer - and other atrocities: Former soldiers from Afghanistan in the esoteric wellness camp: a deadly mission!

By Jürgen G. H. Hoppmann, Lorenzo Gori, Patricia Cooney and 3 more

Suicide streak among veterans from Afghanistan: Undercover investigation in the German army by Evi and Max, those weird private detectives.
Last year, among the rich and beautiful at the European Planet Festival,
the young pastry seller was looking for a serial killer. Successful!

Now she sits there with a big belly in her eighth month, lots of criminal records and a former soldiar stranded here at her side, a man with serious quirks who feels right at home in Upper Lusatia, the furthest east of Germany. Over and done with, the dream of the Golden West. Then Gwiazdek shows up. The Europol commissioner from Poland beckons with a special assignment.

Extended suicides of veterans being cared for in wellness courses. Influence of enemy agents or friendly fire from within the ranks? Political influence slows down the criminal investigation department and the Military Counter-Intelligence Service is getting nowhere.

An undercover job for Max. He can cavort among old comrades. But what the hell does his pregnant girlfriend Evi want to do there?

• Language: English
• Publisher: tredition
• Release date: Apr 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9783347915459

Jürgen G. H. Hoppmann

Kunst und Sterne: Parallel zu jeweils herrschenden Glaubensrichtungen existiert die Sternenkunst — weltweit, in jedem Land und in allen Kulturen, seit Menschengedenken. Diesem faszinierenden Phänomen widmet sich der Autor in Medienprojekten, Literatur, Film, Musik, Schauspiel und Architektur.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Ganesha

FLORAL GREETINGS TO INDIA

Dear Guru Zodiacus,

now it's july, i'm in week 33. Last winter in Auroville, the taxi driver gave us a holy picture. When we unpacked our travel bags in great-granny's little forest house in Upper Lusatia, I took a closer look. These hilarious Indians adore chubby elephants with four arms and flabby bellies! I thought it was so funny that I gave him a cigarette and a bottle of liquor and put on his makeup like a sissy boy, transgendered. And now, fully pregnant with a big belly, I find out about a cruel infanticide!

The mother goddess Parvati felt lonely, says Hindu mythology. Shiva, her husband of the gods, had immersed himself in deep meditation. An ascetic, not a good lover. So she formed a child out of her own blood, rubbed off body scab, dirt and sweat, mixed with ointments, oils and the water of the Ganges, and brought it to life with mantra singing.

Ganesha came to the elephant head by Shiva's wrath. When Almighty God came home and saw the stranger, he drew his sword and cut off his head. A terrible misunderstanding. Parvati was beside herself. The lord of the universe, king of the dance, auspicious and destroyer in personal union, had to improvise. He vowed to take the head of the first creature he encountered as a spare. And that was an elephant. It is not known whether Pavarti was enthusiastic about her husband's plumbing work. At least Shiva adopted the thus revived Ganesha in lieu of son. Peace in the house was restored.

Weird story. Weird, cosmic. I can only hope that Max, my lover, will leave our child with his head when it sees the light of day.

Can you count, old Guru Zodiacus in distant India? In mid- December in Mäxchen's student digs at the Rothenburg Police Academy, there was a bang. direct hit! Add nine months and you know when it's time.

I will keep you posted with more Floral Greetings to the Palm Leaf Library in Bangalore. I hope you can decipher my handwriting. Transmission like lightning, totally secret secret message. Perfect technique, grown on my own crap. Neither the CIA nor the FBI will find out, nor will Europol anyway. Max, my sweet lover, has no idea either. Better this way. Better safe than sorry. In case his fatherly joys turn to anger and he becomes a child killer.

I have to go, palm leaf guru. The journey starts.

:-)

MULADHARA

Root Chakra

RUPERTUS THERME SPA

Radiant midsummer day in the ultra-modern spa center of Bad Reichenhall, which due to its optimally ecologically adapted architecture to climate change hardly lets any of the heat out there through the panoramic windows, which usually give the more than solvent spa guests from all over the world a clear view of a magnificent Alpine panorama – not even looked at by a former Bundeswehr soldier who is carving his poem bent over a heavily scrawled note.

"Your eyes daisies.

Luminous shine like alpenglow.

Send rhymes to my loved ones

Oh Evi, be mine forever."

The door to the treatment room opens. A state-certified masseur and medical lifeguard approaches with firm steps, looks over his shoulder and crosses his strong forearms.

Sans a whole dashing poet, sir.

Positive.

And?

Massage voucher.

That's fine. Aegidius my name. Come on no. Don't be angry, but take everything off, including your underpants. Lay down on the bench. First of all you get the buttocks chakra bulbed, nice to the genitals. To top it off, the thousand-petalled lotus. With Ayurveda massage oil with real Bavarian gentian. Relax your ass, if that's all right.

Negative.

The physiotherapist distributes the liquid, flexes and kneads like a pizza maker. Brass band music comes from the radio on the side table. Every now and then it yodels.

Yes mei, sans the hard ass cheeks! Sachsen-Max, come to us in beautiful Bavaria, all the long way from dark Germany, and be so graceful. Born in 1990 in…

East Indies.

Look here: an East Indian from the East. Quasi an East-East Indian. And then white as cheese.

German parents. It's complicated.

Mia didn't give a damn if you would finally let it go. You write poems for your Gspusi, where the Alps glow on the eyelids.

Mountain railway voucher.

Aha, let's go to the sermon chair, high above the clouds. She will be happy about that. The oldest cable car anywhere in the world. Refurbished. You can rely on the Bavarian art of engineering. Laptop and leather pants. We are we! If you look out the window now, boy. No, stay lying down and relax your rump! If you could see where I'm looking right now … yes Himmelherrgodnoamoinaa Oarsch and Wolkenbruch Kruzitürken!

Aegidius pauses. Stares out. The oil bottle slips from him. Real royal Bavarian gentian Ayurveda healing elixir pours over ass cheeks, massage bench and tiles. He crosses himself, murmurs an Ave Maria. Put your paw on the radio. Yodeling brass music dies away.

His patient stretches up, follows the view of the picturesque Alpine panorama, of the Predigtstuhl cable car halfway to the summit plateau. Squints his eyes. At this distance, it is difficult to tell whether the cabin is rocking, the window panes are shattering, the door is hanging crookedly on its hinges, cable car passengers are falling out like toy soldiers, probably involuntarily, since someone there seems to be raging in the gondola.

Friendly Fire! Max yells, wrapping a towel around his bare hips, slipping on the oily floor, colliding with a nurse in the hallway outside who's hauling mud and peat packs on her handcart. With a deep gurgle, the turdish-brown porridge spreads on the walls of the spa center. Max sprints to the exit. Trample across the flowery meadow of the spa, past head-shaking gentlemen on a digestive walk.

There's that stupid East-East Indian walking around, almost naked, says physiotherapist Aegidius, and helps Nurse Martha wipe up the mess.

Asphalt bike path along the river. Pointed stones pierce the soles of the feet. leg cramp. rattling lungs. Breather. Tinnitus whistles in the head, steadily increasing. Max thinks he's on the verge of hearing loss until he realizes that the sound is coming from ice-cold glacier water, a torrent that breaks at a weir and forms a fine veil of mist in the summer heat. Panting across the river and on.

On the right is the area of the Hohenstaufen barracks, base of the 23rd Mountain Infantry Brigade. Those are the mules. He knows from the training for the KSK mission in Afghanistan.

However, he had the best preparation in Bremen, when Vollhorst, his stepfather, put a Playstation in his children's room with Call of Duty and a thick monitor. Shoot any enemy with the joystick, from morning to night. Basically not his thing. But he and his stepmother Edda wanted to get rid of him. Off to the Bund. It also worked. Was a cool group, the KSK. Combat in the Hindu Kush. In the helicopter with the comrades. First person shooter live on the battlefield. Next to the on-board machine gun there is a subwoofer box, from which Boom Boom Boom by the KIZ hip-hoppers roars. Press the trigger when you have the little white mice in your cross hairs on the night vision monitor. It's a bit of a shit if you're such a mouse yourself, because you have to clarify something with your men down there. secure you. Against whatever. Not paying attention for a moment. Something's wrong. Friendly Fire. Some shooter ass sits up in the helicopter and shoots at his own people. Can happen. Were all a bit stoned back then. Always smoking something, green Afghan, you can get it at the market in Kabul for an apple and an egg. Can't get that out of your head. It's ringing in your ears, you get this panic.

Small cars trundle in from the left, getting slightly confused from the roundabout at the Bad Reichenhall salt works. They approach at walking pace, the four-lane road is traffic-calmed. Pedestrian light on red. Can't march on red because the police are over there. What is he doing here? Loaves of bread have to be kneaded in Upper Lusatia, great-granny's house has to be renovated, the children's room has to be set up for the offspring and the LO 2500 from VEB Robur-Werke Zittau, their bakery sales vehicle, needs a new engine. He has no place in West Germany, where he grew up. Was annoying enough.

Red means marching, Evi always said. This morning she said, You gotta relax, Max. Have the tinnitus in your head massaged away, father-to-be. I'll take the free ride to the Predigtstuhl. They were still sitting on the bench with a view of the valley, having just arrived, overnight from Görlitz to Dresden, then Leipzig, Nuremberg and Munich.

Free travel tickets, free board and lodging plus tourism vouchers for this strange further training course that Evi found somewhere. No idea where and what. After all the bread and rolls were done baking, he lay down and she took over the morning shift. This Austrian banker and Gwiazdek, the Pole from Europol, had made her an offer, she said at noon. Had already packed, informed the neighbors that they would take care of the tomcat, and would not tolerate any contradiction.

An hour ago, his sweetheart pointed to a small red dot in the distance, climbing a thin line like a ladybug on a leaf stalk. She wants to go up to the mountain station, which was surrounded by clouds and which are now dissipating in the summer heat. Evi adjusted her flower behind her ear. Bought yesterday during a stopover at Görlitz station on platform 15. Almost missed the boat because she stayed in this BeautyFlowerWorld shop forever. Could have plucked a primrose in great-granny's garden for free. There the stuff shoots out of the ground by itself. No, she had to shop at that ridiculously expensive flower shop.

women. have their own mind. Can not do anything. She adjusted the half-wilted weed behind her ear and said, 'Go on to the massage. If you get bored waiting, you can write me a poem." As if poetry were that easy.

Finally green. Total crowd at the cable car valley station. Emergency vehicles, fire brigade, emergency doctors. Helicopters circle above the action. The madman up there in the cabin is screaming at the top of his lungs. Thrashes passengers clinging to the edge of shattered gondola windows. Stupid people down here hold up cell phones and film. People scream with relish as a woman in a blue and white checked dirndl falls down. Evi's smock, which she inherited from her great-grandmother, is green - isn't it?

Max has to get closer and pushes his way through. elbow insert. He stretches and stretches. That guy up there in the booth looks like his unit commander back in Kabul who left after the friendly fire thing. In fact, he is. Spread your arms. Laugh like crazy and jump into the depths. The crowd cheers.

The knot in the bath towel comes undone. Completely naked, Max is at the center of the action. Then the police and fire brigade collect the smartphones. Protests all around, because of the live stream and tens of thousands of followers. Someone grabs him from behind. Reflexively, he turns and assumes a fighting stance. Look into daisy eyes.

Dearest Max! You look beautiful as Adonis as God created you. Can I put my bakery salesman's coat on you so you don't get sunburnt?

Positive.

OBERSALZBERG

Behind the mountain massif of the Predigtstuhl, the railway meanders deeper and deeper into the high Alps. In the meadows and up on the alpine pastures brown cows with white snouts and long eyelashes around their eyes. Blue and white checkered pennants and flags with the lions of the Free State. Mountain farms with wide, sweeping shingle roofs, covered with rounded bricks to protect against storms and snow, as big as loaves of bread. Window sills and rows of wooden balconies from which geraniums sprout like the lush décolletés of alpine innkeepers who invite you to rest in beer gardens. Obese men in lederhosen wave beer mugs and feast on hearty pork knuckles.

Evi is sitting at the window seat of the train compartment. Using the tablet PC that she inherited from her great-grandmother, she googles tourist highlights. Fantastic pictures of the Königssee, surrounded by steep slopes, overgrown with sturdy firs. Sankt Bartholomä, a little church on the shore, white with red onion domes, can only be reached by boat. In the background mighty mountain massifs, snow-covered even in summer. On the right the view of the Watzmann, on the left the Kehlstein.

"Look, we could take the pleasure boat to the Malerwinkel. The monastery is reflected in the lake. The Königsbachfall falls 200 meters deep. Now and then a skipper comes with his boat and trumpets against an echo wall. The rock here, see?'

Positive.

You sit on it. recite your poem. In front of an Alpine panorama.

Negative, used to be there.

Reluctantly, Max takes the device from her and clicks around himself. Takes a while before he returns it. His Königssee image search shows different results: masses of vehicles in a parking lot reminiscent of the loading stations of a car factory, hordes of tourists between souvenir stands, traditional costumes from cheap Eastern European production, plastic edelweiss made in China, ATMs in traditional Bavarian snack bars, a close-up of a menu.

Oh wow! Evi calls out and the train passengers turn to look at her. For this family menu, yeast dumpling specialty for three people including drinks and dessert, you could buy the day's production in our Oberlausitz baker's van, well-kneaded sourdough bread, very soft baked rolls, sugar-sweet cinnamon stars and hard salt dough pieces.

Positive.

Enough with negative and positive. I want you to shine and not look so lopsided.

Cervical vertebra dislocated during massage.

Then get yourself put back in place. According to the course brochure, Mr. Ägidius is a qualified chiropractor and osteopath.

Doctor Google says it fixes itself 98 percent of the time. Here, look at the tablet.

Two percent left.

Half survive the bone setting. The rest is friendly fire, 'blue on blue' they say at NATO…

Your famous friendly fire?

Spinal cord injury or dead. You don't get a widow's pension, you just vegetate as a single parent.

Is that a veiled proposal of marriage?

'Complicated, Evi. You know: fake birth certificate and my adoptive parents won't tell the truth."

Then we'll just get on to them, go to Bremen. According to the course brochure, we are in northern Germany in the sixth week of the course.

Let's see.

'And until then, don't spoil my trip. Now on to the Kehlstein. Jovis Morgenstern said on the phone that Swarożyc Gwiazdek had a special assignment for us. If we do it, we'll get a lot of money. Maybe we'll get a permanent job as secret agents and stay in the Golden West forever!"

'Forget it, Evi. Europol's Gwiazdek got me expelled from the police academy. Went on me with the gun last winter. You know? He's got a quirk. Sees Nazis everywhere. Kehlstein? Call the US soldiers 'Eagle's Nest', Adlerhorst. Sick Hitler shit! Doctor Google says, from Berchtesgaden by bus to the Obersalzberg, a restricted area for drivers at a thousand meters above sea level. You can wait for me there, see the exhibition in the old bunker, rest the baby bump, forget the stress of the cable car."

First of all, the cable car was more your stress. I was late, actually wanted to go to the flower shop.

Why flower shop? Here's my daisy poem.

Thank you very much. And secondly …

Secondly, there isn't. The Adlerhorst is at 1836 meters, 120 meters below the Kehlstein summit the entrance to the elevator. Carved into the rock shortly before the outbreak of war. According to Doctor Google, a dozen workers were killed. Can you see everything on the tablet. At the fireplace, marble donated by Mussolini, the Führer drank his coffee with Eva Braun. That's nothing for you.

And why, please?

Total renovation. Shuttle service discontinued. It takes at least two and a half hours to walk up the mountain, now in the summer heat. Good training for men without a child in their stomach. In addition, the lift in the mountain gets stuck from time to time. If you can't get out, you'll become a pharaoh mummy. Adolf was a shit rabbit, never used him. Stay nice and good in the exhibition café.

Fuhrer's orders, or what?

In fact: everything is closed on the Obersalzberg. Only construction vehicles are allowed further up. Evi is pissed off, doesn't say a word anymore. Don't watch Max as he sets off from the Obersalzberg, limping and with a crooked neck. Fan yourself with an exhibition flyer and enjoy a ridiculously expensive wellness drink at the tourist information office.

Next to the barrier, half hidden by a fir tree, the signpost to the summit path, initially along the sealed tar road that winds leisurely around the mountain. But that would take too long. Max needs to pick up the pace if he wants to make it to the summit in time. Gwiazdek and Morgenstern won't wait forever. So over rough and smooth, initially between shady trees, which are becoming more and more sparse. Higher and higher.

Stunted pines, shrubs. The view goes far across the country. Above the tree line there is no longer any protection from the July sun, which burns down relentlessly. He took off his shirt. His back will be crimson, he feels the sunburn. Sweat runs down his forehead and burns his eyes. Damaged soles from the sprint to the Predigtstuhlbahn. Big Bubbles. He walks alternately on the outside edges and in a canard walk so that they don't burst open. The air is getting thinner. Without the belly of solidarity he ate to keep up with his pregnant lover, he would have reached the summit long ago.

The path meets the modern tar road. But it's faster via the old gravel path, carved into the rock, steeply up the wall. What must the workers have toiled for eighty years when they hacked holes in the rock wall to cart old Mussolini up his marble ledge. Oops, almost slipped. Loose curb tumbles down the slope, free falls a bit and bursts on a rock. Just don't slip now.

A plateau where the road of tourist buses ends. The ticket booth next to the tunnel entrance to the elevator is barricaded. Construction vehicles, cement mixers, shuttering boards, bags of cement, a waste container and a brand new ID.Buzz from Volkswagen, luxury electric camper van. It must be an Erlkönig, a prototype, because now in the summer of 2020 such cars are not yet on the market. Unusual. Looking up: the alpine restaurant at a height of a hundred meters at the top of the Kehlstein. Drill noise and loud hammering.

Built 1938 is written on the keystone of the archway. A wrought iron gate, just ajar. A sign indicates construction work. Max shields his eyes from the glaring sunbeams that burn down mercilessly here at an altitude of two thousand meters, squeezes through, is in the mountain. A tunnel wide enough for three Indian elephants. But what are they supposed to do here? The change from scorching heat to cold in the mountain hits the brain. But the neck straightened again. No whistle in the head, because no psycho-stress, but full control. During combat in the Hindu Kush, he was calm itself.

All around reddish granite masonry. Candelabra hang from the ceiling every thirty meters and spread yellowish light. Very cool and stylish, like something out of an old James Bond film. All that's missing is a super villain like Goldfinger popping out from behind the corner. Just no corners. The tunnel bores endlessly straight into the narrow mountain peak. Should actually come out on the other side.

Suddenly it's over. tunnel end. Squeaking, as if the iron gate had closed behind his back. And a corner behind which a circular hall is hidden. Could be a secret Nazi temple. Lightbulbs on three-armed candlesticks. Seats all around with green leather upholstery. Too cold here to rest. A shiny gold sliding wall made of brass. Without doorknob. Only slits on the side, like for an intercom. And a push button.

Conspiracy theories from crazy Hollywood films and Playstation shooting games shoot through his head. What if the Third Reich really still exists? A push of the control and SS zombies jump out, Wehrmacht assault rifles in fists, killing him. ratatatam! Max looks around for cameras. Maybe he ended up on some fucked up TV show. Or his likeness flickers on monitors from the NSU 2.0 – it really did exist. The former Afghan soldier leans flat against the wall to avoid being in the line of fire and cautiously stretches his arm towards the button. Cold granite on a sweaty back. Drops of sweat on the cave floor.

As if by magic, the door wings slide apart, opening a golden shimmering chamber as small as a prison cell. Brass walls polished to a high luster all around, in which his sight is