Im brennenden Orient
Good Fit
- Readers interested in the Middle Eastern theatre of the Second World War
- Anyone studying Kurdish history and Iraqi Kurdistan in the twentieth century
- Fans of espionage and sabotage memoirs
Not a Fit
- Those troubled by a Nazi officer's self-justifying narrative
- Readers seeking an objective, academic history
- Anyone with no patience for Orientalist stereotypes
The memoir begins in spring 1942: back in Germany after leading a spy group in Istanbul, the author feels «a slight unease». The armies are in the Caucasus and in Egypt, but fuel is running short; the wounded say «nobody says straight ahead any more, there isn't enough fuel». An idea takes shape: seize the Mosul and Kirkuk oilfields from the British through a Kurdish uprising and hold them for two weeks until German airborne troops arrive. A letter goes to the Wehrmacht High Command, and a week later Field Marshal Keitel orders «preparation and execution». History knows the plan as Operation Mammoth.
The most problematic part is the portrait of Kurdistan. The author calls it «the Switzerland of the East» and describes the houses, the women's labour, the men's hunting and the aghas' absolute power, while generalising about the Kurds as «natural people» with «teeth like wolves' teeth», «used to being slaves yet freer than the most civilised European». Sentences such as «Orientals are extremely curious and distrustful» recur throughout. They show the European gaze of the 1940s well but should not be taken as ethnography.
The most revealing sentences concern the author's own intentions. What could be offered to the Kurds to make them take the oilfields? There was no money. The answer: absolute freedom for their country, economic and cultural development. But the author writes frankly: «I had to appear to them almost as a benefactor... because Orientals, who generally suspect everything, have a good nose.» The message intended for the Kurds: «The oilfields lie in your land, but you cannot work them; sell the oil to us.» The book's later promises of a «free Kurdistan» should be read in the light of these lines.
The training chapters read like a spy novel: a secret camp in the Bodental valley in Carinthia among Slovene partisans, radio contact with Berlin under lightning, a carefully designed special uniform, and a dentist nicknamed «Little Schmitt» treating the commander, who draws a pistol and says «if you value your life, make sure I feel nothing». The arrival from Istanbul of Remzi, son of an agha from Erbil, and Remzi's composure are vividly described. But the Slovene villagers are called «poisonous snakes», and nobody asks why they are hostile to the Germans.
An unusual aspect of the book is the battle with bureaucracy. One day a telegram cancels the operation; later it turns out to have been a mix-up with another operation. The aircraft is ready, but flying over Turkey requires Hitler's personal permission, and the team waits for weeks. Meanwhile comes the defeat at Stalingrad, the Germans withdraw from the Caucasus and the plan loses its point. The author's insistence that «there is still time» shows both courage and detachment from reality.
The Turkish translation is hard going: odd forms, literal sentences and archaic German idioms abound; the translator notes that the author uses outdated language. The translator's preface frames the book within the Kurdish tragedy — Anfal and Halabja — yet the text presents not the Kurds' view but that of a German officer who wanted to use them for oil. Read with this contradiction in mind, the book is a valuable document.
- Tense, fast narration like a spy novel
- Rare first-hand details on preparing a covert operation
- A respectful, vivid portrait of Remzi
Memoir of a European officer seeking to use a local revolt in the Middle East
An academic history of the Kurds in the twentieth century
A study of Nazi Germany's policy in the Arab world
In June 1943 a four-engined «Condor» takes off from Crimea. The author, two German comrades and Remzi are squeezed into the fuselage between fuel tanks and supply containers. Above seven thousand metres it turns out that no oxygen masks were brought for them — the crew has masks, the parachutists do not. Feeling death approach from cold and lack of oxygen, the author begins to murmur a hymn learned in childhood: «Take my hands and lead me.» At one in the morning the plane passes over a brightly lit city, and the author wonders whether the pilot has gone mad.
During the jump the slipstream slams the author against the edge of the door; for a moment the author hangs there, then kicks off into the void. On landing they are met by «hellish heat» and countless mosquitoes; the comrades are scattered over kilometres, and only one of the four containers can be found. They have been dropped in the wrong place — the operation has failed on the very first night. At Remzi's suggestion they hide their uniforms and put on Kurdish clothes, which places them outside the laws of war: if caught, they can be shot within five minutes. From now on Remzi takes the lead.
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