75 pages • 2-hour read
Annie JacobsenA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism, religious discrimination, sexual violence and/or harassment, rape, ableism, child death, animal cruelty and/or death, graphic violence, illness or death, physical abuse, and emotional abuse.
In February 1947, nearly a year after JIOA received authorization to import 1,000 Nazi scientists, the number of Operation Paperclip recruits in America had grown from 175 to 344, yet none possessed visas. JIOA director Colonel Thomas Ford demanded that Samuel Klaus sign a blanket waiver to expedite the process. Klaus refused, insisting he must review each case individually. Ford accused Klaus of obstructing national interest, but Klaus stood firm. His resistance stemmed from security reports from the Office of the Military Government, United States (OMGUS), revealing scandalous information about recruits already in the US One report exposed rocket engineer Kurt Debus as an ardent SS member who denounced a colleague, Richard Craemer, to the Gestapo. Another revealed Wernher von Braun had achieved the rank of SS-Major under Heinrich Himmler’s sponsorship. Ford responded by proposing accelerated citizenship for these problematic scientists. Klaus also discovered that Georg Rickhey had been quietly returned to Germany for war crimes prosecution without State Department notification. Despite Klaus’s opposition, he was transferred away from visa operations.
Meanwhile, the Chemical Corps imported its first German scientist: Dr. Friedrich “Fritz” Hoffmann, a tabun nerve agent expert. Working under Colonel Charles E. Loucks at Edgewood Arsenal, Hoffmann proved highly capable. When journalist Drew Pearson reported that the Army had offered imprisoned Farben executive Karl Krauch a Paperclip contract, the resulting scandal nearly derailed the program. General Eisenhower was briefed but remained supportive. On July 26, 1947, President Truman signed the National Security Act, creating the CIA, which soon became Paperclip’s strongest partner.
At Edgewood, unwitting soldiers were subjected to tabun experiments. Technical director Dr. L. Wilson Greene observed that the nerve agent could temporarily incapacitate without permanent harm, inspiring his concept of psychochemical warfare. At Camp Detrick, bacteriologist Dr. Harold Batchelor designed the Eight Ball, a massive aerosol chamber for bioweapons testing. In November 1947, Batchelor traveled to Germany to interview Dr. Kurt Blome, recently acquitted at the Nuremberg doctors’ trial. Blome detailed how virologist Erich Traub weaponized rinderpest on Himmler’s orders. The Americans decided Blome was too controversial to recruit immediately, but placed him on a target list.
In June 1948, newly promoted Brigadier General Charles Loucks transferred to Heidelberg as chief of intelligence collection for chemical warfare. He partnered with Dr. Richard Kuhn, a former Nazi chemist who had developed the soman nerve agent. Through Kuhn, Loucks traveled to Switzerland in December to meet Professor Werner Stoll about a powerful incapacitating agent: lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD). Loucks recognized its military potential and US agencies began exploring LSD for battlefield and mind control applications.
That summer, Loucks received a cryptic call from SS-Brigadeführer Dr. Walter Schieber, a former member of Hitler’s inner circle. Schieber offered help with the Chemical Corps’ failing sarin production program. Though the Air Force had recruited Schieber in February 1948, his denazification trial resulted in a guilty verdict, stalling his contract. When the Air Force later discovered the extent of his war profiteering, it cancelled his recruitment. Loucks, however, was focused on Schieber’s scientific value.
Beginning December 11, 1948, Loucks secretly hosted Saturday meetings at his home where Schieber and former IG Farben chemists created detailed blueprints for industrial sarin production. Their work became the foundation for the US plant at Rocky Mountain Arsenal, producing weaponized sarin under the codename Gibbet-Delivery. In January 1950, Loucks faced Pentagon reprimand for fraternizing with Nazis, but received covert intelligence funding to continue the work.
Meanwhile, the Berlin Blockade in June 1948 accelerated Paperclip’s expansion. The CIA and JIOA established joint operations at Camp King in Oberursel, a clandestine interrogation facility that became a Cold War black site. There, the CIA developed interrogation techniques, including coercive methods, under Operations Bluebird and Artichoke. In 1949, the CIA assumed control of the Gehlen Organization, a spy network of former Nazi intelligence officers, and established the Office of Scientific Intelligence to research Soviet mind control programs. Paperclip expanded, operating largely in secrecy with limited oversight.
On November 2, 1948, Walter Schreiber, former Surgeon General of the Third Reich, appeared at a press conference claiming he had escaped from Soviet custody. The vague details of his escape drew skepticism. Schreiber also warned that the Soviets were rearming East Germany with defected Nazi generals. Army Intelligence recommended Schreiber for Operation Paperclip. General Loucks hired him at Camp King but harbored doubts about his loyalty. In November 1949, Schreiber became Camp King’s post physician, responsible for Soviet prisoners undergoing CIA interrogation, a post with obvious security risks if he were a double agent.
In September 1949, John J. McCloy became US High Commissioner of Germany. A longtime Paperclip supporter, McCloy faced pressure to grant clemency to Nazi war criminals, including Otto Ambros. The outbreak of the Korean War in June 1950 intensified the push for German scientific expertise. McCloy created Accelerated Paperclip, or Project 63, to evacuate top scientists on a classified “K” list with a million-dollar budget. The new policy allowed recruitment of Class I Nazi offenders, including Kurt Blome and the still-imprisoned Ambros.
In January 1951, McCloy announced his clemency decision, drastically reducing most sentences. On February 3, Ambros walked free with his finances restored. In March, US agent Charles McPherson recruited Blome for Project 63, but a security report accurately describing Blome as an ardent Nazi caused Army Intelligence to reject his admission. McPherson, fearing the rejection would destroy the program, falsely told Blome about a temporary suspension and instead offered him a position as post doctor at Camp King, the job recently vacated by Schreiber. Meanwhile, Schreiber arrived in San Antonio with a government settlement of $16,000 and began work at the School of Aviation Medicine, where his past soon drew scrutiny.
In the fall of 1951, Dr. Leopold Alexander arranged medical treatment in Boston for Janina Iwanska, a Ravensbrück concentration camp survivor. That same month, Alexander read in a medical journal that Walter Schreiber was working for the US Air Force in Texas. Recognizing Schreiber from the Nuremberg proceedings, Alexander contacted the Boston Globe. On December 8, 1951, a Globe reporter called Schreiber, who denied any involvement in human experiments. The next day, the newspaper published a major story. The scandal reached the Pentagon. Harry Armstrong, who had personally recruited 58 Nazi doctors for the postwar Aero Medical Center in Heidelberg, feared the exposure could jeopardize the program. He secretly recommended terminating Schreiber’s contract while publicly maintaining a facade of support.
In January, FBI agents interviewed Iwanska, who identified Schreiber from photographs as present at Ravensbrück during the medical experiments. The FBI learned that Schreiber planned to flee to Argentina. Public outrage intensified. Alexander and former prosecutor Alexander Hardy sent a detailed letter to President Truman documenting Schreiber’s crimes. Schreiber refused to leave Texas voluntarily, instead relocating to his daughter’s home in California. Behind closed doors, the government negotiated his departure.
In April, a letter surfaced showing Air Force General Otis Benson had sought a university position for Schreiber, blaming the scandal on “medical men of Jewish ancestry” (362). In May 1952, Lieutenant Colonel G. A. Little of the Joint Chiefs flew to California and persuaded Schreiber to accept payment and transportation to Argentina. On May 22, the military flew Schreiber and his family to New Orleans, where they boarded a ship for Buenos Aires. With arrangements by Argentinean General Aristobulo Fidel Reyes and US-funded police protection, the Schreibers settled in Argentina. The Senate never held hearings and the attorney general never opened a case.
As Schreiber departed for Argentina, CIA interrogation programs at Camp King expanded to include drugs and chemicals. Dr. Kurt Blome served as post physician during this period, working on a classified Army project. Operation Bluebird was renamed Artichoke with the goal of preventing the agency from lagging behind Soviet research in behavior modification.
The CIA partnered with the Army Chemical Corps and Camp Detrick’s Special Operations Division. Detrick bacteriologists Dr. Harold Batchelor and Dr. Frank Olson became CIA field agents. In April 1950, Olson received a diplomatic passport and began traveling to Camp King. In June 1952, Artichoke techniques were tested on two suspected Soviet spies at a Camp King safe house: The men were drugged, hypnotized, interrogated, and subjected to efforts to induce amnesia. Dr. Henry Knowles Beecher, a public advocate of the Nuremberg Code, consulted on these nonconsensual experiments.
Olson returned from Germany deeply conflicted, comparing the interrogations to concentration camp experiments. CIA Technical Services Staff director Dr. Sidney Gottlieb decided to test covert LSD administration on unwitting subjects. In November 1953, several SO Division agents, including Olson and his supervisor Vincent Ruwet, attended a retreat at Deep Creek Lake. Gottlieb’s deputy, Robert Lashbrook, secretly dosed the men with LSD. Olson suffered a severe psychological breakdown. The experiment demonstrated that covert dosing did not produce amnesia.
Over the following days, Olson’s mental state deteriorated. Fearing he might reveal classified information, Lashbrook brought him to New York. On the night of November 27, 1953, Olson crashed through a 10th-floor hotel window and died on the pavement below. Lashbrook’s first call was to Gottlieb. When police arrived, Lashbrook misled them about Olson’s employment. The death was ruled suicide.
The chapters of Part 4 are structured in a way that emphasizes how bureaucratic systems can institutionalize moral compromises in the name of national security. As Operation Paperclip expanded, military officials systematically circumvented civilian oversight to secure Nazi scientists. Colonel Thomas Ford, for example, pressured Samuel Klaus to sign a blanket waiver for visas, ignoring security reports that detailed the Nazi affiliations of recruits like Wernher von Braun and Kurt Debus. When Klaus refused, stating that certification requires the department “[t]o pass judgment of some kind before affixing the signature” (280), military leadership transferred him away from visa operations. Concurrently, John J. McCloy granted clemency to convicted war criminal Otto Ambros, restoring his freedom and finances in spite of his documented crimes. In short, the institutional moral calculus of Operation Paperclip deemed that the men’s utility far outweighed their crimes. The marginalization of dissenting voices like Klaus demonstrated that the bureaucratic apparatus could isolate ethical oversight, and the recruitment of ardently affiliated Nazis was reframed as a Cold War necessity.
This institutional willingness to overlook the past was echoed in a physical embodiment in Camp King, which demonstrated the opacity of the Cold War intelligence apparatus. The site transitioned from a Nazi facility to a clandestine US interrogation center where the CIA conducted Operations Bluebird and Artichoke. Former high-ranking Nazi physicians, including Walter Schreiber and Kurt Blome, secured employment as post doctors and were tasked with overseeing the health of suspected Soviet spies who were subjected to mind-altering drugs and hypnosis. Structurally, the continuity of Camp King’s function highlights a symmetry between the methods of the defeated regime and the new American intelligence network. The decision to employ former perpetrators to monitor nonconsensual human experiments underscores the erosion of the Nuremberg Code’s ethical boundaries; doing this in the same building drives home this continuity, suggesting that the only aspect of the situation that has changed is the name on the deed.
The nonconsensual experiments at such facilities relied on chemical and biological agents, and these practices highlighted the ideological shift in American scientific endeavors. At Edgewood Arsenal, Dr. L. Wilson Greene invented the idea of psychochemical warfare, theorizing that, with incapacitating hallucinogens, “the trend of each major conflict, being characterized by increased death, human misery, and property destruction, could be reversed” (289). This pursuit of a seemingly humane weapon led the CIA to test LSD covertly on its own personnel. The dosing of bacteriologist Frank Olson by his superiors resulted in his severe psychological breakdown and subsequent fatal fall from a hotel window. Thus, Greene’s vision contrasted sharply with the lethal reality of its application. This covert testing mirrored the nonconsensual nature of the Nazi experiments that the United States had publicly condemned. Such corrupt patterns reflected the corrosive effects of the intelligence race, wherein methods deployed against enemies were then turned against the state’s own agents.
While the state’s own personnel faced lethal consequences from these covert programs, high-value Nazi recruits were actively protected, exposing the illusion of postwar accountability. After his return from Soviet custody under circumstances that drew skepticism, Walter Schreiber secured a position with the US military. When Dr. Alexander and Ravensbrück survivor Janina Iwanska publicly exposed Schreiber’s involvement in lethal medical experiments, the Air Force faced a significant public relations crisis. In response, military leadership publicly severed ties with the doctor while secretly orchestrating his relocation to Argentina with financial settlements and police protection. Schreiber’s ability to transition from a Soviet prisoner to an American asset, and finally to a protected expatriate, underscored his exploitation of geopolitical anxieties, showing how even a man accused of terrible crimes could receive beneficial treatment if he were deemed useful in the fight against the Soviets. The military’s dual response revealed that institutional self-preservation dictated policy, highlighting the contradiction between America’s public role as an arbiter of justice and its covert willingness to harbor war criminals.
This protection of individuals extended to the active suppression and rewriting of historical records to facilitate collaboration. For example, Brigadier General Charles Loucks hosted secret meetings with Walter Schieber to secure blueprints for industrial sarin production. Loucks deliberately ignored Schieber’s record, privately noting that because the German chemists recognized their defeat, all the Americans “[needed] to do [was] treat them as human beings” (312). His private observation stood as an ironic demand that the Nazi scientists be shown more humanity than they showed to their victims. Similarly, the US government prepared to recruit Hitler’s biological weapons expert, Kurt Blome, attempting to alter his security dossier in order to obscure his past. This collaboration, coupled with the systemic falsification of intelligence dossiers, demonstrated the United States’ willingness to engage in a deliberate form of historical amnesia. American officials prioritized scientific value over wartime atrocities, and Jacobsen thus makes it a point to expose the mechanisms by which administrators transformed perpetrators into experts. In short, the book suggests that the foundational knowledge of modern military science is linked to these concealed atrocities.



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