The army granted his request two months later.
It seemed therefore that Captain Hermann Göring, distin-
guished German aviator and knight of the Order of Pour le Mé-
rite, might spend the rest of his life in Sweden. He bought Lan-
genscheidt’s dictionary of Swedish, and started to learn the lan-
guage.
With his dazzling good looks and his courtly manner he
was a killer in Swedish society, but he found no woman who
could fill the gap left by Käthe Dorsch until February ,
the night that a young and wealthy Swedish explorer, Count
Eric von Rosen, chartered Göring’s plane for a flight up to his
castle, Rockelstad. After a bumpy, stomach-pitching flight
through gathering blizzards, Göring landed expertly on the fro-
zen lake next to the castle and accepted the count’s invitation to
spend the night. He had always liked castles. Balloons of cognac
in their hands, Hermann and Eric strolled through the great
structure, pausing once before a giant stuffed bear the rugged
beast reached out stiffly at the Norseman who had slain it with
his spear. By coincidence there were several swastika emblems
embellishing the castle. The swastika had yet to appear on the
flags and armbands in drum-beating parades across Nazi
Europe, and Hermann had never seen one before; Count Eric
had discovered the swastika emblem on rune stones in Gotland,
and had incorporated this harmless Nordic symbol of the rising
sun everywhere at Rockelstad embossed on the hearth and
iron firedogs and on one wall of his shooting box in the
grounds.
As Göring puzzled at the emblem, he was distracted by a
rustling sound, as a statuesque, auburn-haired lady glided down
the stairs. This was Carin, Countess von Fock; her sister was
Eric’s wife. Upright, round-faced, and tenderhearted, Carin was
the thirty-one-year-old daughter of a Swedish officer and his