submachine guns for his protection. After talking it over with
the castle’s SS commander, Standartenführer [Colonel] Walde-
mar Fegelein, the American allowed him this comfort.
“I’ve formed a good impression of Stack,” Göring told
Emmy privately. “Perhaps I can still do something to help Ger-
many.”
She automatically lowered the window blinds before
switching on the lights. “The war’s over,” Göring benignly re-
minded her, and withdrew into his room. She had asked for a
separate room for herself and little Edda she wanted her hus-
band to be alone to compose his thoughts for the next day’s
historic meetings. She could hear the floorboards creak as he
paced up and down in carpet slippers, imagining his dialogue
with General Eisenhower the next day.
They parted in the castle
courtyard the next morning.
He had chosen a plain air-force
uniform with forage cap a
ring or two and bejeweled
cufflinks being the day’s only
concession to foppery. “It’s not
farewell,” he reassured her as he
climbed into the flashy twelve-
cylinder Maybach for the drive
through the lines to Stack’s
headquarters. “Things are
looking good.”
She gave him a meaning-
ful look. “Do you still have
what Ango gave you?”
He nodded, barely per-
At Fischhorn Castle, an American
soldier snapped a sad picture of
Emmy and Edda Göring at the
moment the Reichsmarschall was
driven off into captivity.