Schieber’s Counter Intelligence Corps handler asked him what he thought of the judge’s black market offer. “Schieber believes that the [Spruchkammern] sentence was imposed to prevent his contract with the United States and to make his residence in Germany so difficult as to force him to accept the Russian Offers.” The handler had his own thoughts. “Cancellation of Schiebers [sic] contract after he has possibly jeopardized his safety and after he has cooperated so whole-heartedly with intelligence agencies here is certain to have an adverse effect on the future contracting or exploitation of specialists and will only serve as another example of broken faith on the part of the United States.” The CIC officer felt that when “considering the magnitude of Schiebers [sic] potential value to the United States either for military or civil exploitation,” it was obvious that his contract needed to be honored one way or other. The officer recommended that Schieber be paid as a consultant to the U.S. Army in Heidelberg. In the meantime, he could appeal the judgment of the Spruchkammern trial and become part of Operation Paperclip after the attention died down.
The air force had already soured on Schieber. At the Pentagon, his case had been reviewed again. The air force now saw Schieber’s Nazi Party history in a wholly different light. In their eyes, Schieber had transformed from a brilliant engineer to a ruthless, greedy war profiteer. “Walther Schieber started his business career at the Gustloff Werke in Weimar, a combine owned by the Nazi Party and comprising five industrial corporations,” read the air force response. “He soon became the leader in the German Cellulose and Rayon Ring, which was the second largest fiber combine in Germany. He founded Thuringische Zellwolle A.G. in Schwarza and subsequently gained control of the French Synthetic Fiber combine,” meaning that with the help of SS officers, Schieber had confiscated Jewish-owned businesses in France and made them the property of the Third Reich. Synthetic fibers were imperative to the Reich, used for everything from soldiers’ uniforms to blankets to parachutes. Photographs of Schieber displaying bolts of synthetic cloth to Hitler, Himmler, and Bormann show all parties smiling with pride.
“Schieber was appointed by Speer to the position of Chief of the Office for Delivery of Armament Goods in the Ministry for Armaments and Munitions and was named deputy leader of the National Group Industry by [Walter] Funk,” read the air force report. How he went from dealing fabrics to weapons production remained unclear, but his ambition had to have come into play. “Described as a top-ranking figure in the Nazi war economy, he is said to have constantly profited from being a party man,” noted the air force. There was only one conclusion: “Cancel Air Force request for Walter Schieber. Subject considered ineligible Paperclip.”
United States European Command (EUCOM) headquarters in Frankfurt—various commands had different headquarters—cabled the JIOA office at the Pentagon to let them know that cancellation of the request was an unsound idea: “It is believed here that these considerations outweigh the risk of possible criticism of his being sent to the United States, and if necessary, warrant an exception to present policy. Further, it is considered advisable that for Schieber’s future personal safety and for intelligence reasons, he not be present… when and if official action against him occurs. Therefore it is strongly recommended that reconsideration be given the decision to cancel Schieber’s contract and that he be sent to the United States regardless of the outcome of his appeal.” EUCOM wanted Schieber moved out of Germany and sent to the United States—now. Nothing happened for three months—until Brigadier General Charles Loucks arrived in Heidelberg.
After the second Schieber call came in to General Loucks’s office, Loucks told his lieutenant to set up a meeting with the man. As of 2013, their official meeting remains classified. But General Loucks wrote regularly in his desk diary, which fills in what the declassified Operation Paperclip case file on Schieber leaves out. On October 14, 1948, Dr. Schieber was invited to attend a roundtable conference at Army Chemical Corps headquarters in Heidelberg. “Classified matters” were discussed, Loucks penned in his journal that night. Schieber told Loucks he had been in on the Reich’s manufacturing of nerve gas “from the beginning.” He appealed to General Loucks’s patriotic side. “I want you to know that if there is anything I can do to help the West I shall do it,” Schieber said. Loucks liked Schieber’s willingness to help the cause so much that he invited Schieber to join him at his house for a drink.
That evening Loucks recorded his thoughts: “Attended conf. with… Dr. Walter Schieber—classified matters. No particular info but hope for more later, possibly when better acquainted. I’ll try to see him next time he reports in to Div. of Intell. He directed the production of war gases on a rather high echelon so doesn’t have the detailed knowledge that I want, but possibly I can get the names of useful people from him. Took him to the house for a drink.”
Chemical weapons, like biological weapons, were perceived by some to be “dirty business,” as President Roosevelt once said. But to men like General Loucks and Walter Schieber, to advance a nation’s arsenal of chemical weapons was a challenging and necessary job. It “was more interesting than going down to Paris on weekends,” Loucks wrote in his journal.