Operation Paperclip: America’s Harvest of Nazi Science
- dthholland
- May 8
- 6 min read
In the sweltering summer of 1945, as the embers of World War II cooled and the ruins of Europe still smouldered, a quiet convoy wound its way into the heart of the United States. On board were not defeated soldiers or displaced refugees, but German scientists (some of them former Nazis) who would soon be tasked with building America’s future. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was Operation Paperclip: a covert US intelligence programme that recruited over 1,600 scientists, engineers, and technicians from the Third Reich.
It sounds like a spy novel, but it’s all true, and the consequences of this decision shaped the Cold War, the Moon landing, and the modern military-industrial complex. Welcome to the real story of Operation Paperclip, where ethics clashed with expedience and scientific brilliance was imported under the banner of national security.
What Was Operation Paperclip?
Operation Paperclip was a secret United States intelligence programme in which more than 1,600 German scientists, engineers, and technicians were taken from former Nazi Germany to the US for government employment after the end of World War II in Europe, between 1945 and 1959. Several were confirmed to be former members of the Nazi Party, including the SS or the SA.
The effort began in earnest in 1945 as the Allies advanced into Germany and uncovered a staggering depth of scientific expertise—much of it used for developing weapons, rockets, jet aircraft, and other wartime technologies. Alarmed that this brainpower could be lost to other nations—or worse, fall into Soviet hands—the US moved quickly.
The programme initially operated under the name Operation Overcast, officially established on 20 July 1945 by the US Joint Chiefs of Staff. Conducted by the Joint Intelligence Objectives Agency (JIOA), its stated aim was “to assist in shortening the Japanese war and to aid our postwar military research”. In truth, the US was already looking beyond the end of World War II, towards the next great ideological and military confrontation—the Cold War.
By late 1945, Overcast was renamed Operation Paperclip, supposedly after US Ordnance Corps officers began marking the dossiers of especially desirable German scientists with paperclips.
Background: From T-Force to Camp Dustbin
Even before Germany surrendered, the Allies were hunting for intellectual treasure. The Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force (SHAEF) established “T-Force” to identify targets of technological and scientific interest. These included V-2 rocket facilities, jet aircraft development labs, secret communication hubs, and figures considered invaluable—“scientific and industrial personalities”.
To manage the flow of personnel being rounded up, the Allies established detention centres such as Camp Dustbin, originally near Paris and later moved to Kransberg Castle outside Frankfurt. Here, German scientists were interrogated, vetted, and categorised. The most promising individuals were marked for recruitment, not prosecution.
President Truman approved Paperclip in a secret directive on 3 September 1946, although he forbade the hiring of “any person known to have been a member of the Nazi Party”. That restriction, however, was loosely enforced. “Roughly half of the early Paperclip specialists had been members of the Nazi Party, many opportunistically,” according to later assessments. Others were “true believers” who had joined the SS or the SA.
The Osenberg List and the Race for German Minds
The Allies’ recruitment efforts were turbocharged when a Polish lab technician discovered the “Osenberg List” in a toilet at Bonn University. Compiled by engineer-scientist Werner Osenberg, it catalogued the names of Nazi-cleared scientists reinstated for wartime research. MI6 passed the list to US intelligence, and the hunt began in earnest.
Major Robert B. Staver, Chief of the Jet Propulsion Section of the US Army Ordnance Corps, used it to prioritise scientists for capture and interrogation. At the top of that list was Wernher von Braun, architect of the V-2 rocket. Von Braun and over 100 colleagues would go on to become the most famous faces of Paperclip—though they were far from the only ones.
By June 1945, many German scientists began surrendering voluntarily, preferring the Americans to the feared Soviets. One engineer summed up the sentiment:
“We despise the French, we are mortally afraid of the Soviets, we do not believe the British can afford us. So that leaves the Americans.”
A Multibillion-Dollar Intellectual Grab
Operation Paperclip wasn’t just about rockets. It spanned synthetic fuels, aviation, aerospace medicine, electronics, chemical warfare, and more. Estimates later valued the intellectual bounty at US$10 billion in patents and industrial processes.
Between 1945 and 1952, Paperclip saw over 1,600 scientists and 3,700 of their family members relocated to the US. Notable participants included:
At one point, a group of scientists and families were evacuated from Soviet-occupied zones under military escort, with instructions to bring only what they could carry. The goal: deny the Soviets access to German brainpower.
The Controversy: Ethics in the Shadow of Auschwitz
Operation Paperclip has remained controversial for good reason. Many of the scientists had troubling records. Some had worked with the SS or were involved, directly or indirectly, with concentration camp labour.
Take the case of von Braun. Though a gifted engineer and visionary, he was a Nazi Party member and an SS officer. He had at least tangential ties to the use of slave labour in the production of V-2 missiles at Mittelwerk, where thousands died in horrific conditions. This information was classified by the US Army, and von Braun was quietly relocated to Fort Bliss, Texas.
In 1984, Arthur Rudolph left the US rather than face investigation into his involvement with forced labour. Yet others, like Georg Rickhey, tried in Germany, were acquitted. The FBI investigated von Braun in 1961 and concluded that he had joined the Nazi Party to further his career and avoid imprisonment.
Annie Jacobsen’s 2014 book on Paperclip found that among 21 prominent recruits, 15 had been active Nazi Party members, 10 had served in the SS or SA, 8 had worked closely with senior Nazis, and 6 had been tried at Nuremberg.
Paperclip’s Legacy: From Rockets to the Moon
The most public-facing success of Operation Paperclip came through NASA. Von Braun’s group, initially absorbed into the US Army’s missile programme at Redstone Arsenal, was later transferred to NASA. These “Huntsville Germans” helped develop the Saturn V rocket that carried Apollo 11 to the Moon.
But this story, while spectacular, is only a fraction of Paperclip’s full scope. The US Air Force actually brought over the largest number of scientists, 260 in total. Specialists were dispersed across Navy facilities, universities, and private industry. Areas of focus included supersonic flight, jet propulsion, aerospace medicine, and radar.
The real driver behind Paperclip was not space exploration, it was the arms race. From guided missiles to ICBMs, the German recruits provided a scientific edge as the US squared off against the Soviet Union.
Final Assessment: Cold War Realism or Moral Compromise?
Project Paperclip undeniably advanced American science, helped catalyse the space race, and fortified Cold War defences. But it also came with a heavy moral cost.
By integrating men linked to war crimes, knowingly in some cases, the US government sacrificed ethical transparency for strategic advantage. “It became easier to sweep their past under the rug,” as one historian put it. During the height of anti-Communist fervour, their Nazi backgrounds were not only downplayed but often actively concealed.
Only in the 1980s, as files were declassified, did the full picture emerge. Black-and-white moral judgments fail to capture the complexity. Some recruits were complicit in atrocities; others were opportunists; a few were brilliant minds caught in the machinery of a totalitarian regime.
But the takeaway is clear: Operation Paperclip offers a sobering lesson in realpolitik. It shows what governments are willing to overlook when the stakes are high—and how the legacy of war doesn’t always end when the shooting stops.
