Ordered by Goering's Four-Year Plan office to cut Germany's dependence on imported whale oil, 200,000 tons a year from Norway alone, the expedition left Hamburg on 17 December 1938 under Captain Alfred Ritscher aboard the aging catapult ship MS Schwabenland with two Lufthansa Dornier Wal seaplanes, Boreas and Passat. Working the Queen Maud Land coast from 19 January to 15 February 1939, it flew seven survey flights that photogrammetrically mapped about 350,000 square kilometers and took more than 11,000 aerial photographs, dropping meter-long swastika-embossed aluminum arrows at flight turning points to mark a claim. Norway countered on 14 January 1939 by proclaiming the sector Norwegian. The region between 10 degrees west and 15 east was named Neuschwabenland; the pilot Richard Schirmacher spotted the ice-free oasis that now hosts the Maitri and Novolazarevskaya stations.
The expedition worked in near-total secrecy and the first press release came only on the voyage home, in March 1939. Into that silence the postwar rumor mill poured everything: fleeing U-boats, secret weapons, the Fuehrer's own ice palace. The secrecy was bureaucratic, the maps were commercial, and the mountains were real, but a Reich that vanished in 1945 left its most mysterious file stamped with the one place nobody could check.
The claim's actual chain of custody, per the myth-history literature (Summerhayes and Beeching's Polar Record study): postwar newspapers speculated about a last Nazi redoubt, the 1946-47 American armada gave the speculation a villain's entrance, and by the 1950s the redoubt had a name, Base 211, and a postal address in New Swabia. No document, photograph, survivor, or shovel has ever produced the base. The arrows, meanwhile, were real: tested on an Austrian glacier, dropped every 30 kilometers along the flight grid, the only Nazi hardware ever placed on the continent.
If the expedition's own records show survey flights and whaling economics, where exactly did the underground fortress come from?