Erich von Daniken - War of the Gods: Alien Skulls, Underground Cities, and Fire from the Sky

Erich von Dniken

This edition first published in 2020 by New Page Books, an imprint of

Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC
With offices at:
65 Parker Street, Suite 7
Newburyport, MA 01950
www.careerpress.com
www.redwheelweiser.com

Copyright 2020 by Erich von Dniken

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Red Wheel/Weiser, LLC. Reviewers may quote brief passages.

ISBN: 978-1-63265-171-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request.

Cover design by Kathryn Sky-Peck
Interior by Maureen Forys, Happenstance Type-O-Rama
Typeset in New Baskerville, Trade Gothic and Caslon 224

Printed in the United States of America
LB

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DEAR READER,

In this book, I present new findings! But it is only possible by building on previous experiences. Every reader of my books knows what a great dolmen isbut no one has ever heard of the dragon houses in Greece. In fact, great dolmens and dragon houses came about for the same reason, and we have all read about the underground cities in Turkey, but no one has drawn parallels to the so-called primary caves and Erdstlle (earth stables) in Austria and Germany. Why did our Stone Age ancestors dig burrows for themselves underground? And why did they do that worldwide and millions of times? What was the force that drove them to do this?

Between Mars and Jupiter lies the asteroid belt, also called the planetoid belt. How did it actually form? Could the hundreds of thousands of smaller and larger chunks of rock be the remains of an exploded planet? But heavenly bodies do not just explode like that. Are there references to a star war between gods in ancient literature? Was that the reason people sought protection from the cosmic projectiles? And where did the survivors go?

For generations, deformed heads have become world famous. These are elongated skulls pointing backward. They exist in the tens of thousands, and up until now we have been able to clearly prove how they came about. But more recently, skulls have appeared that no longer match the expected type. The same is true for some skeletons. What is going on here?

This book tries to explore these findings. Parallels must be drawn to previous books. The new findings are the culminating point of research reflected in my forty-one books so far.

With warm regards!

Erich von Dniken

FEBRUARY 23, 1988. It was to become an unlucky day. I had led a tourist party into the South American highlands. We arrived from La Paz, Bolivia, landing in Santa Cruz de la Sierra. At around 4,000 meters above sea level, La Paz is the highest civil airport in the world from which jets are still permitted to take off. Santa Cruz de la Sierra, our destination, however, was located at an altitude of 3,500 meters lower than La Paz. In the highlands, some had complained of breathing difficulties. Here, at 437 meters above sea level, the group was thrilled. We had all the oxygen we needed. At around five in the afternoon, we met for a drink at the swimming pool of the Holiday Inn.

Erich, did you see Rob? his wife Julia asked. He's not in our room, and neither is his bathing suit. He has to be down here somewhere. Julia and Rob came from Holland. This trip to faraway South America was their honeymoon. Rob was an imposing figure, six-foot-five-inches tall. Athletic, slim, fit. He had often told me about his extensive cycling tours. I got up and strolled around the pool. I looked for Rob. Had he perhaps left the hotel in his swimming trunks to buy something at the small stands in front of the main hotel entrance? Was he in a restroom? Our group included three young men. I asked them to search the whole facility for Rob and to check every restroom. To no avail. Rob remained missing.

Suddenly a woman screamed down from the second floor balcony and pointed excitedly to the swimming pool. It didn't look clean. No blue, transparent water. There, at 2 meters below the greenish, gleaming water surface, lay a human body with outstretched arms. We maneuvered Rob to the surface, heaving him out of the water. But the CPR performed on him came too late. A doctor diagnosed a heart attack. Ironically, Rob, the athletic type, had not coped well with the difference in altitude. We all took care of Julia, but she was surprisingly accepting and brave.

We ate dinner from the buffet. The group remained very quiet; everyone was talking about Rob's death. Julia wished that her husband's body would be transferred to the Netherlands. I promised to arrange this, although at the moment I had no idea how to make that happen and, specifically, didn't know what that would cost.

Then, keeping a friendly distance, the hotel director stood before me. I knew him from an earlier trip. He was a well-educated man who had also studied for four years in the United States. Mr. Antonio, as everyone called him, asked me to come to the front desk. There was a black man in a dark suit, wearing white gloves. The suit did not fit the face. I thought he was from a funeral home and wanted to discuss details with me concerning the transport of Rob's body. But Antonio told me something else. The man with the white gloves was the servant of a very rich man from Colombia. The stranger would like to meet me in person. His servant would take me to him and later back to the hotel.

But Antonio, I replied, my group is sitting in the restaurant. I cannot leave them alone. Antonio pleaded with me to get into the black man's car. I would not regret it, he insisted, and he assured me the rich man was also a major shareholder of the Holiday Inn. In addition, the hotel would comp all of tonight's drinks for our entire group. That was an excellent offer. What's the name of the stranger, and what does he do for a living?

Antonio squirmed. He said he wasn't at liberty to answer these questions. I would learn everything at the house of the hombre rico (rich man). I went back to the group, told them about my plans, and said I would probably be back at the bar in about an hour.

A dark Mercedes limousine was parked outside. The black man with the white gloves pointed to the back bench. Affixed to the back of the seat in front of me was a little rack to hold things. It held three bottles, each one containing a different type of exquisite whiskey; some mineral water; ice; and two glasses. I did not touch anything. Slowly, the vehicle drove up a hill. At the bottom right, I saw the lights of Santa Cruz de la Sierra. Then the chauffeur turned onto a bumpy, unpaved road. We drove through a grove, and I began to wonder if the whole thing was really a kidnapping. I did not carry a weapon on me and would have been helpless against my kidnappers. Then I abandoned my crazy thoughts. It was clear that my group of tourists in the hotel knew that I had gotten into the Mercedes on the director's recommendation. And anyway, I did not see Mr. Director as a crook, and moreover, if it were really an abductionwhy was it carried out in such a complicated and luxurious way?