|
Miller H Caldwell, click here
to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.
|
|
|
|
The story continues
Chapter 13
The next day Nancy and I sat together as two men, probably in their late fifties, came into the room. They wore their hair very short, were both rather well built and had unmistakable American accents, hiding the occasional guttural German nuance.
‘Hi, I’m Carl, with a C. Taxi driver from Baltimore. Carl Jaeger. Glad to meet you all.’
‘Well, I see it’s introductory time. I’m Max. Originally Maximilian Becker and since 1931, the naturalised American Max Baker. Ma Bakers’ Diner. I’m the chef, cook and bottle washing manager. Breakfasts our specialities.’
‘And Carl, your surname is Hunter, I presume. Carl Hunter?’
‘Right first time. And who am I speaking to?’ he asked.
‘I’m Hilda Richter, widow of Hamburg doctor Karl Richter.’
‘And your espionage identity?’
I hesitated. I was uncomfortable. It felt it was too soon to reveal the name I’d be using in Britain.
‘Still to be confirmed,’ I said and turned towards Nancy with eyelashes looking heavenward, as if a tease.
‘So I complete the happy spy ring. Nancy Kruse, airline office New York since 1935.’
The door opened and a man in military uniform entered. He epitomised the Aryan persona. Tall, blond, with immaculate trousers creased and a silver topped cane which he rested on the table. He spoke in a Prussian German to begin with, then in solid Home Counties English.
For the benefit of our American friends he began, he would speak English as a language we all understood.
‘It is an honour to meet you all. My name is Sturmbannführer Konrad Glauber. I have detailed notes on all of your backgrounds and although most of you will be returning to America, except Miss Campbell of course, your training will be together.’
I felt eyes turning towards me questioning why I did not disclose my new personality.
‘Did I say something...?’ asked the Major noticing the eyes turned on me.
‘I think they are questioning why you knew my overseas name was Campbell but it seemed I didn't. I can explain. I had just met everyone here and was initially reluctant to give anything away. I am Hilda Campbell, when I am in post,’ I said hoping my explanation would not detract from our blossoming trainee friendships.
‘Commendable, Miss Campbell. Our American friends are more open than we are. It is a difference we must make exceptions for. America is not at all like Germany. One day however,........well....let’s leave it at that.’
There was a rumbling of approval from the wooden floor as feet stamped underneath desks.
The morning was spent outlining the programme planned. We would work in teams at times and as individuals in map reading, orienteering and assault course muscle building exercises. There would be more specific espionage training in such areas as preparing coded messages and micro photography. Transmitting frequency apparatus were there to practise on and special codes were committed to memory. We were made privy to some Army briefings too.
After two weeks I was settled into the regime of instruction. I learned much about my American colleagues, who had left Europe to find a better life but had been disillusioned in the depression of the early 30s in America. The rise of Hitler gave them that missing Messiah and their allegiances moved from the stars and stripes to the bold black swastika. They also told me of the network of fellow American spies already trained and in post along the eastern seaboard. There seemed to be dozens at work on the other side of the Atlantic.
One night my sleep was disturbed. A distant rumble groaned as if an earthquake had hit a nearby town. The noise did not stop. It grew louder. I got out of bed, slipped on my nightgown and walked into the corridor which faced the back of the compound. On the railway line some two miles away, it was plain to see carriage after carriage of tanks and military equipment thundering along the line at a moderate speed. I counted twenty two carriages. Then a moment later, another train with another twenty two carriages passed by, once again supporting tanks, cannon, light armoured vehicles and some covered wagons, presumably keeping the ammunition dry.
Nancy appeared placing her hands on my shoulders.
‘Disturbed you too?’
‘Yes, shattered my sleep,’ I replied.
‘Exciting though.’
‘But where can they be going?’ I asked in bewilderment.
‘North, in that direction. That’s all I can say.’
Her hand lifted from my shoulders and I turned towards her.
‘War is getting nearer isn't it?’ I asked.
‘With sights like this, it can’t be denied. I’ll soon be on my way home to the New York. My field of activity.’
‘Yes, I’ll miss you,’ I said.
‘Me too, honey.’
The newspaper, delivered each day, informed me that on August 19, the Soviet – German Economic Treaty had been signed after five months of negotiations. That was the best news I could have wanted. It meant Otto would not be heading into a war in Russia. With Russia in harmony with Germany economically, I had hoped in my heart that negotiation might be the way forward before military action would be unstoppable.
Some of my training was almost comical. We made chocolate bars with secret wires hidden inside the chocolate. Then they were wrapped in American Hershey chocolate bar paper. When the victim bit into the bar, the circuit wire would become exposed and would come into contact with a filling. An explosion would follow, enough to kill the subject. This was to be used to eliminate a difficult individual frustrating the agent’s work. Methods of disposing of unwanted bodies was drilled into us and I engaged with enthusiasm, knowing I would be turning cloak as soon as I could, if only I could get back to Britain. That objective was now imperative. It was also proving difficult.
On completion of the many weeks training, I was given five micro photographs containing instructions for preparing a code and detailing the type of information I was to transmit to Germany. I was also given a capsule which I must take if trapped and grilled by the enemy. A caught spy is a dead spy. It was left in our own hands, and not others, to take one’s life.
On 1st September 1939, I heard on the radio, that Germany had invaded Poland. I cringed. Hitler had started his game of chess. It was also the day I received a package from Eicke. It contained my British identity pass. I looked at it. It was not the one I had in the house. It was a different photo, it was me, nevertheless. At least I knew he had not broken into our home. His message was brief, simply wishing me luck and showing his total faith in me. Details of my assignment would follow, he mentioned. My present orders would come from Major Glauber. Tucked into the package I was delighted to find a letter from Otto. I put all other thoughts out of my head and opened his letter. I was disappointed to see it was no more than a brief note. He wrote that he was heading north-west to Poland. He could say no more than he was in a motorized unit. Part of the blitzkrieg I knew. He did not speak of Gisela but spared me three kisses.
That morning I reiterated my news from Eicke to Major Glauber and took the opportunity to compliment him on his command of the English language.
‘I studied English literature at Oxford. Brasenose College 1934-37. I stayed with my aunt in Reading.’
I felt a bolt of energy sparking my reply.
‘We have much in common then.’
His smile was warm and charming. ‘You married a German and my father married an Englishwoman. Our cultures are very much entwined.’
‘They are indeed. Our country at present has a future. That’s the side I’m on,’ I told him.
He placed his arm on my shoulder and patted it a couple of times.
‘You will be a credit to the Reich.’
Three days later I had to pack my bags and await a driver. By then, Max, Karl and Nancy were on their way back to America.
My driver was a young army escort. A boy trained to do his duty and ask no questions and no answers I got from him as we drove at speed along back roads till we got to Dresden. His hair was cropped and his high collar seemed to have rubbed an abrasive red mark on his neck. He touched it frequently to calm the irritation.
Everywhere in Dresden were flags flying. The news of the Gleiwitz incident which provoked the war against Poland had inflamed the population and they were in the streets of the city as if it was a national holiday. Trumpets were playing, dogs barking and children running along the pavements waving hand held flags of support for National Socialism.
We crossed the city and once again passed through a flat area of countryside. This was the Germany I loved; virginal fresh and peaceful. Despite not knowing where we were going, I was resigned to one last effort to engage this youth.
‘You know, my son Otto must be about your age, twenty. He’s in the Army too.’
‘I am not meant to talk to you. These are my orders.’
‘But surely you can tell me where we are going? Is it far?’
‘We’ll soon be there.’
I gazed out at the greenness I was seeing. Mid summer heat added to the pleasantness of a German summer. Above the hedgerow I saw some camouflaged hangers. I was not surprised when the car slowed down at the airfield entrance. We were stopped. Inspection of the car and its occupants took place. The driver showed his pass and two armed guards peered into the car at me. It was an awkward gawping moment for me. When we moved off past the guards, I enjoyed a sigh of relief.
‘Essential I suppose but scary,’ I said to no response. At last I’d be heading home to report all I could to Thornton. Just in time too. With the invasion of Poland, we would soon be at war with many more countries. The sooner I got back home the better.
The car drew up to the administrative building while I gazed out at a variety of different sized aircraft. All bore the swastika on their tail fins.
When I alighted, I was greeted by my handler. He had come down from Hamburg. I disguised my surprise in a warm smile.
‘Good morning, Frau Richter.’
‘Good morning Herr Eicke. I am surprised to see you here this morning.’
‘I wished to, no, I needed to see you off to a good start, but first, a coffee? We have some business to attend to. Follow me.’
I followed him to the building as my departing driver engaged first gear. I waved to him. He responded with a raised arm and a genuine youthful smile. I turned and gave him the Hitler salute making sure Eicke noticed as I did so.
‘A fine young man. He’ll make a good soldier,’ I said.
Eicke turned round to face me. ‘Did you have conversation with him during your journey?’
I shook my head. ‘He was as silent as the night. I tell you he’ll make a good soldier.’
The room had been converted recently. While there were two offices at the end of the building, the rows of tables and chairs looked like a school dining room. The erstwhile rooms had gone to make this large space. On the wall were faded markings showing the former room partitions of which there seemed to have been four all equally sized. I was led to the office on the left where Eicke had arranged the meeting. From the coffee pot on a stove, he poured two mugs and offered a plate of schwartzwalder roulade.
‘Ahh, this cake. A real treat. Don’t tell me you baked it?’
‘I’d be proud if I could. No my wife is from the Black Forest and makes it for special occasions.’
‘And today is special?’
‘Third September 1939 and you ask me, is it special? Have you not heard the news?
‘The news? I don’t think so.’
‘Britain has declared war against Germany.’
My worst fears had been realised. The maternal pull towards my son pulled against the maternal love I had of my mother. This was at the heart of my dilemma. It was a dilemma that would never be satisfactorily resolved now. It was not a topic for the moment.
‘Then this is why it will be tricky for me to return to Britain,’ I suggested.
‘It can be arranged, but not yet.’
Not for some considerable time I thought. A German aeroplane crossing the English Channel would hardly survive a landing. Getting back to Scotland was simply impossible now.
We supped our coffee in harmony. The cake was rich and spicy; warm and satisfying.
‘Your wife is a fine baker.’
Eicke nodded and lit a cigarette.
‘You will be flying in less than an hour. I need to explain. You will not be returning to Britain. The flight will take you to Lisbon this evening. You will be at the German Ambassador’s house tonight.’
‘Portugal?'
‘Yes, this is where we will receive messages from America. The air is clear and so the transatlantic messages are too. I think you met some of the American agents?’
‘Yes, of course. I got on well with them, particularly Nancy.’
‘Yes I know. I received a very good report about your enthusiasm and ability to undergo the rigorous training, from Major Glauber. He was impressed with you. I have every confidence in you too.’
I was pleased to hear Eicke say this. I seemed to be eating out of his hand without him knowing I also had the power to strike back at him.
‘But what will I do in Portugal?’
The cigarettes’ blue smoky flame drifted upwards and mixed with the atmosphere. I took another mouthful of cake and waited to hear my job specification.
‘You will receive the messages sent in English from America. They have to be in English so as not to arouse any suspicion from the Yanks or Britain, should they intercept them. You will pass them on to the German High Command, in Berlin translated into German, of course. Here, this is their code and number.’
‘And is America in the war yet?’
‘No. This is why this link is so useful. We do not have a foe in the USA....makes it a little easier. You will have a small house at Peniche on the coast at Cape Carvoeiro. You will broadcast from there.’
‘I see. And what is my cover?’
‘You will tell them you inherited from your late father and decided to come to enjoy the better weather Portugal had to offer. Tell them you have decided to write a novel. That will mean many hours in your cottage. Late nights with the cottage lights on but you won’t be writing novels. It’s the best time to transmit. Get to know some of the locals, eat their food and drink their wine. Try to learn some of their language. Make them feel you are becoming part of their small community. They will all want to get to know you. Needless to say, attract no attention to your real purpose, or your radio activities.’
‘So I am to be Hilda Campbell from today?’
‘Yes, Miss Campbell, you have your British pass?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then give me your German pass.’
I opened my handbag. But his request had confused me. I was perplexed. I took a sip of the cooling coffee. I brushed some cake crumbs from my skirt. I clarified his question.
‘When in Portugal, at the German High Commission, surely I should have a German pass for them?’
‘No need. They know your work and that you are expected. They will support you as much as they can.’
‘Then won’t I need it when I return to Germany? Won’t I?’
‘When you return to Germany, we will arrange that.’
‘And how can I return, now war has been declared? Return to see Otto and my family?’
‘A U-boat will be provided, perhaps a light plane from Portugal. ...maybe we next meet in Britain?’ he said with a leering dreamy-eyed smile.
I could not bring myself to acknowledge this thought. My stare made him somewhat embarrassed. An impulsive thought it was and a further example of his maverick mind, set loose within the regime. Nevertheless I handed over my German passport.
‘Meanwhile Karl and Renate will not be troubled,’ I asked for my satisfaction.
‘These are matters we need not concern ourselves about at present. You have a job to do. And I know you will do it well. Your wireless skills are good. And now you have met the team providing the information. Are you clear about what we expect?’
‘Very clear. I shall provide the information promptly. But to Berlin, and not yourself?’ I clarified.
Eicke reflected on my question, tapping yet another cigarette against his silver case.
‘For the time being, our paths will separate. I am very busy cleansing Hanover. Incidentally I have made quite an impact in the moving of Hamburg’s Jews. Heydrich is very pleased with what I have achieved so far. But your work will be known to me as we make greater strides against our enemies.’
I looked out of the window. I heard the sound of an aeroplane approach the landing strip. It was not a large craft.
Eicke offered his hand. ‘I do not believe in luck. I believe in hard work which provides results. You can do that, Hilda.’
We shook hands and I held his hand as firmly as I could. He had placed his faith in me. My faith was elsewhere but he must not think that. I gathered my luggage. The heavier bag sat on the floor erect, the base being my oboe case. Eicke lifted it and we made for the plane. Before us was a Heinkel He 70 Mail plane. We approached it as the propellers kept rotating. The pilot jumped down from his cockpit. We all raised our arms and hailed in unison.
‘A moment please,’ he said running off to the hanger and its facilities.
‘We are at war in Europe but Europe is not at war. Portugal and Spain will remain neutral. Spain has had its struggles and it is a broken country. The Portuguese people should welcome you in their midst after you have endeared yourself to them. Take your time, be seen, and be liked.’
‘I ought to be grateful to be sent to Portugal in September. It will make you jealous, all that sun and sea,’ I said smiling at him but his face did not respond to acknowledge my apparent delight.
‘It is because of the weather we will get good signals from America. The quality of air is good as I said. Don’t forget your duties.’
‘I won’t,’ I said. I turned towards the aircraft and lugged my bags on board.
‘Careful, don’t break the radio.’
I turned round. ‘German fabricated. Solid as a rock. I’d be more concerned for my oboe.’
Eicke supported my arm as I mounted the eight metal steps into the craft.
‘Get that oboe of yours to play Beethoven, Bach and Schubert, none of that Mendelssohn nonsense. You hear?’ I put my thumb up towards him. The pilot arrived.
‘Welcome on board. I’m Werner Metzger. Your seat is behind me. Wear the cap that’s on the seat. We can communicate through that.’
I made myself comfortable despite the gradient which gave me sight of blue sky only. Werner closed the fuselage door. I waved to Eicke who raised his arm then waved. I wondered when I’d see him again. I wondered if I’d ever see him again. I made no plans for either scenario.
Werner explained that the route would be due south over northern Italy then over the Mediterranean Sea, along the north African coast then north to Lisbon where I’d be met. I looked behind my seat and saw several mail bags.
‘Are you still able to provide a postal service now the war has begun?’
‘Diplomatic bags. Maybe some addressed to you?’
‘I doubt it,’ I said thinking they would have to get my name right, for a start. I’d also just been given all the instructions I needed from Eicke.
‘So you are staying at the Embassy?’
‘Perhaps for just one night.’
That was a moment for Werner to reflect.
‘Perhaps you are on a Government mission?’ he asked.
‘That would be more accurate,’ I said and the conversation died.
I wrapped a provided blanket over my lap with my hands clasped under its warm cover. The altitude brought me nearer the sun but I was not warmer in the aircraft. Before long a regular rhythm of the vibrating propellers relaxed me. It made me drowsy. We had not spoken for some time.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes, a bit drowsy, almost asleep.’
‘Good idea. Not for me though.’
I smiled at his humour. I placed my life in his hands and soon the dozing became pure nirvana.
|
|
Web Site:
The Reluctant Spy
|
|
|
|
|
|
Your writing is very good with interesting details like all the German uniforms with their high collars bothered their wearers. Looking forward to the next chapter.
Ron