Burn After Reading (14 page)

The influence of S.O.E.'s operations on the future stability of Europe was also questioned, notably by Captain Liddell Hart, who ventured the opinion that their long-range residue effect was deplorable. F. O. Miksche, wartime operations chief of a Gaullist secret service, agreed as stated below :

“The People's Underground War [which S.O.E. was called upon to promote and stimulate] destroys the soul of a nation, systematically leading it into disobedience and disrespect of law and order. As in all revolutions, the People's War means complete chaos, a savage struggle in which the end justifies the means, and vengeance, trickery, and even treachery, play a great part. Each action provokes a reaction, and the consequent reprisals engender hatred to a degree hitherto unknown. The Second World War has already proved all this, and we see in
contemporary Europe the dire consequences of the war-time underground struggles.”

Despite all its shortcomings, S.O.E. made a substantial contribution to victory, and undoubtedly saved many lives. Bruce Marshall, in his account of the White Rabbit, a famous operative of S.O.E., tells how agents “disrupted the enemy's communications by blowing up railway tracks or hindered his war production by destroying pylons, electricity generating plants and machinery in factories. This form of warfare was both more accurate and benign than aerial bombardment. An agent insinuated into a factory could sabotage effectively and without loss of human life a piece of essential machinery that a squadron of bombers would be lucky to hit by chance.”

Even the bloodletting caused by S.O.E. blunders, I submit, proved salutary in the end. I, for one, firmly believe that only austerity and anguish and pain can produce the determination and bring forth the sacrifice needed to win the secret war, while pampering and bribery will lead to stagnation and failure.

In the summer of 1940, the
Abwehr
had reached its peak and was imperceptibly deteriorating; British Intelligence had moved out of its stupor and clumsiness, and had become, virtually overnight, a crucial arm of His Majesty's Government. These changes exerted a decisive influence on history: Hitler needed the
Abwehr
more than anything else to smooth his way to his next destination; Churchill needed the counsel of his Intelligence Service to prevent the Fuehrer from reaching it.

After the conclusion of the French campaign, Hitler was again somewhat uncertain about his future course. For a few days he toyed with peace feelers. Among others, the King of Sweden appeared behind the scenes and proffered his services to mediate some sort of a peace arrangement that would have enabled the Nazi to keep his loot. The services of Gustaf V were rejected by both sides; in indignation by Churchill, in puzzlement by Hitler. After that, Hitler no longer hesitated.

On July 2, he sent orders to the Abwehr to start the assembly of intelligence needed for plans for an invasion of England.

On July 16, he issued “Directive No. 16/40”, entitled “Preparations for a Landing Operation Against England.” The last sentence of the document's preamble read: “The enterprise is to be referred to by the cover name, Sea Lion”—as transparent a cover name as there ever was, reflecting Hitler's conceit and self-confidence.

However, extreme measures were introduced to screen the
operation. Only seven copies of the directive were prepared, one each for the supreme commanders of the Army, Navy and Air Force; one for General Jodl, chief of Hitler's own general staff; and two for Section L (
Landesverteidigung
) in Jodl's bureau, whose officers were to draft the plans. The seventh copy was locked up in Hitler's own files.

Despite this secrecy, however, the British managed to penetrate to the very core of Sea Lion. As early as June 27, an intelligence report arrived on Churchill's desk indicating that Admiral Schniewind's operations section in the German Admiralty was preoccupied with drafting invasion plans against England. The entire British Intelligence combine was alerted at once.

Late at night on July 6, Colonel Jacobs presented to the Prime Minister the first of a series of invasion dossiers. It contained abundant data that, however, appeared to be somewhat contradictory. It had several reports from confidential informants indicating that England was, indeed, the Fuehrer's next goal. But hard intelligence—reports of coast and train watchers and aerial reconnaissance—showed no evidence of German activity in preparation for an invasion.

This uncertainty lasted until about the third week in July, when Military Intelligence began to identify
Wehrmacht
units apparently marked for the assault on England. Two mountain divisions, in particular, intrigued the British officers. They had been observed by agents during vigorous exercises with mules at the rocky French coastline near Boulogne. An agent by the name of Bruno was forthwith sent to Boulogne, and it was ascertained that those divisions were training in preparation for scaling the Folkestone cliffs.

Among other invasion forces, the British succeeded in identifying two regiments of the 7th Parachute Division that were to descend, five thousand men strong, at the southern Downs. Elements of thirteen additional divisions were identified, deploying quietly all along the Channel coast from Ostende to Boulogne. At the same time, train watchers reported troop concentrations in the Pas de Calais and Normandy. Coast watchers
noticed a large number of self-propelled barges and motor boats creeping along the French coast; aerial photographs presented a graphic demonstration of the gradual growth of danger.

It became imperative to land agents on the French Channel coast to discover from close quarters what aerial reconnaissance inevitably missed, a string of painstakingly camouflaged coastal guns. French informants in the area were not yet available, so agents had to be found in Britain. One of the men who seemed to qualify was a prominent Westminster politician named R. E. Hutchinson, who used to visit the area around Cap Gris Nez year after year and also knew a lot about coastal artillery. But he was too well known in that part of France, and it was feared he might be recognized and betrayed. Hasty plastic surgery was performed to alter his features. He was still wearing the bandages over his new scars when he landed in France on his first mission. His journey was justified. He returned with detailed intelligence about those long-range coastal guns around the Cap.

Then the secret service came through with a phenomenal scoop. Information was procured that Hitler had definitely decided to mount the invasion on September 15; and that it was to be where the Channel was narrowest, to hit the area between Folkestone and Eastbourne, and the beaches both south and north of Brighton.

The decision was made on July 31. Information about it reached Churchill early in August, together with reports that the Army High Command was by no means enchanted with the prospects of the enterprise. On August 7, General Halder, chief of the Army General Staff, actually remonstrated with Hitler, suggesting that the invasion project, as envisaged by the German Admiralty, was tantamount to putting the army through a meat grinder. After that, some of the German generals referred to Sea Lion by a far less dignified name, Operation Meat Grinder.

Tension mounted steadily. On September 7, British intelligence reported that the German barges and small ships had begun their move to staging points. The
Luftwaffe
was being augmented to striking strength. Several observers noticed that
concentration of short-range
Stukas
, the
Luftwaffe's
dreaded dive bombers, at advanced airfields had increased.

In the possession of its vast intelligence dossier, Britain was able to make its dispositions prudently and well in advance. The situation was entirely different on the German side. This confused state was primarily due to the fact that the planners, including Admiral Schniewind and Jodl's bright young men in Section L, had to make their designs in the woeful absence of up-to-date, comprehensive and trustworthy intelligence. On July 7, Field Marshal Keitel expressed the consensus when he described Sea Lion as “an extremely difficult operation that must be approached with the utmost caution” because, he said, “the intelligence available on the military preparedness of the island and on the coastal defenses is meagre and not very reliable.” Hitler was eyeless, like Samson in Gaza.

When Hitler had commanded the
Abwehr
to obtain the necessary information for the invasion, Colonel Busch ordered what he still believed to be his network in Britain to drop everything else and get to work. What he got back was the ringing of the British carillon, a mass of data that was either useless or misleading. Hence Piekenbrock and Busch decided to send a new crop of agents into England and also to work with a ready-made network, the Irish Republican Army. This latter idea had a double aim: Ireland could be used as a point of entry for spies into England, and some information could be obtained directly there; also if an I.R.A. rebellion could be co-ordinated with Sea Lion it would provide an extremely handy diversion for further harassment of the British.

For its first crack at Ireland, the
Abwehr
decided to employ a most unusual tactic—the use of a spy who had already fallen. He was a certain
Herr Doktor
Hermann Goertz, a disbarred Hamburg lawyer who had drifted into espionage because he could succeed at nothing else. As early as 1935, Goertz had been sent into England with a pretty “secretary,” Marianne Emig, to spy out the RAF airfields ringing London. It was a far-sighted
move, since some of the information he procured helped to guide the
Luftwaffe
during the bombing of the city years later.

But Goertz was soon nabbed and served four years for espionage. After his return to Germany in 1939, Busch decided to send him to Ireland. He was dropped by parachute, but through an error of navigation by a clumsy pilot, he came down in Northern Ireland and was spotted. He barely managed to get over the border into Eire a jump ahead of the Royal Constabulary and had to leave his radio and other equipment behind, which was soon discovered. The British promptly posted a price of three thousand pounds on his head. Since a substantial section, even of the I.R.A., was opposed to co-operating with the Germans, Goertz was both a hunted and a haunted man, and he was actually relieved when he was finally arrested. He served some years in an Irish internment camp, and was eventually scheduled to be turned over to the British. The night before the proposed transfer he committed suicide with a capsule of cyanide.

Goertz wasn't the only Irish card in the
Abwehr's
hand by a long shot. A celebrated I.R.A. exile, Sean Russel, had been brought from the United States to Germany where a nucleus of other I.R.A. men were in training at Quenzsee. Since the Germans feared that the British might eventually occupy the Free State—or that the government would flee there if Sea Lion succeeded—it was important to promote an I.R.A. rebellion. A U-boat was commandeered to take Russel home, but by the time he arrived at the French port of Lorient to embark, he was a very sick man with an old ulcer flaring up. The Germans shipped him off anyway, but he had a hemorrhage and died at sea.

The
Abwehr
had a third important Irish link, this one in London. He was a prominent Irish businessman who claimed to have some association with the I.R.A.; he himself, however, was not a member. This man was sought to serve as liaison between his contacts in the Free State and the
Abwehr
in
Germany, but, with the outbreak of the war, it became extremely difficult to manage this three-cornered operation or even to get in touch with him.

An agent was sent to him via Spain, with a set of codes and some radio equipment. The courier managed to get to London, but when he called on the Irishman, he so frightened him that this chosen leader of the
Abwehr
espionage at first refused to go through with his original deal. Using the effective argument of blackmail, the courier told the reluctant spy that he would be denounced to the British if he persisted in his refusal. Under such pressure, the hapless Irishman agreed to continue to work for the
Abwehr
, but he refused steadfastly to operate a wireless. Arrangements had to be made for other couriers to visit the man in London from time to time and pick up whatever material he had; they would then continue on to Ireland and collect more reports directly from the man's contacts there. How effective this link became may be seen from the
Abwehr's
own admission that “throughout the course of the war only a single Irish courier ever reached Germany.”

Important as this Irish loophole could have been to the
Abwehr
, little had been done before the war to prepare it, and now everything had to be improvised. Canaris found it difficult to coax planes from Goering to drop his spies in Ireland. So, early in June, 1940, a German sailing enthusiast, a man named Nissen, tied to Canaris by their common hobby, received a summons to report for duty at once with General von Lahousen's Special Duty Battalion 800, the combat sabotage unit. The
Abwehr
wanted him to take secret agents to Britain and Ireland, and even to the Western Hemisphere and South Africa, if need be.

Nissen was given the freedom of the Channel coast, to requisition any boat or yacht that seemed suitable to him, train the crews, organize the missions, do anything at all, but do it quickly, for Heaven's sake.

Then, as work on Sea Lion progressed, Nissen, still far from having completed his preparations, was called to the
Abwehr
office at Brest and told to take three spies to Ireland, on the double. He decided to make the journey by sail alone. “After three days sailing,” Nissen reported later, “I landed my passengers by dinghy under cover of darkness in the gulf of Baltimore, near the Fastner Rock in the southwestern extremity of Ireland.”