Killing Hitler (33 page)

Within two weeks, a reply duly arrived from Sofia, giving more details. Baur, it said, usually flew at high altitude with an escort of three fighter planes. On approach, he would drop small yellow plaques bearing the initials
AB.
The communication requested that a beacon be lit at the airfield. A probable date for the defection was given as 25 March 1941, only three weeks away. The most likely time would be dawn or dusk.
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In response, security measures at Lympne were stepped up: the garrison was reinforced, anti-aircraft batteries were installed, and a specially equipped Ford van was held in readiness, complete with a driver and two motorcycle outriders. The “prize,” as Hitler was now described, was to be taken upon arrival directly to the Air Ministry in London.
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That spring was to see numerous momentous developments. British and German troops engaged in North Africa for the first time in late February, while the British scored a morale-boosting naval victory over the Italians in the Battle of Cape Matapan the following month. Across the Atlantic, meanwhile, the Lend-Lease Bill was passed by the U.S. Congress and became law, thus providing Britain with a vital matériel lifeline. Most significant, perhaps, Germany was forced to secure her Balkan flank by invading Yugoslavia and Greece in early April, and that campaign would fatally delay the planned summer invasion of the Soviet Union.

However, for those watching the skies over Kent, nothing happened. The target date came and went without incident. After a lengthy silence from the contact in Sofia, the special arrangements at Lympne were discontinued on 1 June. The Ford van and motorcycles were returned whence they came. The reinforcements were relocated without ever being aware of the curious story in which they had played a role. Their prize had flitted
between Berlin, Munich, and Vienna that March, but plainly had not been induced to visit the Kent riviera.

In the absence of additional evidence, it is hard for the historian to conclude that the Baur story was anything other than a hoax. Baur certainly did not fit the role of a defector. A member of Hitler’s inner circle and one of his oldest associates, he had, by 1941, already served as the Führer’s pilot for nearly ten years, and he would remain scrupulously loyal until the very end. One of the last to leave the bunker in 1945, he lost a leg in the battle for Berlin and spent a further ten years in Soviet confinement. His memoirs, published after his release, still betrayed a distinct admiration for his former employer.
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The story’s Bulgarian connection is harder to fathom. Baur’s wife—far from being Bulgarian—was in fact born Maria Pohl in Danzig in 1907, and Hitler had even acted as best man at the couple’s wedding in 1936. Yet Baur himself had a link to Bulgaria. He knew King Boris well, having flown with him many times. He had also received from the king a number of Bulgarian decorations, including the Order of St. Alexander, and a succession of gifts and trinkets.
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It may be that the hoax was simply the result of jealousy in Sofia that a German pilot was being fêted in this way.

It is also telling that during the period that the hoax was being hatched, February and March 1941, Bulgaria was itself being drawn ever closer into the German sphere. In early February, for instance, high-level discussions had taken place in Sofia between Bulgarian generals and a delegation from the German General Staff. On 1 March, the Bulgarian government had then signed the Tripartite Pact, effectively allying itself with Berlin and allowing for the passage of German troops onto its territory. Four days after that, London had severed diplomatic relations with Sofia. Those unhappy with these developments might have viewed discrediting Baur as a good way to rock the boat, portraying him as a traitor to the Axis and a would-be defector.

Another tantalizing interpretation suggests that the Baur story was in some way connected with Rudolf Hess’s ill-starred flight to Britain in the summer of 1941. Baur, for example, was
known to have flown with Hess on his early training flights and had supplied him with maps and flight plans. Moreover, his supposed flight to Britain preceded Hess’s genuine flight by only two months. If one interprets Hess’s flight, as some do, as a covert mission on the orders of the Führer, then it is not inconceivable that the Baur story also emanated from Hitler and that both schemes were part of a somewhat ham-fisted plan to destabilize Churchill’s government (although it is hard to see how Baur’s planned defection might have served that end).
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In the absence of further archival disclosures and substantial research, all one can do is speculate.

By the middle of 1941, SOE was beginning to play its own part in targeting the German leader. That summer, it presented a “project for eliminating Hitler,” which gained the approval of all relevant government departments before a change in circumstances caused the mysterious plan’s cancellation.
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Sadly, no records of this plan have survived, so the extent and influence of any lingering qualms about assassinating Adolf Hitler are impossible to ascertain. Nonetheless, it is clear that the subject was at least being discussed at the highest level and was being planned for.

Some weeks later, SOE’s Mediterranean base at Cairo joined the fray. According to the memoirs of one of its officers, SOE Cairo was approached in the autumn of 1941 by a Macedonian “terrorist” by the name of Vilmar. It was informed that Vilmar, who was described as “a stout middle-aged man with an ugly leg wound,” was suffering from terminal cancer and had offered his services to try to kill Hitler.
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In return, the would-be assassin demanded only his living expenses and the promise of a posthumous decoration should he perish in the attempt.

Though SOE was profoundly unconvinced by him, Vilmar was supplied with the necessary papers to pose as a Bulgarian businessman and was infiltrated into Switzerland, from where he was to watch events in Germany and, if the opportunity arose, make his attempt. In due course, it was reported that Vilmar had traveled to Vienna shortly before Hitler was apparently scheduled to visit. Once there, he had approached the Bulgarian consulate
and had managed to secure access to a function at which the Führer was to speak.

The night before the event, however, wine and women apparently proved Vilmar’s undoing. After drinking too much in a Viennese bar and boasting of his scars and his activities as an assassin, he was arrested by the Gestapo. While his forged papers seem to have stood up to German scrutiny and he appears to have kept his head under interrogation, he was nonetheless scheduled for deportation. Returned to Bulgaria, he was never heard of again.

Though a diverting anecdote, the Vilmar story does not withstand closer scrutiny. The memoir from which it comes does not give a date for the attempt, but it is clear from the context that it took place between the late summer of 1941 and the summer of 1942. Yet, as a glance at Hitler’s wartime itinerary confirms, Hitler did not visit Vienna during this period. In fact, the very last time he visited the city was in March 1941.
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Whoever he was, and whatever he was doing, Vilmar was clearly
not
plotting to kill Hitler in Vienna. Such duplicity should not be surprising. By the very nature of its work, SOE was often forced to rely on forgers, burglars, safebreakers, and petty criminals. It was perhaps inevitable that, once in a while, the crooks in turn took SOE for a ride.

While SOE deliberated, Hitler was steadily strengthening and revising his security apparatus. The first major revision had appeared in 1940 in the aftermath of Georg Elser’s attack. The assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, two years later, prompted another thoroughgoing reorganization.

A snapshot of the revised security measures can be seen with Hitler’s visit to Berlin on 30 May 1942, barely three days after Heydrich had been ambushed. Where once crowds would have gathered and a ceremonial procession might have been organized, now the event was enveloped in a fog of secrecy. Hitler—who was scheduled to speak at the Sports Palace before an audience of cadets and invited guests—arrived direct from Wolfschanze. Outside the venue, approach roads, parks, and nearby houses were placed under surveillance. Even sewers, tunnels, and public toilets were patrolled. All local inhabitants were registered with the police, and all cars in the vicinity were subjected to spot checks. Inside
the Sports Palace, meanwhile, more than eighty Gestapo and police officers inspected and patrolled every inch of the building. No packages or bags were allowed in and no one was permitted to take photographs without written authorization.
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The contrast with the security regime of just a few years before is startling. In the summer of 1939, for example, public appearances were still relatively commonplace. They were minutely stage-managed, of course, but with the intention of showing a Führer at home with his
Volk
, patting children’s heads or receiving bouquets from nearly hysterical women in traditional dress.

By 1942, however, the “man of the people” had become a virtual recluse. Public appearances had become increasingly rare. Though Hitler might still be glimpsed lunching in the Osteria Bavaria, he never toured the bombed-out cities and never visited the wounded in hospitals. Those public events that were authorized were still minutely stage-managed, but now with the intention of keeping Hitler from his people, preserving him from the uncomfortable realities of “total war.” For the potential assassin, the almost boundless opportunities of a few years before had dwindled almost to nothing. Little surprise, then, that those who still sought to target Hitler were often left clutching at straws.

In the summer of 1944, SOE in Algiers was approached with another harebrained scheme to kill Hitler. Its initial reaction was one of caution, mindful perhaps of the Vilmar debacle, and the matter was referred to London for discussion. In time, it transpired that the “reliable source” behind the plan was a French colonel who claimed, somewhat bizarrely, that Hitler was hiding in a château near Perpignan in the south of France, and suggested that a combined air and ground assault be undertaken.
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Though the scheme was rejected, it did force SOE and the British once again to consider the fundamental issue of whether they really wanted Hitler assassinated. To this end, at an SOE council meeting on 27 June, the “question of a deliberate and continuous effort to try and liquidate Hitler” was raised.
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The following day, a second meeting was held, where the issue was discussed at length. Despite numerous objections, the director of SOE, General Colin Gubbins, set his organization the task of carrying out a
detailed investigation of the feasibility of such an attack. It was to be christened “Operation Foxley.”

In the months that followed, Operation Foxley concentrated on two broad areas: the possibilities of targeting Hitler at his residence at Berchtesgaden and on his private train. Its file grew into an astonishing collection of general information and sensitive intelligence, containing maps, photographs, and numerous hand-drawn sketches. It covered the topography and climate of the Obersalzberg region, Hitler’s appearance, his security measures, his habits and routines, and a detailed examination of the procedures aboard his special train. Every aspect was covered, from the detail of the sentries’ uniforms down to the various telephone extension numbers used in the Berghof complex.
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The resulting feasibility study appeared in November 1944. The identity of its author, code-named “LB/X,” remains unclear. SOE files cite a mysterious Major H. B. Court as LB/X, but no personnel file for him survives and nothing more about him is known. It is most likely, however, that the study was the fruit of more than one hand, and it has been suggested that one of its contributors was the later historian James Joll, who was then an officer of SOE’s German staff, Section X.
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The file outlined the intelligence that had been gathered, and concluded by suggesting two possible courses of action. The first was that Hitler’s train could be derailed or its water supply could be contaminated with poisons. The second was remarkably similar to the plot devised by Geoffrey Household five years earlier: that a sniper could be infiltrated into the area of the Berghof.

Of these two proposals, that centering on the Berghof was generally considered to have the best chance of success. The site, close to the Austrian-German border, had belonged to Hitler since 1933. Initially consisting only of a small country house, it had been expanded over the following decade with garages, bunkers, barracks blocks, and of course the residences of the senior Nazi potentates. Security at the complex was difficult to enforce, due to the wild, hilly landscape, but the entire site (encompassing over 7 square kilometers) was enclosed with barbed wire and patrolled by armed guards. Within that area, it was divided
into a number of zones, each with its own fences, security, and access passes. Thus, though the almost constant presence of construction workers might have provided an opportunity, the best chances for a would-be assassin would be to target Hitler when he was outside the complex.

Tantalizingly, this was a regular occurrence. Hitler was accustomed to walking in the forests and meadows that surrounded the Berghof. Though security was tightened as the war progressed, he still insisted on an afternoon stroll to the nearby teahouse at the Mooslahnerkopf. For the duration of the walk, which was approximately 1,500 meters, mainly downhill, he would amble along alone or at the head of a small group of his visitors or intimates. Though the route was patrolled, Hitler disliked the obvious presence of guards, so lapses in security were not uncommon. On arrival at the teahouse, he would usually drink a cup of camomile tea and pick at a slice of apple cake. After that, he would invariably fall asleep, while the remainder of his party chatted on quietly. Then he would wake and ask to be driven back to the Berghof, often leaving his guests to walk.
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