There was only one thing that had to happen before they could go. Bertrand actually had to read the message. And he couldn’t read the message, because he was away on one of his trips.
Henryk Zygalski with Ewa (right) and another girlfriend on the beach at Algiers. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Camel rides for code-breakers in the desert. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Jerzy Różycki with Włada, one of Zygalski’s girlfriends. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
The Château des Fouzes. A contemporary picture taken by one of the Ekspozytura 300 members. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Premier league. Code-breakers turned footballers at PC Cadix. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
En route, 17 June 1941. Henryk Zygalski (above), Captain Lane, the Poles’ French liaison officer, and Kazimierz Gaca (below), on the way back from North Africa. Lane perished the following year in the Lamoricière shipwreck. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Festival. Gustave Bertrand (7) looks round as someone cracks a joke. The others are Langer (1), Gaca (2), Paszkowski (3), Monique (4), Marie Bertrand (5), Sylwester Palluth (6), Antoni Palluth (8) and the wives of David and Maurice (*). (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Cadix 1942. Marian Rejewski relaxes with a book. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Disaster at sea. The Lamoricière (centre) listed and sinking, while the Gueydon stands off to rescue survivors. (Reproduced with kind permission of French Lines)
Code-breaker cousins. On the wall behind Antoni and Sylwester Palluth at PC Cadix is a chart of military operations in North Africa. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Moment of passion. Henryk and Janina Paszkowska. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
The art of concealment. Bertrand comfortable on top of a terracotta jar, sharing a joke with Marie; Gaca almost in a jar, with Paszkowski alongside; Monique fits in one easily; finally a code-breaker manages to get right inside. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
Wanted list. Pre-war mugshots of the code-breakers featured, alongside alleged criminals, in annexes to the ‘Wanted’ lists circulated by the German Security Police in France in 1943. (Archives départementales d’Indre-et-Loire (Tours. France), Cote 17 ZA 6)
Langer’s diary. Writing in German, Gwido Langer documented every day of his captivity, and his falling weight. (The Józef Piłsudski Institute, 238–246 King Street, London)
A home to return to. After the German Army had crushed the Warsaw Uprising in 1944, it was ordered to raze the city. (Author’s collection)
Peacetime. The emaciated Langer and Ciêżki after they reached Britain in 1945. (Barbara Ciêżka)
Capable of originality. Henryk Zygalski managed to overcome the prejudices of post-war Britain to make a career as a lecturer in mathematics. (Anna Zygalska-Cannon)
10
HIDE AND SEEK
Comptez sur mon entier dévouement jusqu’au bout – même en jouant cache-cache avec la Gestapo.
[Rely on my total dedication right to the end – even in playing hide-and-seek with the Gestapo.]
Gustave Bertrand
Message from Bolek to Janio (Żychoń), 8 April 19431
On 6 November 1942, Bertrand was relaxing in his bath. His reverie was unpleasantly interrupted by a noise like a derailed 4-6-4 steam locomotive thundering along the corridor. The train erupted into the bathroom in the form of Monsieur Beaujolais. The form of M. Beaujolais was, alas, not equal to the task of running, or the sight of Bertrand in the bath. In any event, Bertrand considered that a man in M. Beaujolais’ condition should be offered a glass of rum to settle him.2
Gwido Langer was nicknamed ‘Beaujolais’ by Gustave Bertrand for his fondness for wine. But this was not the time for a joke. Langer’s irruption into Bertrand’s bathroom reverie was because he had seen one of the Funkabwehr Chevrolet vans coming down the road, with its broad circular roof-mounted aerial shining in the sun. It was driving in the direction of the Château des Fouzes, heading straight for the château and all its incriminating equipment, papers and people. Bertrand and his team at PC Cadix knew all about these vehicles. They knew all about their activities. And they knew exactly who were their occupants. Gustave Bertrand and his team had not just been tracked by the Funkabwehr, they had been following the Funkabwehr themselves and decoding the Funkabwehr’s secret communications for weeks. And that meant they knew that the luck of Ekspozytura 300 had just run out.
• • •
The night before, Bertrand had returned from his trip and Langer presented him with the Récolte est bonne message from London. He didn’t want to act on it immediately, apart from telling Rivet. Langer demurred. Bertrand accused his Polish colleague of wanting to ‘bugger off’.3 Bertrand was implying that Langer was betraying him, leaving him in the lurch. How could it have come to this? Bertrand knew that the risk of betrayal was the risk of capture and a risk to the Enigma secret. He knew that to evacuate the code-breakers was his duty. Yet, for Bertrand the man, to do so would be to eviscerate his own organisation. For over three years Bertrand’s reputation had grown and grown, as a result of his feeding extraordinary morsels of delicate information obtained from inexplicable sources to the British, the French General Staff and to Vichy. This information was mostly obtained through the labours of his Équipe Z and the X-Y-Z symbiosis. Bertrand had to resolve this conflict within himself, a way to pilot the Poles to a safe haven without casting himself adrift.
Bertrand and Langer had already had one row about whether it was safe to go to Africa and now Bertrand was finding excuses for delay. First, Bertrand got on the transmitter and suggested to Dunderdale that he should to go to Paris and see what the Germans were up to from his source Max. Fortunately, the British quashed the idea without right of appeal: La récolte est très bonne et il n’est plus le temps de voyager. [The harvest is very good and it is no longer the time for travelling.] The British added that there was less than a week before the Germans would make their move.4
That they should visit Nice was something two conflicted intelligence leaders could agree on. Bertrand thought the main purpose of the trip was to conceal two suitcases full of documents and some equipment somewhere about his mother’s house in Nice. Langer and Palluth had other ideas. They intended to see ‘Mak’, the cover-name of Lieutenant Colonel Marian Romeyko, who, under the cover of being a farmer, was running Ekspozytura F2 of Polish military intelligence. The Polish F2 network had just taken over from Ekspozytura F, which had been eviscerated by the efforts of the Funkabwehr and its collaborators in the Vichy police. From the Polish perspective, Mak was now running the service that might be able to arrange the exfiltration of Ekspozytura 300’s team of over a dozen code-breakers. For two years, Ekspozytura F had been finding ways for trapped Polish servicemen and others to cross the Pyrenees so they could rejoin the fight. All of this had been well concealed from Bertrand, who was quite astonished to be taken to the secret address in Nice: a secret kept so well that even Bertrand himself had no idea that the organisation existed, let alone its address. But all was not well with the Polish underground. There had been too many arrests. For Poles wanting a ticket for the underground, there was currently no service and no date set for resumption.5
• • •
It was shortly after their return from Nice that the radio van of the Funkabwehr came within 200m of the Château des Fouzes. A bunch of policemen jumped out. Their direction-finding could not have been particularly sharp, as the men went into the neighbouring house, giving Langer and the dripping Bertrand time to order the concealment of everything. Someone kept watch on the road, where the police had moved on to the next building. Équipe Z switched off all their radios and pulled down the antennas. Equipment was being bundled away, but the police had given up on the second building and the château was next. The château was set well back from the road, surrounded by gardens and a few trees. The police pointed the circular pelengator on the top of their van towards the gates of the building. Nothing. All they could see was the bored ‘gardener’, one of the code-breakers in fatigues scratching weeds out of the
gravel. The place looked quiet in the autumn sunshine; the suspicious transmissions had stopped; it was time for a coffee. The men got back into their van and drove off.6
This was too close a call. Bertrand got in touch with Colonel Rivet, urgently asking for directions. Rivet was no longer in charge, but his former number two, Émile Delor, was, and came to the château, arriving just before midnight. Bertrand and Langer agreed: the operation should be shut down and the château evacuated. Another auto-da-fé of documents followed and more equipment was hidden. On the following day, the third exodus of the Polish code-breakers began.7 The only issues to decide were where they could go and how they could get there.
• • •
Over a hundred ships left Chesapeake Bay in late 1942, stuffed with under-trained American troops heading for an uncertain reception in French North Africa. The U-boats were not yet beaten. At this time, the balance of power in the Atlantic was in favour of the submarines and their torpedoes. Fortunately for the transports, the U-boats had identified other prey. A merchant convoy was inching its way towards Europe from its rendezvous at Freetown, Sierra Leone, and that was too tempting a target. Twelve ships from the commercial convoy were lost, but the troops glided by unseen.8
As the ships steamed through the Straits of Gibraltar, German intelligence still had no idea what the target was going to be. No one predicted landings at Oran or Algiers. Tactical surprise was complete. On Sunday 8 November 1942, the troops landed and the Americans had now obtained their foothold on the continent of Africa.
The best thing for Équipe Z was to repeat what they’d done in 1940 and clear out to French North Africa. The Spanish team – Bertrand’s Équipe D – had already been allowed to go. With Darlan, as well as the Americans, in North Africa, Rivet was himself was going to board a flight to Algiers. Rivet had been asked about the Équipe Z team at Uzès, but Rivet had replied Les officiers d’abord! [officers first]. Despite the risk to the Enigma secret, with the Germans about to swarm over PC Cadix and the rest of the South, the Polish team had been left to their own fate.
Gwido Langer later noted acidly that, ‘this was the act of a gentleman who promised us many a time that he’d look after us, that we would never end up in the hands of the Germans’. The gentleman had been relying on Admiral Darlan, but Darlan’s attitude was far from clear. To Langer’s disgust, ‘it later transpired that not all the seats on the planes were taken.’9
Within days, the opportunistic Darlan was treating with the Americans, whose grip on the continent was rapidly assured. Back in metropolitan France, on 11 November 1942, German and Italian forces took over the former Zone Libre.
Bertrand thought that with the African and Polish underground options unavailable, he might instead be able to sort something out directly with the British. In the days after the occupation, despite the challenges of communication, a frenzy of messages passed between Polish HQ in London, Dunderdale, Bertrand, and the Poles trapped in France. Not just messages: Langer was sent 800,000 francs (nearly £4,500 at 1942 values) in cash.10 Biffy Dunderdale ruled out a mass evacuation by air; there were just too many Poles. What remained was the sea route or the land routes via neutral Switzerland and not-quite-so-neutral Spain. The Swiss route was unattractive, as the Swiss would probably intern the Poles. And their version of internment would be much stricter than anything the Poles had experienced in Romania. Biffy Dunderdale didn’t like the Spanish idea. So the sea route it would be. The date set for the voyage was 4 December.
Eventually, the details were sent across by the British. The evacuation was called Operation CRICKET and it would take place at 2 a.m. on the night of 2–3 December. The pickup point would be a few kilometres south of Théoule-sur-Mer, in the Italian-occupied zone, where Gustave Bertrand had an apartment and Équipe Z had reassembled. ‘Signal from the land: letter H. Signal from the ship: letter U. Password from the ship: ‘Où est le poisson?’ [Where’s the fish?] Response: ‘Dans la friture.’ [In the fryer.]
But the remaining underground Poles based with Mak in Nice were nervous. The Italians had the rendezvous under observation. Operation CRICKET was postponed.
They tried again. On 11 December 1942, Polish HQ sent Langer another message:
Operation CRICKET will take place in 10 days … I will not send parcels relating to Operation CRICKET. You will receive them at a post box in Lyon. I will let you know when they are dropped off. They will contain money, 4 radio sets, a camera and photographic materials, cigarettes that put you to sleep, Monaco certificates and a bit of food for you.
Later it was confirmed that CRICKET would go ahead on Christmas Day at 9 p.m. But then, in London, the significance of the surveillance by the Italians sank in. It was too dangerous. Operation CRICKET was called off.11
Meanwhile, the Polish code-breakers were living in various hotels and rented villas on the Côte d’Azur. Mimicking the lifestyle of rich expatriates swanning along the promenade, with a genteel aperitif, enjoying the sunshine and gazing hopefully at the sea. This picture of paradise was somewhat marred by the Organizzazione per la Vigilanza e la Repressione dell’Antifascismo (OVRA) – the Italian cousin of the Gestapo – strutting around, the food shortage, the winter weather and the dangers of slipping a pro-Ally sentiment into a strangely accented remark. Still, the Poles managed to get out and about. Walks, English lessons, concerts, church, and the occasional outing. On 24 December 1942, a seasonal celebration, at which Langer and Ciężki became impressively drunk, before midnight mass at Notre-Dame-des-Fleurs. A remembrance mass, on the anniversary, for the victims of the Lamoricière sinking. Bertrand noted sarcastically how the funds of the Polish intelligence service were being put to use.12
The gaiety of the Riviera was an illusion. The inescapable truth was that the illicit Polish team of code-breakers was stuck in occupied France. By the time Operation CRICKET had been called off, the head of the new Ekspozytura F2 had been arrested by the Abwehr and the OVRA. Along with him went nine more Poles from the fledgling Ekspozytura F2 and a hundred others. It was the biggest round-up yet and it took place the weekend before Bertrand’s message to Dunderdale about the inviability of CRICKET. The Germans were leaving no one any place to hide. No wonder Langer and Ciężki had got soused on Christmas Eve.
Worse was to come. Two weeks later it was the turn of the Gestapo to tighten the screws. This time the target was the old French Service de Renseignements. For months the Germans had harboured suspicions about the pro-Ally tendencies of French intelligence: in October, Admiral Canaris, the chief of the Abwehr, had made it known to the French that he knew the service was providing cover for pro-Allied activities in the Zone Libre.13 Now the Germans had control, they could act. Under an order from the Führer, roundups began at 5 a.m., 8 January 1943. Over one hundred officers and other personnel serving in the French Army, Air Force and Navy were arrested. Now the guts had been ripped out of the French Deuxième Bureau as well as the Polish intelligence networks. With nothing left of the old organisations, there was nowhere reliable for either Bertrand or Langer to turn.
• • •
While Langer and Ciężki were seeing out the old year, Polish HQ in London sent a message to its regional centre in Berne. Berne was acting as the hub for communications with Poles in France, including Mak and his immediate group. ‘In France, one Lieutenant Henryk Paszkowski has been working with Radio Intelligence inter alia as cipher specialist. We must evacuate him to Switzerland together with his wife who is 8 months pregnant.’14 It was hopeless, though, with no one to put the idea into action. Bertrand had not yet given up; he was still sending telegrams to Dunderdale. In one, he explained that the Swiss route was impossible. Perhaps, though, the road to Spain was still open, despite Dunderdale’s reservations.
Leaving via Spain would not be easy. First, the team had to get across German-occupied France, notwithstanding their fake identities and unconvincing accents. The mountain paths were physically demanding and the reception given by the Spanish unpredicta
ble. It would also be expensive. But, said Bertrand, evacuation via Spain stood ‘a good chance’ of succeeding. The team would be divided into small groups and delivered up to the British or American legations in Pamplona or Barcelona. Please could Dunderdale prepare the ground and take things on from there?
Bertrand’s second telegram was more general:
1. I must warn you that the Gestapo and French police are to carry out a major round-up between the 12th and the 15th across the entire former Zone Libre, to arrest everyone in their sights: foreigners, Jews, Gaullists, officers, etc. 2. Next the demarcation line is to be brought down. 3. Lastly, the coast and borders will constitute a forbidden zone …15
It was not prudent to delay. The next day, 9 January 1943, Bertrand’s number two, Captain Honoré Louis, sent word to Langer that the time had come to move. The first group, comprising Langer, Ciężki, Rejewski, Zygalski, Fokczyński, Gaca and the Paszkowskis (including the enormously pregnant Janina), would depart for Toulouse on 11 January. On the day of departure, Langer and Ciężki got soused again. It was an emotional occasion, being a farewell to Bertrand, who had been their ‘patron’ since the evacuation from Poland over three years before and Langer’s liaison officer for over ten years.
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