by Max Ciampoli
If people had watched all of us big men climb into this little car, they would have doubled over in fits of laughter. The big Scot turned and began speaking to me in French. The others were speaking animatedly in English, so I understood nothing of what they said.
“I’m in charge of your training, and you’ll be an expert when I finish with you.”
It took hours to get to the camp in the Highlands. It was well guarded and surrounded by wire fencing topped with barbed wire. Located on a very large, flat graded area surrounded by mountains, the camp had barracks that were simple one-story dormitories. The mess hall was small for a military base, seating only a couple hundred people. There were only about twenty men at lunch when we arrived. The two of us left the others behind talking and went to get something to eat. We found a quiet place to sit down alone. He took a flask from his pocket and poured two glasses. “Let’s toast your arrival.” I sniffed it first and then drank. It was an excellent scotch. The food was simple but tasty. During my stay, I remember we ate a lot of potatoes, soup, and lamb and generally drank beer, tea, or milk. Strangely, I don’t remember there being any coffee or water, but there must have been.
After lunch, a woman driver took us to a nearby valley. We drove past soldiers who were crawling on their bellies under barbed-wire fences. Others were shooting just above the barbed wire making sure the trainees kept their bodies low.
“I was informed that you’ve already had all the basic training you need in the French military, so we’ll just concentrate on jumping,” he told me. As we descended into the valley, the sergeant pointed toward a freestanding tower about five stories high. “That’s the small tower where you’ll start learning to jump tomorrow.” He then indicated to the driver to continue up the mountain. Against a cliff was another tower about ten stories high. “When you’re ready, you’ll be driven to this tower to practice.”
“We’ll start training tomorrow, but now we’ll go back to the base and pick up overalls, leggings, boots, and a protective helmet for you.”
After picking up the equipment, he showed me the barracks, my cot, and a locker to put my things in. The showers and bathroom were on the other side of the barracks, not far from where his cot was located. It took me no time to put my things away, and then we walked over to the mess hall to have dinner. We talked quite a while afterward. His mother was a professor of French at the university. When we returned to the barracks, everyone was already asleep. “See you in the morning,” he said, and walked to the far side of the large room.
Early the next day, before dawn, the siren sounded and everyone got up, showered, dressed, and went to the mess hall for breakfast. The room was packed. The sergeant and I ate a big breakfast, including hot cereal, eggs, potatoes, ham, and toast. He talked a lot. I mostly listened. As we exited the dining room, there was a car and driver waiting for us. It was raining. Actually, it rained most of the time I was there.
I climbed the stairs up the tower, and he followed me. Inside, there was a soldier who normally gave the instruction. The sergeant showed me how to get into the harness that was attached to the parachute. The chute was loose, not tightly packed like it would be on a real jump from a plane. At the practice facility, the parachute was connected by a cable to the top of the tower. We walked outside onto the platform, about the size of a small room. There were two handrails leading to the end of the platform from which I was to jump.
“You’ll place your body like this,” he said while shifting his body sideways at the end of the platform. “Then you’ll just let your body fall over the side. There is no cord to pull like there will be when you jump from a plane. The parachute will fully open when it feels the weight of your body,” he said. He went back down the stairs to wait for me at the bottom.
The soldier gave me the signal, and I jumped. It was a shock to feel the jolt when the chute stopped my fall. Then my feet hit the ground hard. The sergeant came over to me, slapped me on the back, and asked, “So how’d you like it?” Though it really had hurt my thighs when the straps around them were pulled suddenly extra tight by the force of the chute opening, and though the landing had roughly jarred my whole body, I simply responded, “That was nothing. Why don’t we go to the tall tower now?”
He laughed. “Let’s finish the day out here. We’ll go to the other tower tomorrow.”
I jumped a few more times. Then the car took us back for lunch. I didn’t share with him the pain I felt throughout my body, though I’m certain he knew. With those chutes, I’m sure no one experienced a pain-free jump when they were learning. You just got used to the way it felt. That afternoon, we returned to the tower. I took another few jumps, and then we called it a day. He showed me where the release cord would be and explained how and when to pull it in a real jump. The chute itself would be prepacked. We changed into dry clothes, had a beer, and then went to have dinner.
The next morning, my thighs were black and blue from the day before. They ached, but it didn’t matter to me. Very soon I’d be on my first mission.
After breakfast, a driver picked us up at the mess-hall door. It was not the same driver, though it was a woman again. The drivers were always women in Scotland, too. She drove us to the taller tower.
The landing area below the big tower was different from the first, smaller tower. Rather than being horizontal, it was sloped away from the cliff. Before going up, the sergeant demonstrated how to roll. I already knew what he showed me from previous training, but I was polite and just listened. After landing, I would roll about twelve meters or so, right shoulder first. Then the soldier in the tower would crank the chute back up, and I’d get ready to jump again.
I stayed a couple of weeks, practicing these techniques. The first time I actually jumped from an airplane would be the day of my first mission. That experience I’ll never forget—the feeling of jumping into the nothingness, the limitless darkness. I wasn’t scared, but I felt butterflies in my stomach. I remember the fall took my breath away. The ground rushed at me so fast, and I forced myself to wait longer than I wanted before I pulled the cord. So as not to drift too much, one must wait till the last moment to pull it. Since all my jumps would be at night, I would always take phosphorus pills beginning a few days before to improve my night vision. Today, nothing would get me to jump from an airplane again.
On the flight back to England from the secret jumping camp in the Highlands, my body still ached from all the practice jumps, but I ignored the pain. I just kept wondering what Mr. Churchill had in store for me.
PART TWO
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
In Defeat: Defiance.
—WINSTON CHURCHILL
FOUR
Spying in Africa
The following week, Mr. Churchill called me into his office. “You are about to embark on your first mission,” he announced.
A feeling of excitement instantly filled my being.
“You’ll be with seven others posing as tourists. We’ll fly you to Turkey from where you’ll leave on a sailboat to do reconnaissance on the Red Sea. The owner of the sailboat is Turkish, a very successful carpet dealer by profession. He has volunteered to help us in any way he can. Since Turkey is neutral, and he is extremely influential, we should encounter no problems. He can sail almost anywhere he wants without being bothered.”
Shortly thereafter, I was on my way. I was so eager to get started that the plane trip from England to Turkey seemed even longer than it was. We made one stop in Casablanca to refuel and then headed for Istanbul. The carpet dealer came to the airport to pick me up. Somehow he figured out who I was and introduced himself. We talked as we walked to his car. The chauffeur took my duffel bag and opened the doors for us.
From this moment, I was introduced to a culture that I could not have imagined. As we approached his house, he pointed it out on a hill in the distance.
“That’s a palace, not a home,” I remember thinking. The building was immense, enclosed by a high wall finished with elaborate grill
work with gates of wrought iron enhanced by gold filigree. This magnificent piece of architecture looked like a magic castle out of a fairy tale. It was perfectly opulent.
A man came out of the guardhouse to open the gates for us. The driver pulled the car in and drove along an avenue bordered by palm trees at the end of which was a rond-point where the car pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion. Statues of lions framed the staircase of red and black marble that led up to the front door.
Two servants opened the doors of the entry, revealing a Roman-style mosaic fountain at the far end. On either side was a salon, each displaying extraordinary carpets on the floors and on the walls. He invited me to sit down in the salon on the left. The furniture had been fashioned from splendid exotic wood, carved by hand and inlaid with mother of pearl. The furnishings reflected his fine taste and a sense of quality and design, although it was somewhat extravagant.
As soon as we sat down, two young girls draped in fine, semitransparent dresses came to serve us tea. He excused himself for a moment and returned with a wallet filled with American, French, and British currency.
“This will be for any expenses you incur on the voyage,” he said. “I won’t be going. My captain will take you to Africa. He has all the documents you’ll need to go anywhere you choose.” We chatted for a while and finished our tea. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll accompany you to the port.”
The quay where his boat was docked was not far from the house. When we arrived, we got out of the car and I saw my first yawl, a two-masted English nineteen-meter Olson custom-made of mahogany that was painted black.
“This is a splendid boat,” I complimented him. “The bloodred sails add to its beauty.” One of the sails was partially unfurled to stabilize the boat. The decks were made of teak and the boat itself was an extraordinary work of art, shining exquisitely in the sun. Unforgettable!
The boat flew the Turkish flag. We “tourists” were the crew and the others were already on board when we arrived. He introduced me to the captain and the other travelers. The captain spoke French.
“I wish you good sailing,” my charming host said with a smile as he waved good-bye.
From Istanbul, we sailed the Black Sea, passing between Greece and Turkey. We stopped at Cypress for supplies and then traveled through the Suez Canal and on to the Red Sea. Passing the Sudan and Djibouti, we went through the Gulf of Aden and continued on to Madagascar, where we picked up a British agent who posed as our photographer. From Madagascar, we had strong winds. We traveled at about eleven knots with only a six-meter sail.
“We’ll return to Djibouti,” the agent/photographer told me, “where we’ll stop and feign engine problems. This is where we want to start gathering information and taking photos because it’s filled with Germans, German sympathizers, and Vichy French.” With the help of a crane, we removed the engine and took it apart on the dock. Since we all had tourist visas, we were able to travel freely.
“In Ethiopia, we’ll find a guide to take us on camelback to Addis Ababa. All along the way, I’ll take photos of all of you with the ‘scenery’ of German and Italian forces in the background. In Addis Ababa, we’ll rent cars and drive throughout Ethiopia, Somalia, the Sudan—all around Africa, secretly taking photos of enemy troops.”
The information we gathered in the summer of 1940 was vital because Churchill needed to know the German and Italian troop concentration and location. The Italians, already in their colony of Eritrea, planned to cross the border of the Sudan and Kenya. They had two brigades, four cavalry units, a dozen tanks, and about 6,600 men ready to attack a post in the Sudan protected by 300 British soldiers.
The agent explained to me, “The British officer, Major General William Platt, is commander in charge of the Sudan. He has only three infantry battalions to defend the entire region based at Khartoum, Trinkitat, and at the port of the Sudan, about a hundred and sixty kilometers to the north of Eritrea. Seeing how slowly the Italians are advancing, I don’t think the major general needs to attack at this time, although I believe he’ll need to occupy several more posts on the border.
“The Duke d’Aosta is the governor-general and supreme commander of Italian East Africa and Ethiopia. Most important, he is a double agent working for the Allies. The port of Djibouti, although a French colony, remains a free port. The English want to maintain a low profile in the area because they don’t want to incite the Germans to invade the port. Djibouti offers too much temptation to the Axis powers.
“The Duke d’Aosta has no confidence in the existing treaty between France and the Axis powers, so he has decided to occupy a large part of English Somalia. He wants to keep the Germans from invading Djibouti. The situation, as it stands, is quite favorable to him, and he doesn’t want the Germans to infringe on his power in Africa.”
An English battalion called the Second Black Watch had been sent to further slow down the Italian advance. The Italian forces were composed of twenty-six battalions, including tanks and artillery. A small corps of Somalians, mounted on camels, was holding the pass called Tug Argan, near the port of Berbera, against the Italian forces. Major General Godwin-Austen arrived to relieve the Somalians’ miraculous effort but would eventually have to withdraw his forces to Berbera.
The intelligence we compiled proved helpful to the English. As the result of our observations, Great Britain sent reinforcements in large numbers. Three divisions were formed from six thousand British infantry for the Sudan. East Africa soon witnessed the arrival of twenty-eight thousand men on the side of England that included the Fourth and Fifth Indian Divisions. The two divisions participated in an extraordinary and brilliant attack on the advancing Italians in Africa. A squadron of tanks was sent from the Fourth Royal Tank Division to reinforce existing troops in defense of the Sudan.
The tides of war turned in January 1941, with a determined British campaign to drive the Italians out of East Africa. Eritrea was successfully invaded by the Indian forces from Sudan, and South African and East African troops from Kenya attacked Italian Somaliland. The next month, the British advanced into Ethiopia.
By spring of 1941, Mr. Churchill arranged for Emperor Haile Selassie, currently in exile in England, to return to Ethiopia with the intention of restoring him to power at Addis Ababa. This action enabled the emperor to promptly take the reins of leadership, which greatly boosted morale. The united effort of the British and the native Ethiopians succeeded much more quickly than expected because Italian troops suffered very heavy losses. Instead of facing nineteen thousand men, the English encountered only eight thousand.
The Duke d’Aosta, gallant soldier that he was, agreed to surrender to the English under honorable terms. Great numbers of Italians were taken prisoner, including all forces in southwest Ethiopia. Some Italian resistance continued on till November of 194l, followed by a guerilla war that lasted through 1943.
Thus, the Italian presence in Ethiopia and Mussolini’s African empire came to its end. The summer before the Duke’s surrender, our group, having gathered the information we needed, returned to Djibouti to pick up our boat with its engine repaired. We all returned to Turkey, and from there the British agent and I flew to England to report what we had discovered to Mr. Churchill. While on the flight, I reflected, “I certainly didn’t do much, but perhaps this was just a test mission for me. What is important is that we accomplished our goal.”
FIVE
Motorcycling in Europe
Mr. Churchill was on the phone when I entered his office. “They even bombed Buckingham Palace,” he bellowed into the receiver. “Our Londoners are adapting to living in this state of being perpetually attacked. The bombardments are night and day and are concentrated especially in central London and along the docks of the river Thames. The Blitz is obliterating supply warehouses and factories. London is in flames. The Luftwaffe is targeting other cities besides London, though at this time, we are getting the brunt of its attacks. But I tell you now, the Nazis will eventually learn that our
people are courageous and steadfast. Their morale will not be broken.”
He hung up the phone and got right to the point. “Marc, I’m going to send you on a mission to determine the location of German divisions deployed in Europe—how many there are, where they are concentrated, and in what direction they are headed. We’ll determine certain military operations based on the information you’ll gather.
“I’m going to order a motorcycle with a sidecar for you. I’ve already talked to the designer of the equipment in our research lab. We will have a camera installed in the nose of the sidecar, and on the handlebars you’ll have the shutter-release button to take photos. The evidence you’ll gather will allow us to identify the divisions of German tanks and trucks according to their matriculation letters and numbers. In this way, we’ll know where the German garrisons are.”
The bombing of Buckingham Palace had infuriated the prime minister. He wanted more intelligence, and he wanted it now. He continued on, explaining my assignment: “You’ll be traveling through Europe under the guise of a reporter for a Swiss gastronomic magazine. You’ll wear a badge with the Swiss flag on it identifying you as a reporter. The right people at the magazine will have the information necessary to verify your story. You’ll have appropriate identification and additional papers proving you are doing this particular article under sanction of the Swiss government.
“We’ll deliver the motorcycle and papers to you in Turkey. You’ll begin your interviews in Bulgaria and complete them in Trento, Italy. Then you’ll go to Switzerland, from there you can send us the film in a diplomatic pouch. Be sure to label where you took each photo and what direction the units were traveling.”
