The Secret War

by Max Hastings

  Within weeks, however, he was forced to acknowledge the terrific strength of Paulus’s Sixth Army, driving east for Stalingrad. At last, the master of the Kremlin bowed to reality: the summer of 1942 witnessed a seismic shift in the manner in which the Soviet Union made war. Stalin implicitly acknowledged his own failure as a strategist and director of Russia’s hosts. He delegated authority to his generals, at least up to army group level, and allowed intelligence departments once again to function in a coherent and professional manner. From the autumn, when the battle for Stalingrad began, the Russians began to do remarkable things in the field of strategic deception. Their Operation ‘Monastery’ became one of the greatest such schemes of the war, at least as important as the Anglo-American ‘Fortitude’, which broadcast confusion about D-Day.

  ‘Monastery’ was originally conceived in July 1941, with the limited objective of penetrating the enemy’s intelligence apparatus and identifying traitors collaborating with the Nazis. It seems remarkable that such a plan could have been initiated in those dark days, when the Red Army was falling back eastwards in headlong retreat, but so it was. The NKVD and GRU worked together to create a mythical anti-Soviet, pro-German Resistance movement operating at the heart of the Russian high command, codenamed ‘Throne’. It was founded upon a network of double agents among the old Russian noble class – those left alive after decades of persecution. ‘Monastery’ mobilised historic Russian conspiratorial skills. An old man named Glebov, whose wife had served at the court of Alexandra, the last tsarina, was designated as the ‘Resistance movement’s’ figurehead. He lived almost as a beggar in Novovevichy monastery, but was well known in White Russian émigré circles. However, the principal active NKVD participant, or at least glove puppet, was an agent named Alexander Demyanov, who was assigned the most perilous role. Born in 1911, his background was impeccably aristocratic. His grandfather founded the Kuban Cossacks; his father was killed fighting for the tsar in 1915; his mother was a famous Moscow beauty. The family lived in poverty after the Revolution, and Alexander’s origins debarred him from higher education. He was obliged to scratch a living as an electrician, and in 1929 was arrested on a charge of spreading anti-Soviet propaganda. He escaped exile or execution by the usual means – agreeing to serve as an informer, for which purpose he was given a job in the electrical branch of the Central Cinema Studio, Moscow’s Hollywood. A cheerful extrovert, Demyanov became a popular figure among the stars and literati. The NKVD paid for him to acquire a horse, to ride out not only with the film-makers but also with foreign diplomats and businessmen, including a good many Germans. He married a girl named Tatiana Beresantsov, a respected technician at Mosfilms, whose father was a physician permitted the extraordinary privilege of maintaining a private practice.

  Centre decided that Demyanov was so promising a deep-penetration agent that he should not be thrown away on mere informant tasks. He became well-known and trusted in anti-Soviet and nationalist circles. The NKVD’s glee knew no bounds when, shortly before ‘Barbarossa’, the young man reported an approach from a member of a German trade mission, who was obviously working for the Abwehr. Demyanov’s handler instructed him to show no interest, lest over-eagerness frighten off the recruiter. Berlin anyway opened a file on Demyanov, who was given the codename ‘Max’. When war broke out he enlisted in a Red Army cavalry regiment, but was quickly retrieved by Pavel Sudoplatov, who regarded him as an ideal Special Tasks agent, with a decade’s experience of role-playing. In the late summer of 1941 Sudoplatov told Beria this was just the man to take a lead in Operation ‘Monastery’.

  Thus it was that one day in December that year, during the darkest days of the struggle for Moscow, Alexander Demyanov – codenamed ‘Heine’ by Centre – set off on skis from the Red Army’s lines near Gzhatsk, 120 miles south-west of the capital, to defect to the Germans. His extraordinarily perilous mission almost collapsed at the outset: when he reached the Wehrmacht positions and announced himself as a Nazi sympathiser, nobody believed him, partly because he claimed to have crossed the lines by a route that traversed a German minefield. Demyanov later told the NKVD he had been subjected to a mock execution to induce him to talk. Whether or not this was true, he obviously came close to being shot out of hand. Instead, however, he was handed over to the Abwehr. Its officers proved uninterested in his tale about the ‘Throne’ Resistance group, but immediately enlisted him as an agent – one among thousands of such people who were perfunctorily trained, deployed and expended.

  The Germans became more excited, however, when a check with their files showed that Demyanov had been earmarked as a prospective agent before ‘Barbarossa’. His background among ‘former people’ – aristocrats – was such that he could pass muster in émigré circles as an anti-Soviet zealot. Though the Abwehr still showed no enthusiasm for following the original NKVD script – supporting a phoney counter-revolution inside Russia – its handlers thought Demyanov sufficiently smart and well connected to become an important spy. His main problem, during the training that followed, was to hide the fact that he was already – for instance – an accomplished wireless-operator. One night in February 1942, a Luftwaffe aircraft crossed the lines to a grid reference west of Moscow, where Demyanov and two other agents tasked to assist him hurled themselves into darkness over Soviet territory.

  They made their parachute descents in terrible weather, and lost contact with each other as they stumbled through a snowstorm near Yaroslavl. Alexander promptly reported to the nearest NKVD headquarters, and a day or two later his assistants were picked up. During the weeks and months that followed Centre’s operation, overseen by Sudoplatov, became ever more byzantine. Demyanov’s Moscow flat, where he lived with his wife and father-in-law, became the focus of the supposed Resistance group – the whole family was made privy to the scheme. A succession of Abwehr couriers reported there, some of whom were for a time left at liberty, to see whom they met. Others were ‘turned’, others again were jailed and presumably shot. A few were permitted to return to the German lines to report.

  For Demyanov himself, the supremely perilous part of the operation was over: he was back with his own side. It almost defies belief that any man, however highly developed his sense of adventure and taste for the secret life, could have done as he did, exposing himself to the power and wrath of Nazi Germany in a game of such subtlety and deadliness, but MI5 deployed the British Eddie Chapman in the same fashion, though to much less advantage. Demyanov was thereafter required only to play out a part under the eyes of his own spymasters. The Germans had equipped him with a wireless set. Centre’s ‘William Fisher’ was deputed to manage the subsequent radio operation – this was none other than Rudolf Abel, born to Russian parents in Newcastle upon Tyne, who after the war became a Soviet agent in the US.

  The challenge was for Sudoplatov and his colleagues to play out the hand against the Abwehr. Beria warned the Special Tasks chief that he would be held personally responsible if any act of sabotage was committed on Soviet territory in the course of the ‘Max’ operation. At the outset, the Russians had no conception that they had started something that would continue for years – most radio games were detected by the enemy within weeks. The NKVD’s first objective was to build up ‘Max’s’ credibility with the Germans. He reported to them that the ‘Throne’ group was conducting railway sabotage near Gorky, and Soviet newspapers dutifully carried reports of train accidents to support the story; the British occasionally used the same ruse, using double agents to carry out alleged demolitions in Britain.

  In the latter part of 1942, Demyanov reported to the Abwehr, and thence to Reinhard Gehlen and FHO, that he had been assigned as a junior communications officer at the Soviet high command headquarters in Moscow, a posting which explained how, thereafter, he appeared to enjoy extraordinary access to Russian secrets. Through the months and years that followed, he signalled to Gehlen’s staff a mass of material about the Red Army’s order of battle and strategic intentions, which reached Berlin and FH
O via Sofia. The German army in the East – in the person of Gehlen – became convinced that it was receiving intelligence of the highest quality, and increasingly eager to acknowledge its authenticity. A stream of FHO signals waxed euphoric about its man’s product.

  Moscow now saw opportunities to exploit ‘Max’s’ reports in support of a major deception operation, for which the NKVD and GRU collaborated. The latter’s chief, Col. Gen. Fedor Kuznetsov, fulfilled the role occupied by Col. Johnny Bevan as head of the London Controlling Section and Bill Bentinck of the JIC – overseeing the scheme and supplying menus of mingled information and disinformation for presentation to the Germans. By far the most important and historically controversial development of ‘Monastery’ came in November 1942, a pivotal moment of the Second World War. On the 19th, the Red Army launched Operation ‘Uranus’, its historic double envelopment behind the German Sixth Army at Stalingrad. Four days later, however, a second thrust by six armies was unleashed on the Kallinin front at Rzhev a hundred miles north-west of Moscow – Operation ‘Mars’. This engaged large German forces, but ended in a costly repulse, with all four thrusts being smashed by the Wehrmacht at a cost of 70,000 Russian dead. Marshal Georgi Zhukov later acknowledged ‘Mars’ as one of his own failures.

  More than half a century later, however, Pavel Sudoplatov asserted in his memoirs that ‘Mars’ was betrayed in advance to the Germans, without Zhukov’s knowledge and on the explicit orders of Stalin, as part of the deception operation to divert German forces from the critical ‘Uranus’ at Stalingrad. Alexander Demyanov was the instrument by which the information was conveyed to the enemy’s high command. This version of events remains disputed among historians, but is largely accepted by Russian ones. Some Westerners find it inconceivable that even Stalin could have knowingly consigned hundreds of thousands of his own people to death or disablement merely to support a ruse de guerre, albeit for huge stakes. But the evidence seems strong, indeed almost conclusive, that Sudoplatov told the truth. There is no doubt that Demyanov was an NKVD operative, working under Moscow’s control. It is also certain that the Germans regarded him as their outstanding Soviet source: Reinhard Gehlen went to his grave in 1979 still proudly asserting the brilliance of his own handling of ‘Max’s’ material. Most significant, ‘Max’s’ voluminous reports are readily accessible in the German military archive in Freiburg.

  Among the most striking messages is one dated 6 November 1942 and headed ‘Foreign Armies East – Important Intelligence Reports’. This reads:

  Agent (Max): On 4 November, council of war in Moscow, chaired by Stalin. Present 12 marshals and generals. At this meeting, the following principles were laid down: a) Careful approach to all operations, avoiding major losses. b) Losses of territory are unimportant. c) Preservation of industrial and supply sites by early removal [of plant] from endangered areas is vital, on this account: directive to remove refineries and machine factories from Grozny and Makhachkala to New-Baku, Orsk, and Tashkent. d) Rely on own forces, not on assistance from allies. e) Severe measures against desertion, that is on the one hand by execution and intensified control by the State Political Directorate, on the other by stronger propaganda and improved rations. f) Execution of all planned offensive operations, if possible before 15 November, as far as weather conditions permit [‘Mars’ was eventually delayed by poor weather].

  Chiefly:

  – from Grozny towards Mozdok

  – close to Nizhny and Werchny-Mamon in the Don area

  – close to Voronezh

  – close to Rzhev

  – south of Lake Ilmen and Leningrad.

  Necessary forces should be brought forward from the reserve to the front.

  This signal, while some of its content is general and vague rather than explicit about ‘Mars’, seems to provide conclusive evidence that under orders from Moscow Centre Demyanov gave the Germans good warning, ornamented with circumstantial detail, about a looming Soviet thrust against Army Group Centre, contemporaneous with the Russian encirclement of Hitler’s Sixth Army at Stalingrad. The 6 November report should be read in the context of frequent order-of-battle dispatches from ‘Max’ during the run-up to ‘Mars’, such as the samples below, which deserve quotation because they illustrate the creative effort in Moscow that was expended on compiling them:

  Important Intelligence Reports: 1.) 8 October, agent (Max): 1 cavalry brigade, 1 horsed artillery regiment, and 1 pioneer battalion, all from the front, arrived in Tuapse. They will remain there in reserve. 2.) 8 October, agent (Max): 1 rifle division, 3 tank battalions, and artillery as well as several special divisions conducting demolitions in the course of retreats, all from Makhachkala, arrived in Grozny. 3.) 8 October, agent (Max): 120 English and 70 American tanks with 60 English and American instructors arrived in Zarev, assigned to the Stalingrad front. 4.) 8 October, agent (Max): 1 cavalry division, 4 mixed tank battalions, 2 artillery regiments, and 40 anti-tank guns arrived in Kaluga. They are assigned to the western section of the Kaluga front. 5.) 9 October, agent (Max): In Mischina (45 OW Rzhev), combat groups are being assembled from tank battalions. Many anti-tank guns and a fuel depot [are located] in Mischina. 6.) 8 October, agent (Max): A military delegation consisting of 2 infantry generals, 1 tank group general, 1 air force general, 2 admirals and 2 military engineers, left Moscow for London by air.

  The Germans loved it all. It was priceless to the self-esteem of the Abwehr and FHO to believe that their chiefs were successfully running agents inside the Soviet corridors of power. As far as is known, only one senior Abwehr officer, Dr Wagner Delius, head of the Abwehr station in Sofia, questioned the authenticity of the ‘Max’ material. But an inquiry had scarcely begun before FHO – a furious Reinhard Gehlen – intervened. The ‘Max’ reports were ‘indispensable’, he said, ‘and must on no account be jeopardised’. The investigation stopped. The NKVD, knowing that Demyanov’s standing stood sky-high after the failure of ‘Mars’, continued to feed a steady stream of intelligence to the enemy, such as this 3 December report:

  From agent (Max): Conference in Moscow, chaired by Stalin with Zhukov, Timoshenko, and Kosslow: In the northern section of the Rzhev front [where ‘Mars’ had taken place] [sacking] of 5 division commanders. They were replaced by 5 majors, who were appointed colonels. Stalin is dissatisfied with the course of the operations between Rzhev and Velikiye Luki. Zhukov asks for armoured and infantry reinforcements. Stalin [says that he] is sure that there have to be treacherous informants at the top, since the Germans are so well-informed about Soviet movements, plans, and troop strengths. He orders a State Political Directorate committee to be created, for strict control and investigation [of possible traitors].

  There is a fascinating cross-bearing on this story: in the autumn of 1942 the British, in the person of Hugh Trevor-Roper, began to ponder decrypts of this traffic which was causing so much excitement in the enemy camp. Trevor-Roper recognised that the material, classified by FHO and the Abwehr under the general codename of ‘Klatt’, was ‘very highly valued by the Germans’. He and his section puzzled endlessly over whether ‘Max’ and his alleged sub-agents inside the Soviet Union were doubles controlled by Moscow. At first this seemed highly likely – especially so when London warned the Russians about the leaks, and they showed no interest in stopping them. On 31 July 1943, however, the Radio Security Service said its former view – that the ‘Max’ reports were Russian plants – must be reviewed in the light of the fact that recent dispatches ‘appeared to contain accurate predictions of Russian tactical moves’.

  ‘Max’ had forecast impending Soviet initiatives in the critical Kursk–Orel sector. The War Office MI14’s Major Brian Melland commented: ‘The possibility of “MAX” reports being, perhaps in part, planted material must, we feel, be discarded … There is ample evidence that German intelligence and Operations consider “MAX” reports to be of great value; and it is quite possible, in fact, that these reports form the best field intelligence obtained by the enemy.’ By August the B
ritish were convinced – temporarily at least – that ‘Max’ and his friends were genuine articles – or rather, authentic traitors in the Soviet camp: ‘A recent examination has shown them to have been singularly accurate in forecasting Russian operations.’ Guy Liddell of MI5 wrote on 12 August: ‘MAX must be regarded as a success [for the Abwehr] … reports have been singularly accurate in forecasting Russian operations and the theory that it is a Russian double-cross rather goes by the board.’

  Trevor-Roper was still uncertain about ‘Max’ when he wrote his April 1945 valedictory report on the Abwehr. He said that the material seemed to his team ‘suspiciously free from the administrative hitches to which most spy-systems are liable’. Information was transmitted to the Germans punctually and in bulk not only from ‘Max’ himself in Moscow, but also from alleged sub-agents in Leningrad, Kuibishev, Novorossiysk. ‘Although we informed the Russians of the facts, and the names of the persons involved, no action was taken by them to suppress this apparent dangerous leakage. After a variety of other hypotheses had been found untenable, it was considered in this office (although it could never be conclusively proved) that the evidence should only be satisfactorily explained by the assumption that “Klatt”, at least in respect of the “Max” Reports, was a Russian-controlled deception agent (although it is possible that he himself may have been unconscious of the fact).’ The British, in short, never entirely fathomed ‘Monastery’, partly because it was beyond the imagination of their intelligence officers, even the supremely cynical Trevor-Roper, that the Russians should surrender so much authentic information, at a price paid in torrents of blood, to promote strategic deceptions.