The Wolves at the Door: The True Story of America's Greatest Female Spy

by Judith L. Pearson

  The men piled in and the truck turned around and rumbled away. Virginia tottered back into the cottage, but her unsteadiness was not feigned. That encounter had been too close. A week later, the Germans picked up four citizens of Maidou and shot them. Their bodies were spiked through the neck on an iron fence in the center of town as a warning to those who might think about joining the Resistance. Two days later, Aramis came back with a message for Virginia. A newly arrived OSS agent had not made his radio checks. The London office feared that he had been arrested. That was enough for Virginia. At her appointed sked, she radioed London, WOLVES ARE AT THE DOOR. STOP. WILL BE IN CONTACT SOON. STOP.

  Virginia and Aramis left for Paris immediately. The next day, he invited her to meet two old family friends of his, Mme Rabut and her grown son, Pierre. Theirs was one of the safe houses he had procured. Virginia liked Mme Rabut immediately and felt at ease with her and confident in her. Three days later, when Virginia was ready to depart for her new location, she asked Mme Rabut to accompany her. She envied those agents whose accents were as perfect as native French people. But she couldn’t take chances. She had decided never to travel without a French chaperone, someone who would reduce her need to speak.

  The two women took the morning train to Cosne, a city about five hours southeast of Paris. Virginia went directly to the home of Colonel Vessereau, chief of police for the department of Creuse. His position made him a valuable member of the Resistance, and Virginia had been apprised of his work by OSS in London. The colonel and his wife were expecting Virginia and couldn’t have been more accommodating. They had a room for her and told her that their attic would be perfect for transmitting. Mme Rabut stayed the night and before she left the next day, Virginia asked her to keep her new location in Cosne a secret. And if Aramis had any messages for her, Virginia suggested, perhaps Mme Rabut could bring them to her. Mme Rabut was thrilled to play an even greater role in the Resistance.

  Colonel Vessereau was anxious to introduce Virginia to the Resistance group he’d been building. He had developed ties with several local gendarmes who were military men, seen action before the armistice, and hated the Nazis. They, in turn, knew of a group of about a hundred men who were ready for action. The men were members of the Maquis.

  In February of 1943, the Third Reich had instituted the Service du travail obligatoire in France. Since the earlier program that exchanged workers for POWs had not been successful, this new law decreed that all young men between the ages of twenty and thirty-four must go to Germany for obligatory work service. They were to replace Germany’s workforce, which was made up either of casualty figures or those embroiled in the fight. Hitler’s goal was to import 1.5 million Frenchmen. In response, thousands fled to the country, living in the woods and hiding among the hills. They organized into militia groups, and borrowed an expression from Corsican bandits, calling themselves “men of the underbrush,” the Maquis. It was only natural that as the Resistance sabotage became known, they would try to offer their services.

  The theme of the Maquis was a reflection of the refrain from the French national anthem, “La Marseillaise.” Written in 1792, the refrain begins with the lines “Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons” (To arms, citizens, form your battalions). And that was exactly what they did. They were the perfect fighting force: strapping young men, albeit undernourished, with an ax to grind against the Nazis.

  Over time, the Maquis grew to include a variety of refugees from justice, including German deserters, anti-Franco Spaniards, and urban resisters. Whenever possible, the peasantry provided the Maquis with food, shelter, and clothing. Their guerrilla tactics against the German military became widely known, and the citizens of occupied France silently applauded these anonymous freedom fighters. But what they lacked was arms. An Allied spy like Virginia was someone they were anxious to meet.

  In a top-secret document prepared on May 19, 1944, by American Military Intelligence, the Cosne area Resistance was described as “fairly well organised. Big possibilities, guerilla experience.” The document concluded that the area had “very good potential strategic and morale value, subject to further development in outlying districts.”

  Virginia knew all about the area’s potential. She and Colonel Vessereau had decided the best route to take was to split the Maquis in Cosne into four groups of twenty-five men each. These men had dreamed about resistance, but hadn’t had sufficient means to carry it out. Getting someone from London who was arranging to arm them was a dream come true. And it was a clear indication that the world had not forgotten them.

  Virginia arranged a parachute drop for the night of May 15. To facilitate agents’ requests for supplies, OSS had created groups of like items that agents could order by code name, depending on their need. “Dough” contained general demolition items, “maggots” included magnets and explosive supplies, and “yeast” was a container full of incendiary materials.

  For the Cosne Maquis, Virginia requested “dough” and “maggot” containers, plus additional containers of “sten” guns, weapons that were cheap to manufacture, easy to assemble and disassemble, and tough enough to endure the drops. Best of all, they could be fired with German 9 mm ammunition, a plus for anyone who could capture any. Virginia had already trained the colonel, his wife, and several others on how to signal arriving planes, and they recruited half a dozen Maquis to help them haul away and conceal the supplies. The eleven of them arrived at the designated field at xi o’clock to wait for the plane and its twelve containers. As soon as they heard the plane, Virginia flashed an M, the night’s code letter, in Morse with a white light. The plane signaled back and Virginia reilluminated her light. The colonel, his wife, and another Resistance member then lit their red lights. The four of them made a diamond shape with Virginia nearest to the incoming plane. If the flight crew drew lines from one light to another, the point where the lines crossed would be the desired point of the drop. Of course to figure out their positions, Virginia had to take into account the wind speed, which could cause the containers to drift. Looking for wayward containers in the dark was like searching for the proverbial needle. Not to mention the pressure of trying not to arouse suspicions of neighbors and passersby.

  This night’s drop came off without a hitch. The containers floated to almost the exact spot Virginia had envisioned. With difficulty, the Maquis members concealed their excitement at the array of supplies now at their fingertips. Of course there was still work to do, since the parachutes had to be disconnected and buried in holes they had to dig, and the containers had to be loaded onto the waiting hay wagon and carted back to town. Once they had accomplished that, the group split up with only two men riding on the hay wagon. The other eight left in pairs, taking separate routes back to their homes.

  By this time, Virginia had actually left the home of the colonel and was living in the nearby town of Sury-pres-Lere, in the garret of a farmhouse owned by Jules Juttry. It was best for her to move around so as not to jeopardize herself, or her hosts, by transmitting from the same location all the time. M. Juttry was elderly; Virginia guessed him to be in his mideighties. He was not at all pleased to have Virginia living in his house, and suspected she was a German spy. His widowed daughter, Estelle Bertrand, had made the arrangements.

  Estelle was nearing fifty and had come to live with her father after her husband was killed during the fighting in 1940. She had been a part of the Resistance for several years and was inspired by the fact that an American would give up so much for the cause of France. She had accompanied Virginia to that night’s parachute drop, having learned the reception procedures, and would be setting them up once Virginia moved on to her next destination.

  On Tuesday, May 23, Virginia received a radio message from OSS headquarters in London:

  HAPPY TO HAVE RECEIVED YOUR CONTACT OF THE 25TH. STOP. PERIOD OF ACTIVITY IS COMMENCING. STOP. PLEASE COMMUNICATE BEFORE NEXT FRIDAY ALL INFORMATION GATHERED SINCE YOUR ARRIVAL CONCERNING LARGE MOVEMENTS BY TRA
IN OR ROAD. STOP.

  Virginia pondered the words “period of activity” and wondered what that might be. But her job was to report, not to question. For whatever reason, headquarters needed this information before Friday, June 2, 1944.

  15

  Le Jour J

  Spring of 1944 was one of the worst in the history of Europe. Torrential rains, powerful winds, and raging seas pounded the shorelines of both Great Britain and the European continent. The violent weather bolstered the members of the Third Reich. It appeared that even Mother Nature was on their side as she stalled what they were sure was the imminent Allied invasion of Europe.

  The Germans knew the Allies were coming because they had been bombarding the western coastline at Calais all spring long, “softening up” the area. It was a likely assault location, as only twenty-seven miles separated France from England at that point. But Hitler believed that when the invasion did come, his Atlantic Wall would hold back the Allies.

  Making Europe “an impregnable fortress” had been the Führer’s dream since the fall of 1941. It was a ridiculous plan. The coastline he intended to reinforce stretched about three thousand miles, from the Arctic Ocean in the north to the Bay of Biscay in the south. Construction of the wall had been moving at a snail’s pace until a commando raid on Dieppe, France, in August of 1942. It was the Allies “test tube” raid, to give them an idea of the strength of the German defenses along the channel. The 5,000 commandos were almost all Canadian, and they suffered heavy casualties—almost 600 killed, 1,900 captured, 590 wounded, and 287 missing. Those surviving were rescued by ships and returned to England.

  Despite turning away the invaders, an infuriated Hitler demanded that the work on his wall be redoubled and that it proceed “fanatically.” And it did. Thousands of slave laborers from conquered countries worked day and night. The enormous amounts of concrete and steel necessary caused a strain on other war production, so corners were cut on the wall. But even now, in June of 1944, the continuous fortification that Hitler had envisioned, and demanded, did not exist.

  The Führer’s second problem was how to man what would inevitably become the second front of the war. The majority of his army’s strength was directed at the Russians, but his developing Atlantic Wall also required manpower. He was haunted with questions. How many troops should be diverted there? And where to put the greatest concentration?

  To handle these critical issues, Hitler put Field Marshall Erwin Rommel in charge of the coastline defenses. Rommel was commander in chief of Army Group B, the most powerful of the German armies in the west. He didn’t believe for a minute that Hitler’s fortress would hold back the Allies. He had faced them in North Africa, and although he had been defeated there, he knew how they fought. His plan for the defense of France and the rest of Europe was simple. Draw the enemy in, allow them to land, and then attack the beaches. To that end, he had half a million men standing guard on the Atlantic between Holland and Brittany, with the bulk of his Fifteenth Army stationed at Pas de Calais. Millions of mines were laid, both on the shore and in the water. Armaments of all sorts were trained on the beaches. When the Allies arrived, and they certainly would, Rommel’s army would mow them down before they got ten meters inland.

  When April became May, and May slid into June, Rommel determined that the invasion was being held up so that a simultaneous attack could occur with the Russian Red Army in the east. The summer offensive could not begin there until after the thaw in Poland, sometime in mid-June. And thus, the Third Reich relaxed ever so slightly.

  Hearing that strangers had been asking questions about her in Sury-près-Léré, Virginia knew it was time to move again to another safe house. She relocated to Sury-ès-Bois, nine miles to the west, again finding herself living in a farmhouse.

  She had radioed London, as she’d been requested to do, with information about German troop movements. There had been some, but nothing out of the ordinary. The area she was in was just about dead center in France and important rail lines ran throughout it. She reported on the trains too, their times and what they appeared to be carrying. But again, nothing was out of the ordinary.

  As she had done for nearly three months, Virginia played the part of an old peasant woman. This time she was moving a herd of goats from field to field, all the while keeping a lookout for those who would work for parachute drops. She delivered goats’ milk to members of the Resistance, giving her the perfect cover to pass messages as well. And the donkey cart she borrowed from the farmer provided ideal transportation for moving the goods that floated to earth in cylinders. She arranged for two parachute drops from Sury-ès-Bois. The Resistance needed more arms and supplies, therefore a radio set, battery chargers, soap, and money arrived. These two drops proved to be the highlight of the late spring days, and Virginia became edgy, as there was very little else to do.

  Of all the elements that made up her job, this was the most difficult: the tension-filled calm before the next storm. And if an Allied invasion of France was the next storm, it would be of tornadic proportions. A person of action, Virginia craved striding forward to attain a goal. Incessant waiting was unnerving. It gave her too much time to think, and not about the obvious danger her work entailed. Rather, her thoughts meandered across the spectrum. They paused first on her mother. Was she well and did she have enough money? Was she worried about her daughter’s safety? Virginia felt, of course, that there was really no need for her to be concerned.

  But motherly instincts are deep-seated. Mrs. Hall had written to Captain Grell, a name and London address Virginia had given her before leaving for France. Mrs. Hall wanted to know about the welfare of her daughter. On June 2, Charlotte Norris responded on behalf of the captain and the fictitious First Experimental Detachment:

  From a security point of view there is little I am permitted to tell you about your daughter’s work. … But this I can tell you: that your daughter is … doing an important and time-consuming job which has necessitated a transfer from London. … We here are in constant touch with your daughter, and are immediately informed of any change in her status. I shall be happy to communicate whatever news of her to you.

  Sometimes Virginia’s isolation bothered her. She was a people person who loved being in the center of a crowd. But for about three years, she had lived lies. She could never completely confide in anyone, get close, or let her guard down. That was her only regret about her chosen path. But when she stepped back to consider the whole picture, reflecting on the vital nature of accomplishing her duties, it was a small sacrifice.

  A thick tension enveloped the Resistance members in early June 1944 as well. They knew an invasion was imminent, just as the Germans did. And like a great many French people, they had hoped that it would occur months earlier. Thoughts of liberation even permeated the churches as priests prayed from their pulpits, urgently asking God for deliverance from the evil occupiers. They cautioned their parishioners to be patient and not to act out unilaterally against the Germans. These rogue attacks almost always brought severe reprisals by the Nazis.

  Some French had become disenchanted, grumbling that the Allies had promised to send help, but hadn’t delivered. Virginia took a more pragmatic approach, explaining to those around her that launching an attack before preparations had been finalized would be suicidal. There was no sense in trying to pull off something half baked. It would destroy the element of surprise and could prove lethal to many of those involved. There was no time for complaining, Virginia told them. Far too much work had yet to be done in preparation.

  She and the members of HECKLER, like other combined SOE and OSS circuits throughout France, had been directed to follow a well laid-out plan, code-named PLAN VERT. For the last month, while they continued to recruit and train new members, they also gradually increased their acts of sabotage. Armed with the supplies from London, they had made attacks against local Nazi headquarters and vehicles. They had taken out essential roads and telephone stations, and had s
uccessfully removed German explosives from bridges the Allies would need in their advance across France.

  When the invasion did occur, Virginia told her circuit members, their advance work would prove to be invaluable to the Allies. And she assured them that they were not alone. Groups such as theirs were being trained all over France, all ready to aid the Allies.

  The greatest Armada the world had ever known was amassing near the Isle of Wight, just off the coast of the British city of Portsmouth. More than four thousand vessels were loaded with two hundred thousand men, twenty thousand vehicles, twelve hundred planes, and fifteen hundred tanks. They were poised for action. Their destination was the beaches of Normandy.

  The men aboard the assault ships had been killing time on the choppy channel waters for three days. Zero hour had been set for the morning of June 5, and the first wave of the armada was dispatched. But the weather forced them to be called back. Like the French, these Allied troops were tired of waiting. They had been trained and prepared. The days of no action were chipping away at their readiness and morale. And listening to Radio Paris, the German propaganda station, was of no help.

  “Axis Sally” talked of hearth and home and all they were missing. She suggested that their wives and sweethearts were probably now in the arms of other men, and she aired songs to intensify their homesickness and apprehension. On the morning of June 5, she played a new song, a haunting mockery of a popular tune called “I Double Dare You.”

  I double dare you to come over here.

  I double dare you to venture too near.

  Take off your high hat and quit that bragging.