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

by Judith L. Pearson

  Cut out that claptrap and keep your hair on.

  Can’t you take a dare on?

  I double dare you to venture a raid.

  I double dare you to try and invade.

  And if your loud propaganda means half of what it says,

  I double dare you to come over to me.

  I double dare you.

  Supreme Allied Commander General Eisenhower and the rest of the Allied military leaders had been delaying the invasion, hoping for a break in the weather. From their secret headquarters, a trailer set in an English field near the coast, they debated the pros and cons of holding off one more day or going for broke. Throughout the day of June 5, the heavy winds and high seas appeared to moderate a bit, and the generals decided this was the break they had sought. Operation OVERLORD,the Allied invasion of France, was on.

  On day 1,452 of the German occupation of France, Virginia sat on the floor in her room in the farmhouse, along with M. Juttry’s daughter-in-law, Estelle, and several other members of their circuit. There were only thirty-two other Americans in France on this day. But that was to change soon.

  Virginia and her group were listening to the BBC’s French broadcast for that evening.

  “Ici Londres. Les français parlent aux français. Veuillez écouter quelques messages personnels” (This is London. The French speaking to the French. First, please listen to a few personal messages).

  The broadcast included, as always, a number of personal messages. From wine cellars to hay barns, Resistance members and Allied agents gathered in secret to listen for the code phrase that would signal the day they had long awaited.

  The first half of the code had been broadcast at 9:00 PM on June I: “Les sanglots longs des violins de l’automne” (The long sobs of the violins of autumn), was the first line of poet Paul Verlaine’s work “Chanson d’Automne.” To those who understood, the words meant that the invasion would begin soon, sometime in the first half of the month. When the second line of the poem was broadcast, those listening would be alerted that the invasion would begin within the next forty-eight hours.

  That had been four days ago, and this group of five had listened intently every night since. The room was small, with only a tiny window to let in fresh air. Virginia’s bed and washstand took up most of the space. The small table where the radio sat was rickety, and every time someone bumped it in the process of getting closer to hear more clearly, the signal flickered in and out. The Germans had gotten very adept at scrambling the BBC’s transmissions, but could only do so one wave band at a time. The broadcasts were actually made on several bands, so if one was unintelligible, another could be tried. And cutting the electricity, which the Nazis did frequently, was not a deterrent either, as Virginia’s radio worked on a battery.

  Finally, at 8:15 PM, listening to the 261-meter wave band, they heard the second half of the code: “Blessent mon coeur d’une langueur monotone” (Wound my heart with a monotonous languor).

  That was it: le jour J. D-Day.

  General “Wild Bill” Donovan was not to be kept out of the fight. He had been responsible for the training and deployment of brave American agents into hostile territory. He hoped to now have the opportunity to see the fruits of their labor. For obvious reasons, U.S. Secretary of the Navy, James Forrestal, had forbidden Donovan’s personal participation in Operation OVERLORD. But Donovan pulled some of his famous finagling, and D-Day found him and his London chief, David Bruce, a part of the mighty armada, aboard the U.S. cruiser Tuscaloosa.

  When they landed on the Normandy beach, Bruce dived out of the way of enemy fire. He landed on Donovan and somehow managed to gouge him in the throat with his steel helmet. The wound began to bleed profusely, but the general was not deterred. The two men proceeded, ultimately finding themselves caught behind a hedge, the targets of German machine -gun fire. They threw themselves to the ground.

  “David, we mustn’t be captured,” Donovan said. “We know too much.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bruce said.

  “Have you your pill?” Donovan asked, referring to the cyanide pill issued to all agents with the instruction that it was better to end their life than divulge secrets to the Nazis.

  Bruce shook his head. “Never mind,” Donovan said, “I have two of them.” He unloaded the contents of his pockets onto the ground. There were hotel keys, a passport, currency of several nationalities, photographs of his grandchildren, travel orders, and newspaper clippings, but no pills.

  “Never mind,” Donovan said again, “we can do without them. But if we get out of here, you must send a message to Gibbs, the hall porter at Claridge’s in London, telling him on no account to allow the servants in the hotel to touch some dangerous medicines in my bathroom.”

  Then he looked straight into Bruce’s eyes and whispered, “I must shoot first.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bruce replied, “but can we do much against machine guns with our pistols?”

  “Oh, you don’t understand,” Donovan said. “I mean if we are about to be captured I’ll shoot you first. After all, I am your commanding officer.”

  As the Police Chief for the department of Creuse, the area in which Virginia was working, Colonel Vessereau wrote a notice to be hung throughout the area on June 7:

  Inhabitants of Creuse! The hour that we have long awaited has arrived and the sacred work of the liberation of our land has entered the last phase. We call on all good French, those who have only love in their hearts for liberty, to contribute to these efforts. … The armistice has been rescinded, the war continues and with all of our allies, large and small, our victory will be the cornerstone of the world of tomorrow.

  His sentiments were echoed throughout France. Once the second half of the message signaling the invasion had been broadcast, myriad other messages were sent to circuits and Resistance groups across France. These prearranged code phrases notified the groups that it was time to put into action all of their preplanned acts of sabotage. Like other circuit heads, Virginia had been told to attack roads, railways, and telecommunications, and harass occupation troops by whatever means she and her circuit could. The Allies were certain that the first thing the Germans would do at the onset of the invasion would be to flood Normandy with additional men and supplies. The rail lines were the Nazis’ lifeline and had to be taken out.

  Virginia had organized small groups within HECKLER that would be ready to leap into action once the invasion was announced. Their job was to lay the explosives on the rail lines around Cosne. Under cover of darkness, the groups went to work on the night of June 6.

  Virginia, accompanied by two young Frenchmen, Robert and Gilles, arrived at their designated location around midnight. She had chosen this particular spot after carefully surveying the area in daylight a week earlier. It was a meadow, midway between Cosne and Sury-près-Léré with a nice hedge nearby they could use for cover if they needed it. It seemed unlikely, though, since there were no lights and no sign of life anywhere around.

  Robert carried the rucksack with their necessary materials: two three-quarter-pound packs of plastic explosives connected to one another by a double Cordtex lead, two igniters known as “fog signals,” two detonators, and extra Cordtex, which they’d use for the fuse. Robert was to set up the fog signals and detonators while Gilles’s job was to affix the plastic explosive packs to the rail with their attached webbed straps. Armed with a sten gun, Virginia would stand guard.

  They had only been working a short time when Virginia heard voices down the track. Peering into the darkness, she saw two German soldiers walking, or rather weaving, between the rails about fifty meters away, singing at the top of their lungs. They were obviously drunk. She and the two men grabbed their materials and dove behind the hedge. The three of them flattened themselves against the coarse grass. The magazine of Virginia’s sten could accommodate thirty-two rounds of ammunition, which was what she had with her. She was not at all apprehensive at the thought of
emptying it into the Germans, but the noise might bring more soldiers than she would be able to hold off.

  The three of them waited, holding their breath. The noise from the soldiers continued, but didn’t come any closer. In fact, it seemed to Virginia that it began to grow more distant, until it was no longer audible. Cautiously the three crept back to the train track, but saw no one in either direction. Satisfied the threat was gone, they resumed the work.

  While Gilles went back to work on the plastic explosive units, Robert labored with the fog signals. He loaded them with detonators, and placed them about two meters from the explosives. Then he taped Cordtex fuse to the adapters on the signals and handed it off to Gilles who attached the other end to the plastic explosive units. The train would crush the fog signals, which would explode, setting off the detonators, whose fire would travel up the Cordtex and ignite the plastic explosive units, all within the space of a few seconds. The end result would be a derailed locomotive engine and a meter of unusable rail, both of which would take days to repair.

  Job completed, the three of them hurried back to their homes. The next train wasn’t expected for two hours, and it was never wise for saboteurs to hang around after an explosion anyway. But a smile spread across Virginia’s face the next morning when she heard that not only had her team been successful, but so had the other four. That meant four different sets of tracks had been rendered useless for several days, delaying matériel vital to the German defense of the Allies’ invasion.

  Altogether in those first days after the Normandy landings, 571 rail targets were sabotaged. In addition, Resistance members with ties to the Syndicat de la société nationale des chemins de fer, the train workers union, urged their friends to be as uncooperative as possible. The ensuing chaos resulting from the work of the Resistance caused the Nazis disruption, disorganization, and delay.

  On June 8, OSS headquarters radioed Virginia asking her to check on a group of reliable and well-disciplined men, ready to take orders, in the province of Auvergne, seventy-five miles southwest of Lyon. It was an area she was somewhat familiar with from her SOE days, but it had yet to be completely developed in terms of assistance to local Resistance cells. A topsecret document dated May 19,1944, described it as “little organized as yet”; it could prove useful to the Allies. The men in question were centered in a tiny town called Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. Virginia asked Estelle to accompany her and the two women left from the Cosne train station on June 15 around noon.

  Their journey took almost six hours. And it was not without its share of tension. Virginia and Estelle knew, of course, that circuits were sabotaging rail lines across France, just as their own circuit had done. The explosives were laid at night and affected trains traveling then or in the early morning hours. By leaving at noon, they hoped to avoid any booby-trapped rails, but there was always the chance that some avid Resistance cell had laid explosives during the day.

  The two women arrived safely at the town of Saint-Étienne at 6:00 PM, having had to change trains three times. They would travel the last miles to Le Chambon by wagon. Virginia had learned that farmers usually hung around train stations to profit from the lack of gasoline. They were there with their horses and hay wagons and acted as local taxis, provided the price was right.

  Virginia and Estelle arrived in Le Chambon around 7:00 PM. They found an old hotel in the center of town, registered for a room, and went to the neighboring café for dinner. Trying to be discreet, Virginia studied the people in the café. They all had the look of hard work, and seemed oblivious to the strange women in their midst.

  The message she had received from London before their departure told her that a man by the name of Auguste Bohny, a Swiss national, was in charge of all of the activities of the Swiss Aid in Le Chambon. The organization helped the homeless and orphaned children. At least that was what the group’s documents claimed. Bohny would be Virginia’s best bet to help locate the Resistance leaders.

  Estelle spoke tentatively with their waiter, saying she was looking for someone who might give them news about the invasion. Virginia hadn’t wanted to draw attention with her accent so her friend did the talking. The waiter called over a man, telling them his name was Hubert Petiet. Estelle repeated her request.

  Petiet spoke up with pride, telling them that the Allies were about to march right across France. The Germans would be surrendering every chance they got. Estelle thanked him and they resumed their dinners.

  After they’d finished eating, Estelle approached Petiet and asked him if there were others in town who felt as he did about the Germans. Petiet became cautious and wanted to know why. Estelle told him that she and her friend were looking for a M. Bohny. They had information for him they were sure he would be interested in hearing, Estelle said. They could be found at the hotel next door, but would be leaving the following day. If M. Bohny was interested, he should contact them right away.

  An hour later there was a knock at their door. The desk clerk told them there was someone downstairs to see them. Virginia and Estelle descended and found Petiet in the company of another man, who was introduced as Auguste Bohny. To verify his identity, Virginia asked him a number of questions about his organization that only he would be able to answer. Conversely, he quizzed her about the contact in Berne, Switzerland, who had passed his name to London. When each was satisfied that the other was genuine, they relaxed. Virginia told him she wanted to talk to the leader of the area’s Resistance group and she asked Bohny if he could contact him. Petiet chimed in at this point, saying that he knew the man in question. Virginia asked him to bring that man to their room as soon as possible. And he was to come alone. By this time it was almost 11:00 PM.

  Another hour passed before there was a knock at the door. Estelle opened it to see Petiet and another man, whom she ushered into their tiny, dimly lit room. Petiet introduced the man as Pierre Fayol. Virginia told them simply that her name was Diane and dove into the conversation. Did they have areas that could be used for parachute drops? Fayol told her they did, and that he had researched the area himself. They had even given the areas code names that could be passed on to the pilots. They were in desperate need of arms, which was why he had taken a chance on Virginia really being who she said she was.

  Virginia next asked him if he could provide forty men. Forty was no problem, Fayol told her. He could provide ten times that many if they were given some organization and the tools to fight with. The toughest question came next. Would Fayol and his men follow orders? Fayol hesitated. It depended on what kind of orders. Virginia told him it would include sabotage and guerilla attacks, to which Fayol heartily agreed. They would follow any order as long as it wasn’t in conflict with the orders from their superiors, and as long as their collective goals were the same.

  That was enough to satisfy Virginia. These men were exactly what she and London had hoped for. She told Fayol to come back for them at eight o’clock the following morning to show her the fields they’d picked out. He returned the next morning in a benzene-burning Citroën with Petiet and another man named Désiré Zurbach. Two of them had chosen code names for themselves. Petiet was Petit and Zurbach was Dédé. Fayol would use his own name, Pierre. Virginia and Estelle climbed into the car and they took off to look over the potential reception fields. Virginia was amazed at what an excellent job the men had done in their selection. Any one of the fields they showed her would serve well.

  She told Fayol that she couldn’t make the final decision about parachute drops without consulting her superiors. She would either come back herself or send them a mission to undertake. But she did have money that she was authorized to give them to buy what they needed to tide them over. She was suggesting the black market, and Fayol understood immediately.

  They all piled back into the car and drove to the home of Samuel Lebrat, the designated treasurer for the group. Virginia excused herself, went into another room, and returned carrying a stack of thousand-franc bills. It was 150,000 f
rancs, she told them and asked them to count it to make certain of the amount.

  Maurice, Samuel’s cousin, counted it and told them there were 152,000 francs. Virginia insisted she had given them 150,000 and asked that they count it again. Samuel counted the second time and came up with the same result. She laughed off the incident as if it were her mistake. And she silently congratulated herself for having found a group of honest men.

  The five thousand residents of Le Chambon-sur-Lignon, and those of its surrounding area known as the Yssingeaux Plateau, were not unfamiliar with struggle. They were the descendants of the Huguenots, French Protestants who were members of the Reformed Church, which John Calvin had established in 1555. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the king persecuted them for their religious beliefs, which were in direct theological contrast with the Catholic Church. The Huguenots bore the label of heretics, and those captured were subjected to horrible tortures and death at the hands of the king and the church. The others managed to flee their homes, and a group settled on the Yssingeaux Plateau.

  It was not surprising, then, that when the armistice with Germany was signed in 1940, and France’s puppet government in Vichy began cooperating with the Nazi quest to eliminate all Jews, the inhabitants of the Yssingeaux Plateau felt as though history were repeating itself. Le Chambon’s two Protestant pastors were very vocal in their thoughts about the armistice. Resist without fear, they told their congregations, but also without pride or hatred.

  Deciding to become their brothers’ keepers was a moral choice for the people of Le Chambon, and it was one easily made. It began when they offered to hide the few Jews within their own population, then helped them escape to neutral Switzerland, 160 miles away via an underground railway.

  Word spread and Jews came from other parts of France, seeking escape or asylum for their children. Run by the Swiss, boarding schools were opened on the Yssingeaux Plateau to serve not only the Jewish children, a quarter of their total residents, but also Gentile children, whose families wanted them to be spared from the food shortages and the dangers of wartorn France. In all, seven schools, over a dozen boarding houses, and a large number of local peasant farmers came to the refugees’ aid.