Love is the death of me

by Dick Hardman

  ***

  Sir Philip Stern, the senior British spymaster, quickly sifted through a pile of decoded messages that had been placed on his desk, at 9.00am that same morning. When he came to the transmission from Raven, he snatched up the phone and made a brief call to John Caplin.

  “Good morning John, how is your lovely wife and beautiful daughter? Not keeping you awake I hope!” Stern was a bon vivant and gave a passable impression of the well-known actor, Sydney Greenstreet of “Casablanca” fame. It had been a hit movie a year earlier, starring Humphrey Bogart.

  “Thank you for asking Sir Philip; Angela is two months old now and takes after Margaret, determined to have the last word.

  “What can I do for you Sir Philip?”

  “John, I am sending over a copy of a message I received. I want everything we have on a German called Pieter Klein. He is about 35…”

  “I will come straight back to you when I have seen your message, sir.”

  “Thank you so much John, I think this is something we need to take seriously; a feeling in my water, don’t you know.

  “Over to you, young fellow.”

  An hour later, John called back.

  “I have looked into that Alderney matter Sir Philip, several matches were made, but none were of interest, I am sorry to say. The matter is now flagged as significant though, and will be closely monitored. As soon as I have anything, I will report back to you.”

  “Well, thank you for looking.

  “The man in Alderney is almost certainly a spy and up to no good. Make a radio broadcast instructing Raven to gather more intelligence on Klein, and a photograph if possible. We need to find out what the devil he’s up to and nip it in the bud.”

  “Of course Sir Philip, I will pass it to coding and it will be transmitted tonight.”

  “Thank you John. That will be all.”

  Caplin cursed inwardly, as if he hadn’t enough to chase up. Any spy on Alderney was no real concern of his, being so far away. Klein could be anyone. Spies tend to work alone, not recruit soldiers as spies. The training up of a spy takes months, and such people are most atypical, not the average German soldier material. Anyway, a box of explosives is hardly going to win the war.

  Raven was useful for keeping his department informed with intelligence, but it was so routine, it was never worth the risk of getting caught.

  But, then again, Sir Philip did have that nasty knack of always being right!

  The challenge. 3rd December 1943

  It was 8.00am when Pieter Klein and the nine candidates walked to a nearby derelict granite cottage. Their breath hung around them in the freezing still air like a cloud, as they chatted to one another in subdued, but excited tones. They gathered around him, dressed in overalls, and sat in silence on the bare stone floor of a large living room. He was carrying a red, stove enamelled, metal container, half the length of a shoe box. In their own minds, the candidates speculated as to its purpose, but none came close to the truth. It was simply a metal box containing a number of delicate glass objects wrapped in cotton wool. Pieter also had a fabric pouch of small hand tools, some made from silicate glass.

  Now came the tricky stage of the selection process. Pieter had to set out the risks to the soldiers, without giving away his secrets.

  He could see from their tense faces, they were focussed and eager to know what they were getting involved in.

  “I want three of you to come with me on a perilous mission.

  “Make no mistake, only your sharp wits and good luck will save you from capture and execution.” He paused for effect, glancing at the face of each person in turn.

  “I will train you to maintain and service some delicate electrical equipment, behind enemy lines. You in turn must train others to do the same. The mission is of course important to Germany and will shorten the war, in our favour.

  “If any of you wish to leave, say so now, this will be your only opportunity to simply walk away.” There was an ominous undertone in his voice.

  The soldiers looked anxiously at each other, wondering what to do. After a few moments, two men and two of the four women stood up and asked to leave.

  “Report back to your units immediately. Say nothing about what you have been told, or might have assumed. Your friends and others you know are certain to ask, so tell them your records are being re-considered and you might be promoted. If you say anything else, you and they will be shot!” A shocked hush fell over the room as each person evaluated the harsh threat. There was obviously more to this mission and the small red box than they could imagine. Pieter Klein did not look like the brutal sort of man who would shoot and kill in cold blood, but he was a spy, and they did not know him well enough to be certain. They hastily stood up and filed out, glad to leave this suicide squad, and it would cause no hardship to keep their mouths shut.

  Pieter escorted the four tight-lipped soldiers outside the cottage and watched them walk hurriedly away.

  When he re-entered the room, the remaining three men and two women stopped whispering and looked petrified.

  “Before I tell you more about your mission, I want to see how well you learn and carry out this simulation.” Karl pointed to the red box and tools.

  “Do not for one moment attempt to deduce anything from the simulation, all it will show me is whether you have the learning skills and dexterity needed for the real task.”

  Pieter unpacked the box, un-wrapping the small coloured glass spheres with metal tabs, and wide strips of thin silver foil. He then showed them the remaining contents of the box, layers of thin glass, covered with sockets for the glass objects, and foil strips, all fixed into position with glass washers and screws.

  Karl continued. “I want the glass panels removed from the box, new foil cut to accurately match the templates, then fix them to the panels. The colour coded glass objects must be carefully inserted into their receptacles, and the fine tabs screwed down to make contact with the foil. Then replace the assembled glass panels in the box, and screw into position. He intentionally moved away, indicating he had ended his instructions. If a candidate was unable to remember and understand the first time, they were not mentally equipped for the mission.

  “One of you start; the rest turn to face the wall.”

  One of the men tried first, followed by a woman. Working in the poorly lit room, laid on their bellies on a filthy floor, with fragile items and unfamiliar tools proved impossible for them. Actually, this environment was considered to be good field conditions. The final three would train to do the work by torchlight, out in a storm, protected by a waterproof canvas cover.

  Pieter ordered the two failures. “Stop what you are doing and go back to your unit. You are of no use to me.

  “Remember what I told the others, nothing that has happened here must ever be mentioned or discussed with anyone, not even each other. I know who your friends are, and some of them will report you to me, if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”

  The man and woman left, ashamed that they had failed, but relieved to be off the mission.

  Pieter reset the task again and the remaining three carried out the test successfully. Now they must be properly trained to assemble, fault-find and repair actual beacons. He knew if any of the team fell into enemy hands with this knowledge, or turned and became British spies, the beacons would no longer be as useful. They might even be used against Germany.

  Superficially, the beacons looked rather simple to understand and repair, but this was deceptive, because every component, foil and screw had to be precisely positioned. The heat generated, as it operated, caused expansion and altered the tuning of the circuits. The devices had to be running for at least five minutes to reach their optimum stable temperature and begin working accurately. That is not to say the devices were hit or miss or unpredictable, they weren’t, if everything was built with precision. Further beacons were actually being mass produced, cheaply and reliably, in a room in Peenemünde.

  ***

 
Pieter carefully considered each of the three team members. They all looked ordinary, of average height, with no big ears or noses, and were pleasant to look at. Attributes that every spy needs to make them invisible in a group of people.

  They interpreted his brief instructions correctly and with common sense; they learned quickly. A good start, he thought.

  “Just to give you some idea about your training over the coming weeks, here’s what will happen. I will prepare you for the hazardous journey behind enemy lines. The greater danger is not from the enemy, but the journey and conditions you will endure. Once there, you will work alongside the enemy, as one of them. Hidden in plain sight, as they say. You will gather intelligence as you work, just by observing and listening to conversation. You will never put yourself at risk by probing into things you have no business seeing. You are not there to spy, but to train others to service and plant beacons. You will need basic spy craft skills to communicate and avoid detection. If trouble comes to you, it is better to talk your way out, rather than fight or run. If you cause a commotion, or have to kill to survive or avoid capture, your usefulness will be at an end.

  “We will talk more about that, during the training.

  “Our first task is to get to know each other, so starting with you, Horst, tell us about yourself. If you can do so in English, so much the better.”

  The informal atmosphere that Pieter encouraged brought out the real character from behind their masks. He could tell by the content and bias of their remarks, they were not bonding. The laughs, smiles and friendly jibes were typical social acting. It always happens when strangers are forced to be friendly in a group. At the moment, each member of the team would run and save his own skin, rather than work together to complete the mission. Pieter had to change that, before anything else.

  ***

  Klein’s assessment. Horst Loehr was the oldest at 38, good looking, average height and close cropped, black hair, tending to pattern baldness. He was clean shaven, with grey eyes and had a slim, non-muscular build. He needed glasses for close work, so a style used by the British public would have to be obtained. Being a quiet man who observed and analysed everything going on around him, he formed sensible conclusions. When Pieter asked him a question, there was no hesitation and he spoke with precision and authority. Qualities of a good teacher!

  There was a downside to him though, he was attracted to the woman, Carina Kompchr; a distraction that could jeopardise the mission and cost him his life.

  Horst’s record showed he had good machinist skills and spoke excellent English, albeit with a strong German accent.

  His record had been blemished for unauthorised entrepreneurial activities. Imagination and drive were good, but making money was the sort of trait that can turn spies into double agents. He would need to keep a close eye on Horst Loehr.

  In Loehr’s mind. He did not believe the British were stupid, as claimed in German propaganda, but he thought he was superior and could be a good spy. As good as Pieter Klein, anyway.

  He believed that with his blemished military record and being cast away on this island, this mission would be a golden opportunity to prove his worth. He could walk away at the end of the war with great kudos.

  Once Germany held Britain, brave men like him would be needed to run the country, he was a natural entrepreneur, after all.

  He speculated that Carina Kompchr the woman in the team, would play less hard to get when she got to know him. Being a spy was glamorous, so he would have no trouble attracting women.

  Klein’s assessment. Carina Kompchr, a slim 30 year old woman with short, straight blond hair, a heart shaped face and gorgeous brown eyes. She was a fair bit shorter than the two men and physically very fit. Her small and surprisingly pert breasts should cause her no disadvantage when running or fighting.

  She worked as a dental assistant before the war and had excellent people skills.

  She had the natural ability to win people over with the right words or friendly smile, if it suited her.

  Carina spoke phrasebook English. Her short, clipped and heavily accented sentences usually sounded almost comical.

  She appeared to be indifferent to Horst’s existence, but Pieter felt sure it was a female, hard-to-get ploy. He doubted they would ever be more than colleagues though, anything else would just be for the challenge.

  She focussed intently on everything that was said, absorbed knowledge easily and had quick eye-hand coordination. She could also read people and use what she found to manipulate them. Her strong character and self-confidence would make her a good leader, never holding back in a challenge. Get in first and win was probably her mantra.

  Her record showed she had been insubordinate, several times, but reading between the lines, there may have been a sexual component to the story. A woman in a man’s world could not be easy, thought Pieter.

  In Carina’s mind. Being a woman was of no disadvantage, in her opinion; after all, she had both a sharp brain and a pussy to die for. In a world dominated by men, what she couldn’t accomplish with her mind she could always achieve with the other.

  This mission could work well for her. With Germany in power, and the secrets she would learn as a spy, she would put them to great effect. Powerful men, leaders, always had secrets to hide and if she knew what they were, she would prevail. She could see herself with a mansion of a home, a beautiful family and be the power behind the throne. There were risks to her life, of course, but she was crucial to the mission, so the men would protect her. All she had to do was keep her head down, not take chances and do her job. If the worst happened and she was captured by the British, she had valuable information that could save her life. She would be of no use to anyone, dead!

  Pieter Klein did not strike her as a spy type; when she first met him, he appeared to be an amicable loner, but at the moment he was tense and cold. The man seemed so paranoid, he practically jumped at his own shadow.

  A good looking man though, physically attractive and intelligent, trying to pretend he was one of the men, nothing more. She felt attracted to him, but dismissed it as just the usual urges. Still, urges needed to be listened to and having him on her side would not be a bad thing. Horst was not going to have her, well, not without a struggle on his part. He was too sure of himself for her liking, under that quiet, know-it-all exterior. It would take the prick down a peg or two, if she let it be known that Pieter or Andreas, the other man in the team, had made love to her.

  Klein’s assessment. Andreas Dohle projected a most likeable personality and seemed to rely on this to get him by. He was impetuous and often made mistakes because of it. It irked Pieter that the man would thoughtlessly blurt out his answers with an eager smile. The smile was to say, don’t be cross if I am wrong, I am trying hard and I am very keen. A defence mechanism a child would use. Pieter sensed the lad had great potential though, so he had to find a way of bringing the immature 22 year old, into the real world.

  Andreas was of similar height to Horst, but he was thin and sinewy with well-defined muscles. His blue/grey eyes were alert and intelligent, set in an oval, clean shaven face, topped with fair hair that was long overdue for cutting.

  He spoke a smattering of English, inadequate for any form of conversation, just enough to get across what he wanted. Andreas was a surprisingly good mimic, he could lose the German accent and sound very British, just like Pieter.

  He had no trade or training prior to joining the army and offered no prospect for meaningful employment as his cover, in the field.

  According to his record, disobedience and pilfering had been his downfall.

  In Andreas‘s mind. The boy took a liking to Klein, he thought he was an exciting man to be around. Pieter didn’t hold his bad record against him either.

  If I watch what he does, I could learn to be like him and become a real spy, not just a ‘nobody’, who repairs radios.

  I wouldn’t mind a night or two with Carina. She seems to like me more than that cocky prick Horst
; she just ignores him.

  I wonder how we will get to where we are going, by parachute, or in a boat from a submarine. The submarine would be the most exciting, sneak right in at night and paddle to the shore. There will be other spies to meet us and hide us away when we land.

  I am younger and fitter than the others, so if I have to make a run for it, I should easily get away.

  ***

  Klein carefully considered his next move. The team was the best of a bad bunch. Apart from Andreas, they were mature in their outlook and capable, perhaps the boy would emulate the others, during training.

  There was an unexpected bonus however; the team could speak some English so he would encourage its use by making it the prime language from now on. Because of his background, Pieter could speak accent free, cut glass English, and his team easily mimicked the phrases, parrot fashion. It would make working in England easier if they could lose the accent and speak colloquial English.

  Once he had told his team about the mission and the equipment, he was committed. Yes, he could silence them, but that would raise questions and the secret might leak out even quicker. Here goes, he thought.

  “Listen very carefully, I will now tell you something about the device you will work on. Its appearance will seem crude and like it was made by a child, from pretty glass and shiny silver foil. However, once I have explained the design issues you will appreciate its form.

  “The device is a very high frequency radio transmitter, a beacon in fact, and the signal is detected by a special receiver attached to a secret weapon called the V-1 flying bomb, to guide it to its target. The beacon is placed on the target, usually a building, and is powered from the supply in the building. To keep weight and bulk down to a minimum, there is no transformer inside, just a nickel-chrome resistance wire to reduce the heater voltage of the thermionic valves, and a thermistor.”

  “Can it run off a battery?” Horst queried.

  “No, it draws too much current at full mains voltage. The beacon might have to run many days after being planted, so that would never be possible with a battery.