The Spy Net

by Henry Landau

  A check was kept on all Zeppelin hangars, and here again an account was given of damage done to the ships during their raids on England.

  His most sensational report was a detailed description of the big high-angle-fire guns, which several months later fired their 300-lb shells at Paris from the forest of St Gobain, a distance of 75 miles. Full particulars of the trials which were carried out with these guns firing out to sea from the coast of Heligoland were given by the Dane. The actual damage done by these guns on Paris was relatively insignificant, considering the expense incurred. I believe the total casualties were only about 200. The guns were expected to be chiefly effective as a cause of shock and alarm, the mystery of their position and operation being kept up as long as possible. On the mind of the general public the almost magic quality of the great new guns’ power did produce something like panic, but once again the secret service had destroyed for GHQ the element of surprise planned by the Germans. I have often wondered whether the High Command had placed any faith at first in this particular report of the Dane, the facts seemed at the time so incredible.

  In addition to these technical details which he brought us, he was able to give us valuable information about political and economic conditions in Germany. Because he was in contact with high officials and officers in Germany, he brought us back the point of view of the men who really knew what was going on, not the opinion of the man in the street, who was told what the German High Command wanted him to believe.

  The greatest danger that the Dane ran was in his contact with us, as he never carried any incriminating materials whatever – notes, lists, letters, even special papers or inks – when he was in Germany. With him we employed the same methods that I used in meeting all our agents working in enemy territory. We kept several houses in Rotterdam and in The Hague, which we were continually changing. To reach these places from the office we employed every trick conceivable, such as never going there on foot from the office, never driving up to the door, doubling back on our tracks, and sliding into a doorway to see if we were being followed. As far as possible, we always met these agents at night, not only to avoid recognition, but to prevent the taking of photographs, in which the Germans were expert. A photograph of a man going into a house owned by us was sufficient evidence in the eyes of the Germans for his immediate execution, if they caught him in Germany or the occupied territory.

  As soon as the Dane arrived in Holland, he called us by telephone, announcing his arrival under an assumed name known to us. Then we fixed a time of meeting at one of our houses, A, B, C, D, the addresses of which, corresponding to these alphabetical letters, were known to him. In this way all danger arriving from a possible overheard telephone message was removed. One of the girls at the telephone exchange might have been in German pay, or the Germans might have tapped our wire, as he once successfully did with theirs until a Dutch telephone linesman discovered it.

  On his arrival in the house, the Dane immediately got down to the writing of his report, which he did in German, and this occupied sometimes three or four hours. One by one the German shipbuilding yards, such as Blohm and Voss at Hamburg, the Vulkan Yard at Bredow near Stettin, the Schichau Works at Elbing and Danzig, the Weser company at Bremen, the Germania Werft, and the Danziger Werft were gone over, and a description was given of the ships on every single slip in these yards, until every shipbuilding yard in Germany was covered.

  When I first saw him write out his reports without any notes, in a calm and matter-of-fact manner, I felt convinced he was faking some of them, but I soon learned to respect his statements, when time after time, later on, we received verification of details which he had reported. As soon as his reports were completed, they were rushed to our office on the Boompjes for translating, coding, and cabling to London. The Dane generally remained over in Holland for two or three days, sufficient time for the admiralty to cable back any questions on his reports which they wished answered, or to acquaint him with details of information which they wanted him to secure on his return to Germany.

  The Dane continued his work to the very date of the Armistice. He was paid huge sums, far in excess of any of our other agents; and as he was the father of a family, and apparently of high moral character, I am sure he saved his money, which was amply sufficient for him to retire on. In his villa in Denmark today, none of his neighbours suspect, I am sure, the great role this reserved and observant gentleman played during the war. But it was those very characteristics, with a memory truly phenomenal, that made him undoubtedly a master spy.

  1 A publication by British GHQ containing all known information about the German Army.

  CHAPTER 16

  SURPRISES OF THE COAST PATROL — THE WIRELESS TORPEDO BOAT

  TO THE GERMANS the coast of Belgium was of enormous importance, for it supplied them with bases from which their submarines and torpedo boats could sally forth to prey on Allied shipping. These bases were located at the harbours of Ostend, Zeebrugge, and Blankenberghe, and of these the first two were by far the most important, since they were connected by canals to Bruges, where the lighter craft could retire in case of Allied attack, or where submarines could be assembled from parts sent from Germany. Realising the value of the Flanders Coast to her, Germany did everything within her power to make it impregnable by studding it with heavy gun batteries, and by supplementing them with a vast number of aircraft which were also used for raids on England.

  It was our duty in Holland to complete the work of aeroplane reconnaissance by supplying the admiralty with all possible information about the location of the various coastal batteries and aerodromes. We had four sources of information: spies, German deserters, Belgian refugees, and our own direct observation. The Dutch frontier was only 7 miles distant from Zeebrugge, and so with a good telescope, even on a fairly misty day, it was possible to watch the German activities at this small artificial port.

  For the duration of the war one of our experts kept daily watch with a powerful telescope from Kadzand in Holland, the nearest point of approach, on all points between Zeebrugge and the frontier. He reported the coming and going of the twenty-odd submarines and torpedo boats stationed at Zeebrugge, and activities of the mine layers and dredgers operating there. This was of great value to the admiralty, which thus came to know the exact strength of the enemy, in small craft, at this base; and by knowing the direction of departure and return of the submarines and torpedo boats, the British patrol boats were able to be in wait successfully for them.

  The position of the batteries could only be approximately located by our frontier agent, and then only when they went through target practice, as they were all carefully camouflaged. Their rough locations were valuable, however, as they helped us to check up on the reports from refugees and deserters, especially the latter, and also supplied GHQ and the admiralty with objectives for aeroplane reconnaissance and subsequent bombardment.

  By far the most valuable information we obtained about the coastal batteries came from two deserters from the German Marine Corps, which for the duration of the war permanently occupied the Flanders Coast. One morning to my delight, I found them waiting for me in one of our office cubicles. Our frontier agent, near Kadzand, had seen them crossing the frontier, and contrary to instructions had himself conducted them to me in Rotterdam. Interviewing them in separate cubicles, I was able to check the story of the one against that of the other, and then compare their joint information with what we already knew. Their reports were undoubtedly genuine. In addition to giving me several new battery positions, they gave me valuable information about the calibre of the guns and their range: most of them were from 6 to 15 inches, and some had a range of over 20,000 yards. I was told that the Kaiser Wilhelm battery, which was constructed with the aid of Russian prisoners of war, had a range of 23 miles. From them I learned also for the first time the German names of the different batteries, such as the Kaiser Wilhelm, the Goeben, Deutschland, Cecilia, Tirpitz, and Hindenburg.

  But what thril
led me most of all, one of them solved a baffling mystery which had worried us for a long time. Our frontier agent at Kadzand had on several occasions reported seaplane manoeuvres at Zeebrugge in conjunction with what seemed to him a fast motor boat, in which, strange to say, he could never see a steersman. At first I paid no attention to these reports, attributing the phenomenon to faulty observation, but he was so insistent about his guideless motor boat that eventually I became concerned. The two deserters, as if agreed between themselves, professed at first to know nothing about the matter. The sight of a hundred-guilder note, however, started the one talking, and to my constant query: ‘What are the Germans doing with those motor boat and seaplane manoeuvres at Zeebrugge?’ he suddenly amazed me by replying: ‘The boats are guided by wireless from the seaplanes.’

  I was now all excitement. Gradually I got the rest of the story out of him. The motor boats, fitted with torpedoes in their bows, were set in motion from the shore, propelled by an ordinary motor, and were guided to their objective by wireless, transmitted from observing seaplanes. They were intended as a surprise for the next visit of the British monitors, which periodically appeared off the coast to bombard the German base and batteries. Here was startling information, which I lost no time in telegraphing. The admiralty immediately sent back a telegram of congratulations, and a bid for further information! A few weeks later, the Germans had a chance to use their guideless boats against the monitors, but to their chagrin, provisions had been made to render them harmless. Once more the secret service had exercised one of its prime functions: it had destroyed the element of surprise.

  Owing to the fact that most of the Belgian inhabitants had been driven from the coast either by the destruction of their homes by bombardment from the sea and air, or through deportation by the Germans, there were very few of them left in this area. For this reason it was well nigh impossible to introduce a spy into the zone. We had to content ourselves with the reports brought us by Belgian boatmen navigating the canals between Bruges and Holland. The information was old by the time it got to us, but since most of the coastal batteries were permanently imbedded in concrete and, therefore, did not change position, time was not an important factor. This information concerning the coast defences was picked up by the boatmen from occasional refugees from the coast, who still found their way to Bruges.

  What interested us most of all, however, in these boatmen’s reports, was the German activities in Bruges itself. Bruges, situated at the apex of a triangle, whose sides were the canals connecting her with Zeebrugge and Ostend, and the base the Zeebrugge–Ostend coastal strip, was the centre from which both Ostend and Zeebrugge, especially the latter, were fed. Bruges itself could accommodate about thirty submarines and an equal number of torpedo boats. We had to watch not only the number of the enemy craft in the harbour, but what was more important, the number which were being built. Some were assembled from parts sent from Germany; others were constructed in the shipbuilding yards at Antwerp, of which those of the Cockerell Works were the most important.

  Aeroplane reconnaissance, air photographs, German deserters, our Bruges boatmen spies, and the unceasing watching of Moresco, our frontier agent at Kadzand, supplied the admiralty with all the information they required. On a large-scale map in Rotterdam we marked each battery emplacement and aerodrome as they were reported. With enthusiasm we watched the numbers gradually grow until we had located about 150 guns between Ostend and the Dutch frontier, and on the Zeebrugge mole. I would be surprised if there was a single battery or aerodrome on the coast which was not known to us. It was the accurate information, coupled with the wonderful bravery of the men, and the brilliant direction of Admiral Sir Roger Keyes and the officers under him, which permitted the successful raids on Zeebrugge and Ostend, culminating in the blocking up of these two harbours, and the destruction of the German submarine bases on the Flanders Coast, which had been for such a long time a menace to both the Allied shipping and the British lines of communication.

  In addition to watching Zeebrugge, we also kept the Scheldt under close observation, to prevent the steamers which were laid up in Antwerp from slipping out to their home ports in Germany, where they could be fitted out as commerce raiders or employed for some useful purpose. In Antwerp disuse was turning them into derelicts. German warships would, of course, have been interned as they had to pass through Dutch waters, but ordinary merchantmen were free to steam down the Scheldt past Flushing, and by keeping within the 3-mile limit along the Dutch Coast, they were out of danger; from there they had a very short distance to go to be safe in a German port such as Emden.

  When, therefore, our Antwerp agents reported that some of the ships, which had lain idle for more than two years, were getting up steam, we were naturally on the watch, and the admiralty was immediately informed. Our patience was soon rewarded, for two ships were reported steaming down the Scheldt. Under cover of the night, they got as far as Flushing, but in the early hours of the morning, as they were trailing along the Dutch Coast, they found the British patrol boats waiting to sink them. They were so close in that many of the British shells fell on Dutch soil.

  Whether or not these ships were in Dutch territorial waters when they were sunk, I do not know. The matter was hushed up. The Nieuwe Rotterdamsche Courant reported the bare facts, and no comments were made. The Dutch government, pursuing its policy of keeping out of the war at all costs, was often embarrassed by both sides. Their brilliant Foreign Affairs Minister, a master of diplomacy, steered them successfully through many difficult situations, and doubtless this was one of them.

  A few days afterwards, returning from London where I had been urgently called to consult with C, I was met at Harwich by a flag lieutenant, who informed me that the convoy would not be leaving for three hours, and that Admiral L. wanted me to have lunch with him on board his flagship. Leaving the diplomatic bags on shore under guard – on this occasion I had been asked by the Foreign Office to act as King’s messenger to The Hague – I gladly accepted the invitation.

  I was immediately put at my ease by the Admiral, who had under him submarines, torpedo boats, and lighter craft which were stationed there: one of the most important commands in the navy. His chief interest in me was the information I could give him about the two ships which had been sunk. ‘What do the Dutch think about it?’ said he, with a twinkle in his eye. I told him all I knew.

  CHAPTER 17

  ESPIONAGE, COUNTER-ESPIONAGE AND SPY HYSTERIA

  THE ORDINARY PUBLIC has no conception of secret service. The beautiful female spy is not an essential to every secret service coup – she rarely figured in our wartime services – for every Gabrielle Petit or Louise de Bettignies, the two brave Allied agents who paid the supreme penalty for their devotion to duty, there were a hundred male spies, less glamorous but just as efficient; nor is drugging or the rifling of safes and strong-boxes a common practice. Physical violence is an exception, and so also is the carrying of firearms or any other weapon, even as a means of defence.

  The spies who have been shot and whose cases have attracted the greatest publicity have not always been great spies. The penalty for spying during the war was, in most cases, death. Some of the victims had succeeded in procuring information of the greatest value and had inflicted material damage on the enemy; others were caught and shot before they had been able to do any harm. Yet often those in the latter category received the most attention from the press. Mata Hari, for instance, was not one of the great spies of the war: I don’t think she was actually successful in conveying much information to the Germans, but she is known to the whole world because she was a woman born in romantic circumstances, because she was a dancer, and because she died bravely before the firing squad at Vincennes, dressed in her best clothes, with a pair of long white gloves in her hands, which she drew on calmly as she awaited the fatal command.

  The spy hysteria during the war was another example of the public’s lack of knowledge. At the outbreak of hostilities many pre-war
German spies did remain in the belligerent countries with instructions to carry on, but their number was grossly exaggerated, and violent precautionary measures were taken by local military authorities (often as ill-informed as the public) which resulted in a great number of innocent people being shot. Even in far-off South Africa, General Delarey was mistaken for a spy and shot at night by a sentry, when the general’s chauffeur, not hearing the challenge, failed to stop. This took place close to Johannesburg, hundreds of miles from the nearest German colony, in a situation where, if a spy had existed it would have been very improbable that he would be dashing around in a car at night.

  I shall never forget what havoc the rumour of a lurking spy caused in my own brigade during our first week in France. So unnerved did those in command become that sentries were posted in each gunpit with orders to shoot anyone who did not stop when challenged. During that same night one of the gunners, coming out of his billet half asleep to relieve himself, was killed by a sentry. The sentries were removed, and that was the last we heard of the phantom German spy.

  True it is that when an army is retreating in its own country, it often leaves spies behind to report on the enemy’s movements. In open warfare, they can return to their own lines, or even communicate for a short while by means of a hidden telephone wire, or pigeons, or for a few hours by means of a portable wireless set or some signalling apparatus. But once the belligerents have settled down to stationary trench warfare, with a continuous line of barbed wire entanglements between them, it is more than unlikely that any system of spy reports can exist directly across the battlefront lines. It would have surprised me greatly to have been told of a single authentic case in the Great War where a German spy was caught within a couple of miles of the front lines. Even if a spy had been there, he would have been useless without means of communication. Working from Holland, I knew how difficult it was to get a regular courier to penetrate close to the German front line, and yet I was directing agents of French and Belgian nationality working in their own country. Within the actual firing zone, they would not only have had to secure military uniforms, but also – at least on some occasions – have had to live in contact with the soldiers, for on both sides during the last two years of the war practically every front sector was entirely freed of civilian population by enforced evacuation. Yet spies were a constant subject of talk and of precaution among those in command in the firing zone.