Most Secret War
Page 44
At the same time, many reports were coming in of new German constructions near the Channel coast. Were they the catapults of which Amniarix and others had told us? And were they for rockets or pilotless aircraft? On 28th October a fuller report came in which said that important work was proceeding at Bois Carré near Yvrench, and that a rough plan made by a workman showed ‘a concrete platform with centre axis pointing directly to London’. It described the construction of various buildings on the site, including one which contained no metal parts; subsequent reports modified this to no magnetic parts. The information was confirmed by photographic sortie E/463 of 3rd November, which showed that the most prominent features were ski-shaped buildings 240-270 feet long, from which the sites were promptly named. If the non-magnetic hut story were true, this would indicate some kind of magnetic directional control in the missile. And I can remember Sandy Menzies pointing out to us that if he had to choose between the rocket and the pilotless aircraft, he would opt for the latter, since the entrance to the non-magnetic hut was a low, wide arch, which suggested that something with wings had to be wheeled through it. Medmenham was making a model of the Bois Carré site, but the interpreters there obviously thought that it was intended for a rocket, because they added a model rocket to their site, and we had to convince them that it was too long to be pushed round the curves at the end of the skis, where we assumed that the bodies of the missiles were stored, before they would give up the rocket hypothesis.
Personally I hoped to prove beyond any argument that the ski sites were for the FZG 76 by taking photographs of Zempin, about 15 kilometres south eastwards along the coast from Peenemünde, where Colonel Wachtel, so Jeannie Rousseau had told us, had one of his headquarters; and indeed we had now found radar tracks emanating from Zempin as well as Peenemünde. I therefore ordered a sortie, to cover both places; I even specified the optimum timing, since we were beginning to see the daily pattern of firing and, if lucky, we might catch an FZG 76 on its launching catapult. There was so much general activity at Peenemünde that it was not easy to be sure which elements were concerned with the pilotless aircraft, but at Zempin we hoped to have the aircraft and its servicing installations isolated, and we hoped that these would be similar to those we were now beginning to recognize on the ski sites. Unfortunately there was a delay of about three weeks in getting the photographs because of persistent bad weather.
Obviously the ski sites had to be knocked out, if possible, whatever their purpose, and so the question arose of how much bombing effort was necessary. Sandy Menzies telephoned me with the result of his operational research. A decision to bomb or not came down to one simple question: the walls of the buildings on the ski sites were about 80 centimetres in thickness (actually 75 centimetres) and it was not clear from the air photographs whether they were of reinforced concrete or prefabricated concrete blocks. If the former, then little less than bombs of two thousand pounds would do sufficient damage. If the latter, five hundred pound bombs would suffice. There would thus be a factor of four between the bomb loads required for the one possibility or the other; with the smaller loads a bombing campaign would be feasible; but if the heavier loads were required, the bombing effort would be prohibitive. So could I find out how the walls were constructed? I put the question to our Swiss station, which had provided some of the best information from the French Resistance so far about the ski sites. The information was back within a very few days that the walls were of prefabricated concrete blocks, and so the bombing attack was ‘on’. A package of plans on tracing paper arrived on my desk, seemingly in answer to my question, but they must have been already on their way. As I heard the story at the time, two separate agents went out to answer my question. One dressed up as a workman and surveyed the site, while the other thought it simpler to steal the contractor’s plans.
Quite possibly both stories refer to, if not the same man, at least a single organization. Its head was Michel Hollard, whose story has been told by George Martelli in Agent Extraordinary. Hollard had run away from home to join the French Army as a boy of sixteen in the First World War, and had won the Croix de Guerre. His father was a distinguished scientist and he himself qualified as an engineer in the years after the war. He was 41 years old when the Second War broke out, and his feelings after the French capitulation were so strong that he finally crossed into Switzerland to make contact with our Embassy to offer his services in any capacity in which he could help. He was subsequently to make another 48 unofficial crossings of the border. He set up a small network which survived where others were caught, because he used no radio. One of his contacts was a young, freshly qualified, engineer called André Comps. Hollard himself had already heard of the ski-site activity; and when he discovered one at Bonnetot le Faubourg he made a personal reconnaissance, managing to penetrate the site by collecting a wheelbarrow that he spotted in the ditch outside it, and wheeling it in as though he were a workman. He noticed the intended line of something that was probably a launching catapult, and he was the kind of man who always carried a pocket compass. When he worked out the alignment of the catapult later that evening, it pointed in the direction of London. It had been his report that alerted us specifically about the ski sites, and now he was to resolve our question of the construction. He enlisted André Comps, and persuaded him to volunteer for a job with the Germans as a draughtsman. Comps got the job, and succeeded in copying the plans of every building at the Bois Carré site, including the general outline of the base and rails of the launching catapult. This last plan he had to copy from the original that he had to remove temporarily from the coat of the German engineer supervising the construction. The plan of the non-magnetic hut is shown at Figure 21, while the general plan of the site is at Figure 20. Comparison with the air photograph in Plate 21(b) will show how accurate it was. It was a brilliant piece of espionage, complementing what Hollard had already done for us. It also contained a neat element of humour, for it described the site as ‘B2’ as may be seen if ‘B’ is an abbreviation for ‘Bois’ and it is remembered that ‘x2’ in French is called ‘x carré’.
Fig. 20. Drawing of V-1 launching (‘ski’) site at Bois Carré near Yvrench (note the ‘B2’). Comparison with Plate 21 will show the accurate draftsmanship
Fig. 21. One of the contractor’s plans of a V-1 launching site obtained by André Comps and Michel Hollard, October 1943. This is of the ‘square building’ or ‘R house’ (Figure 20) which was reported to have no iron in its construction and in which the flying bomb was to have its compass set before going to the launching catapult. The broad arched entrance was a clue that the missile had wings, and the arc inscribed on the floor suggested that the missile was to be ‘swung’ to test its compass
As for Hollard himself, he went on working until he was finally arrested by the Gestapo on 5th February 1944. He was atrociously tortured by the Gestapo, including the bath treatment where the victim was submerged in a bath of cold water and violently beaten every time he put his head above the surface, so that he nearly drowned, only to be revived and have the treatment started all over again. The Gestapo failed to break him even after five or more repetitions, and they finally sent him to a concentration camp. He was one of those both fortunate and strong enough to survive, and I was to have the pleasure of providing the detail for the citation for his D.S.O.
It will have been obvious from this chapter that the French Resistance played a great part. Typical of their gallantry was that of one of Hollard’s men, Olivier Giran, who was caught in 1943. Only 21, he was executed on 16th April. On 12th April he wrote to his parents:
I am condemned to death.… In all I write there are only two things I want you to remember: my eternal gratitude for a life of such great and constant happiness, as thanks to you two, I have had; and the strength of my love for you.
I won’t say any more on that. There are things so great, so beautiful, so sacred, that one would only spoil them by trying to express them in words.
And as the exe
cutioners came for him four days later:
Among men I did what I thought was my duty—but I did it with joy in my heart. It was war, and I fell, as others did, and as many more must do.… I saw them on the Marne, buried in long rows. Now it is my turn—that is all.… Yes France will live. Men are cowards traitors, rotters. But France is pure, clean, vital.
I am happy. I am not dying for any faction or man, I am dying for my own idea of serving her, my country … and for you too whom I adore.
I am happy I love you. The door is opening.
Adieu.
He died giving the ageless call ‘Vive la France!
There were many like Olivier Giran. Commandant Leon Faye, Marie-Madeleine’s second-in-command, was another. Hidden in his cell after his death they found his last message to his colleagues in ‘The Alliance’,
… I ask you to serve our unhappy country so that it may enjoy peace again and happiness, songs, flowers, and flower-covered inns. Close the prisons. Drive out the executioners.… Like many other countries France will have to tend, cleanse and heal cruel wounds and rebuild vast numbers of ruined places. But she is the only one whose moral unity was broken. Pulled and torn in all directions, she is a dyke bursting under the weight of water. That is the most serious and urgent task. Everything must be done to get out of this impasse. Later, historians will judge. For the moment the important thing is union and not reprisal, work and not chaos. Act to this end, my dear friends, that is my last wish.…
Faye had written this letter with his manacled hand on 14th July 1944.
While men like Giran and Faye, and women too, suffered torture and death for us alone among their perverted enemies, our squabbles in London went on. Some of these squabbles were both inevitable and fair, as when two of us found ourselves in posts with responsibilities which neither of us had framed but which had been drafted by others and which overlapped so that each of us thought certain tasks were his alone. But others were entirely avoidable; and I had hoped that now that the task of both rocket and flying bomb Intelligence had reverted to our normal organizations, the qualifications of my Unit to undertake it were clear. After all, it was I who had found the rocket and it was my ‘long shot’ that had given us the ringside seat at the flying bomb trials. But to my amazement the Air Staff stepped in, now that I had rescued them from an embarrassing position, and recalled from the Mediterranean Claude Pelly, an Air Commodore who was very pleasant to work with but who had no previous experience of Intelligence, to co-ordinate Intelligence and to direct countermeasures. And the Joint Intelligence Committee, whose record had been singularly undistinguished even to the extent of being far later than Churchill himself in recognizing the German intention to attack Russia, then stepped in to back Pelly up with an Inter-Service Committee. Their idea was that I should provide the Committee with the raw information, which it would then assess and make into Intelligence appreciations. It was to meet every afternoon; and had I attended it, half of every working day would have been lost. I at once wrote to the Chairman of the J.I.C.:
It has been my duty since the beginning of the war to anticipate new applications of science to warfare by the enemy, and so to forestall new weapons and methods. Pilotless aircraft and Long Range Rockets are two such weapons which I have watched over the whole period. Unless I have failed in that duty, there can be little case for a Committee covering much the same work and whose Chairman had had no experience of the type of problem. It is doubtful whether a Committee is needed at all, since problems such as scale of employment, deployment, and places of production, are generally quickly solved once the technical nature of the weapon is fully understood, so that the main responsibility lies on those investigating the basic scientific and technical facts.
The establishment of a Committee to perform a function which I believe to be largely my own is therefore contrary to the way in which I have worked best in the past, and indicates a lack of confidence in my methods which—if I shared—would lead me to resign. Moreover, since experience leads me to appreciate the Prime Minister’s remarks about the possible otioseness of Committees, my section will continue its work regardless of any parallel Committees which may arise and will be mindful only of the safety of the country. I trust that we shall not be hindered.
If that sounded arrogant, it was simply because I knew that my Unit was far better able than any other group of individuals to deal with the problems that faced us, and I proposed to go on despite any arrangements made by those who knew far less about it. The situation was far too serious for any attempt at false modesty, and I would have gone at once to Churchill had anyone got in our way. More than anyone else, I knew what devotion was being offered by so many of our sources; and I was going to see that their sacrifices were turned to as good advantage as possible. This was the only way in which we could keep faith with them. Obviously I had no monopoly in my feelings towards them, but perhaps I felt more strongly because I had closer contacts with them than most others. For this privilege I shall be ever grateful.
A few days after my note to the Chairman of the J.I.C., who made no reply, I went down with tonsilitis and influenza. My temperature at breakfast, as I took it myself, was 108°F; by the time the doctor had arrived it was down to 105°. He prescribed opium and aspirin, and in the course of a day it fell off the bottom of the scale to, as far as I could estimate it, 92°F. The doctor forbade me to return to the office until my temperature was normal; but I had to disobey him after a fortnight, telling him that it only mattered whether I could last for six to eight months, after that I would not be so essential. I had in mind both D-Day and the onset of the German retaliation campaign.
While I was in bed, the weather at last became favourable for the sortie that I had requested over Zempin and Peenemünde. It was made on 28th November by John Merifield, who had flown me in his Mosquito at Dyce. Charles Frank brought the photographs out to me at Richmond. They showed the same buildings at Zempin as we had seen on the ski sites, giving the final proof that these were intended for the FZG 76. They also showed the catapult at Zempin: and once we had seen its shape (none so far had been installed on the ski sites) it was a simple matter to recognize the catapults among the many structures at Peenemünde—they were the erections that had been famously misinterpreted as ‘sludge pumps’! Moreover, on one of the catapults we had caught a flying bomb in position, just as I had hoped when I specified the optimum time of day for the sortie to be flown (Plate 21 (c)).
It is against this background that other accounts of the discovery of the V-1 should be read. All credit to a photographic interpreter who, not knowing the story leading up to the sortie, then found the V-1 and thought that the discovery was accidental; but in reality it was no accident. Where Medmenham may have been somewhat misled was that since the sortie was being flown at my request, and my interests were known previously to have been associated with radar stations such as Bruneval, the purpose of the sortie had been entered as a reconnaissance for radar stations. It was true that we were after the radar plotting stations as well, to locate them exactly, but our primary purpose had been to find the Zempin and Peenemünde V-1 installations.
I was now able to compile a fairly comprehensive report, which I circulated on 23rd December 1943. We could be positive, for example, that the whole V-1 programme had been hastily conceived, probably by the Luftwaffe in rivalry with the German Army which was developing the A4 rocket. In December the accuracy and reliability of the missiles were still so poor that if they had been launched from the ski sites, only one in six would have hit London. We could show this dramatically with our plots of the Germans’ own radar tracks of their trial firings (Figure 22). Clearly the weapon was not yet ready, technical troubles were holding it up, despite the fact that Hitler wanted to open the retaliation campaign at the earliest possible moment, and I saw in the movement of the German bomber force to the West an indication that a substitute attack was being mounted:
A pointer which may show that all is perhaps not
well with the pilotless aircraft programme is the recent concentration of the German bomber force in the West, with the formation of a Pathfinder group. The Germans thus appear to be trying to increase their normal bombing, which indicates that they may not rely entirely on the pilotless aircraft.
Fig. 22. Tracks of V-1s fired in trials at Peenemünde, December 1943. The crosses mark the positions of the radar plotting stations. By intercepting their plots, British Intelligence gained a ‘ringside seat’ at the trials, and so were able to assess the V-1 threat continuously. Note how scattered and inaccurate, at this stage, the missiles were
The attack thus foreshadowed started on 21st January 1944. Again there was the timely warning that I had promised in 1941 and 1942.
My report dealt in detail with every phase of the flying bomb problem from technical details to Wachtel’s organization and deployment, to the manufacturing arrangements. Since we were getting from the Peenemünde trials not only the speeds and points of impact of the flying bombs, but also their heights and intended aiming points, the latter being frequently given to the plotting stations in advance, we could produce detailed figures for the expected performance of the bombs. I had let Cherwell have these figures beforehand, and he incorporated them in a note of 18th December to Churchill. We could get the approximate dimensions of the bomb from the Peenemünde photographs, and we could estimate the number of bombs to be stored in the skis. Making reasonable guesses about the time to service a bomb and its catapult, we could go on to estimate the intended rate of bombardment. The figures in my report may be compared with those that we established from German sources at the end of the war. On the technical side, the comparison is as follows: