Synopsis

In Chapter 1 (KTB #148) ERICH begins his career as a spy, and he lets us know of his love of beautiful women. In Chapter 2 (KTB #149), he was transferred home to Germany and his shipboard romance with Karen ended. In Chapter 3 (KTB #151) he began his training as a spy - and he learned that a spy who falls in love with an enemy spy - gets shot! In Chapter 4 (KTB #152) we read where ERICH himself falls for a woman who turned out to be a German spy herself and her job was to lure German spies in training to betray themselves - and ERICH is nearly washed out of spy training. In Chapter 5 (KTB #153) we learned that ERICH was to be in charge of Operation PELIKAN, the plan to blow up the Panama Canal with two Ju 87 STUKA dive bombers brought over on two U-boats. At the last moment, it was thought by the German agency, that someone had tipped off the Americans to this plot, so the plan was scrapped. In Chapter 6 (KTB #154 and KTB #155) we read how ERICH and the Abwehr tried to find him a partner for his mission into the USA with the intended purpose of sabotaging the Manhattan Project - the atomic bomb project in the United States.

Chapter 7: To America by Submarine

Needless to day, I had crossed the Atlantic more comfortably than was the case in U-1230. We had a good send-off from the R.A.F. Hundreds of British aircraft appeared over Kiel and when we left, the town was in flames. We were sitting in the officers’ mess eating beans and bacon and listening to the explosions, when between the 2nd and 3rd waves of attack the order came to leave port.

There were three vessels sailing in line ahead, with U-1230 under Lieutenant Hilbig (HANS HILBIG 186-1986) in the lead. In the interests of more concentrated firing power we had to proceed in close formation as far as Horten, the Norwegian war harbor in Oslo fjord. The men were wearing overalls, their faces were still clean-shaven and they went about their tasks with quiet confidence. As far as they were concerned my name was Günther and I was a chief engineer. They viewed me with a certain reticent curiosity. I was a ‘silberling,’ so-called because of the silver cord on my service cap. The regular naval officers wore gold.

U-1230 was of the IX-C Type. It was 80 yards long, had a displacement of 950 tons (actually about 1,060 tons) and commanded two twin batteries and one anti-aircraft gun. The gun platform was known as the ‘winter garden.’ The gun crews remained at action stations as far as Horten. The water was too shallow for us to submerge. Our best psychological defense was to hope that we should not be attacked from the air. Our most formidable menace lurked on our very doorstep, and the channel in which we sailed was strewn with the wreckage of sunken German cargo ships. We threw the ‘Klapper,’ a sound-producing device, overboard and dragged it after us on a cable as some defense against submerged mines, which were exploded or touched off by the noise of the propeller. By this time the British had made the Baltic Sea their ‘mare nostrum.’ (It means ‘our ocean’)

The men, with their strong, rough hands and ashen faces, had the imperturbability, which comes from constant contact with danger. They knew exactly what they needed; they needed good luck, only good luck. And they knew what was their due: once a month a bar of chocolate; once or twice, or if they were lucky, perhaps even five times a day, a solitary smoke in the tower; three weeks leave after every sortie; special rations on board if after submerging the tins had not burst with the pressure. (If they did burst, the crew had to be put on half rations.) All of them, the commander, the first officer-of-the-watch, the junior officers and the men, all had a mother, a sweetheart, a wife, a child, a brother, but the war didn’t care about them.........

We reached Horten without mishap and devoted the following week to submerging trials. If in 1944 a German submarine wanted to cross the Atlantic it had to do so stealthily, and, what is more, it had to submerge very deeply, for radar could guide the depth-charges with deadly precision. Here we could dive more deeply than was possible in harbor. A piece of rope was stretched tautly from one side of the vessel to the other and when Lieutenant Hilbig called into the loudspeaker after a submerging trial, “Trial ended - surface,” the rope was hanging quite slack, such was the terrific pressure against the sides of the U-boat.

The U-boat had two W.C.s. (toilets), but the one forward in the bows was put to use far removed from that for which it was intended; it had to act as a storehouse for our special supplies. Shaving or washing on board was impossible. The sailor had to do his best with eau-de-cologne, which was all part of the naval issue. A man could withdraw only with the verbal consent of the officer-of-the-watch. If when the boat was submerged a member of the crew went from aft to forward or the other way round, he had to report at the control room so that the equilibrium of the boat could be restored by balancing the water (ballast) tanks. There were no cabins. The men’s hammocks were slung between torpedoes, pieces of machinery and in a variety of odd places brought into service with great resourcefulness. Salamis, hams and other smoked meats hung between armatures, pressure indicators, tubes and levers. The companionway looked like a farm kitchen. Our supplies (the boat had been provisioned for a six-months voyage) swayed with the pitching of the boat.

We had 240 tons of oil and fourteen torpedoes on board. The torpedoes could not be used on the voyage out. In common with all other sea-going vessels we had, once a day, to our chagrin, to report our position to Germany over short-wave transmitter. The Allies awaited this information jubilantly every morning and held their locating apparatus ready. Dozens of German U-boats fell prey to the enemy because of this bureaucratically ordained self-betrayal.

The presence of two unusual guests on board caused a bit of a stir among the crew on the first few days. Even if I, the ‘silberling,’ could in an emergency produce something resembling that which was expected of a chief engineer, it was beyond any dispute that Billy Colepaugh was the strangest German naval lieutenant who had ever put to sea. We had camouflaged him as a war reporter, and as a sort of badge of office we had hung a magnificent camera round his neck. However, he put his hand to his camera at such totally unsuitable moments that his photographic skill was very soon seriously doubted by all the sixty-two members of the crew. The men could see that Billy was no German and no real naval officer. Whenever they spoke to him he just grinned and said yes.

I told the crew that Billy came from one of the former German colonies and that that was why he could not speak German. They listened to my story and continued to bait him.

One day, a stoker placed himself in front of Billy in one of the passageways.

“May I please, sir?” He said. Billy shook his head.

“You do not understand?” continued the stoker. Billy grinned.

“You’re no lieutenant,” said the man, “you big camel.”

“O.K.,” said Billy.

Scenes like this, whenever the men could relax, were a daily occurrence and speculation as to our real identity became a favorite topic of conversation among our shipmates.

We sailed out from Horten and on to Christiansund, the next and last German U-boat base. An anti-aircraft cruiser gave us escort over. Lieutenant Hilbig was besieged with questions about us.

“Are you out to win the Knight’s Cross with a special mission?”, the first mate asked him. Then, when Hilbig remained silent: “I hope you haven’t got a sore throat, sir?”

RDITOR NOTE - ‘Sore Throat’ meant that he wanted to receive the Knights Cross; sometimes known as ‘neck itch’.

Hilbig laughed. He was tall, slim and fair and had flown sorties to England at the beginning of the war as a naval pilot until the lack of fuel brought about his transfer to the Navy. He was the arch-type of active service naval officer. Although he never raised his voice or threw his weight about, although he never had much to say, he commanded absolute obedience. He had a minute cabin to himself, and this was the nerve center of U-1230.

During the whole of the voyage, I saw Hilbig thrown off balance only once. We were just halfway across the Atlantic when he received news by radio that he had a baby daughter. Five minutes later depth charges were crashing about our ears.

We completed the voyage to Christiansund without any mishap. The crew were preparing for their last shore leave. We met other U-boats in harbor, flying pennants on their aerials to show the tonnage they had sunk. The base was in a state of great excitement. That same morning, distress signals had been received from another U-boat which technical difficulties had forced to surface while an enemy air attack was on. Three of four German ships had gone to its aid but all they had found was an enormous patch of oil, which flowed slowly away to the north. Crosses were placed against sixty-two names.....

I went on shore in the afternoon, my last opportunity to see one of the servicemen’s film shows. It was a love story full of heroics and men in immaculate uniforms. After the performance, the order was flashed on the screen in huge letters: “Attention! Please remain in your seats! Officers leave the hall first.”

I went to a quayside tavern and drank Holzschnaps. I had been warned about it but I had to get used to running greater risks than drinking Holzschnaps. This was the second time I had been in Norway. I had undertaken a mission there about eighteen months previously, at the end of 1942, which had nearly cost me my life.

EDITOR NOTE - ERICH was always living ‘on the edge’, so this should come as no surprise.

I had been sent out to Norway then because our radio observers had located some secret transmitters there which we had so far not been able to put out of action. We had however, been able to decipher one or two messages at least partly, and it was from these that M.I. had first heard of Operation Schwalbe and discovered that the enemy planned to attack the ‘Norsk-Hydro’ near Vemork. The great Norsk-Hydro plant was the only factory in the world producing ‘heavy water’ (deuterium-oxide) in any considerable quantities. ‘Heavy water’ was needed to split the atom (in the case of the Hiroshima bomb the Americans were forced to use graphic as a substitute for ‘heavy water’).

I was told of a Norwegian contact in Oslo and I looked him up. We knew that the man was playing a double game, and I passed myself off as a British agent who had landed by parachute. I held a wad of money under his nose and asked him to bring me into contact as quickly as possible with two other agents whom I had lost sight of in the course of landing.

He gave me the address of an inn. I had it watched and within fourteen days we knew the names and addresses of all the people who regularly consorted there. We learned in fact that a few days previously an Englishman had had a talk there with two Norwegians. The Englishman was working under the cover name of John. I had to find this John whatever happened.

I had the two Norwegians taken into custody by the Norwegian authorities. On the third day of their arrest they were told that they had made derogatory remarks about Quisling, the Norwegian pocket Führer. At that time you could have held any Norwegian on this charge. After another four days, I let the men, who had never set eyes on me, go free again.

If they had known their jobs they would now have voluntarily isolated themselves. But they were no experts and it was upon this that I had set all my hopes. Their every step was watched. Two days later we trailed them into a street in a western suburb of Oslo in which - as the bearings had shown - a secret transmitter was being operated. We were certain that the transmitter was in the street but we had not been able to discover in which house. We refrained from searching the whole street to avoid attracting attention.

The two Norwegians disappeared into number eleven. I stood on the opposite side of the street. I had two other men in the job that evening. They were standing in the porch of number nine. The street was dimly lit by one solitary lamp. My two companions and I knew what John looked like. He was tall, very thin, very loose limbed and had sparse hair. There were perhaps 50,000 Norwegians who answered to this description but we were determined that evening to arrest every man who was tall and loose-limbed and had sparse hair.

11:37 p.m. The police report prepared later recorded the minute exactly. The door opened. A man came out without an overcoat. He might be John. He must be John. He stopped, lit a cigarette and looked to the left and to the right. That might have been pure chance but it was not.

I could wait. I restrained myself from grabbing the man immediately but my two companions were too hasty. They went up to him, and one of them got his torch (flashlight) out of his pocket & shone it to him as he continued to stand there motionless. I was perhaps twenty yards away from him. My colleagues had approached him to within a distance of about sixty yards.

“Hands up!” One of them called & leveled his gun at the man.

Slowly, limply, looking rather bewildered, the man who was to be arrested raised his hands.

“Idiots!” I grunted to myself.

Then it happened. Suddenly and unexpectedly. There was a shot, three, four, five shots. The man was still standing there with his hands up, but my two companions lay on the ground.

John had shot from the hip. By means of a trigger mechanism that could be operated even with raised hands. There was some sort of connection between the hand and the trigger. On this evening, we of M.I. lost two men and gained a new shooting device.

John made off like lightning with me in pursuit. I fired as I ran, shooting past him of course. But he disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed him. I caught the two Norwegians, who were likewise trying to get away, for the second time. After lengthy interrogation they admitted that they had been working for the British. Parachute agents had been in contact with them and they knew that a British landing was planned in the neighborhood of the Norsk-Hydro. I reported the matter to Berlin and was recalled.

A little later the German Military Commander in Norway, General von Falkenhorst, went personally to Vemork to inspect the defense installations there and have them reinforced, but in spite of that the British soon showed them to be destructible.

The British knew all about Vemork because the founder of the works, the Norwegian physicist Dr. Thronstad, having fled to England via Sweden when the Germans invaded Norway, had warned the British authorities that Germany should not be allowed to come into possession of the means of producing atomic bombs.

When Germany ordered that the production of ‘heavy water’ should be stepped up from 1,500 kilograms to 5,000 kilograms a year, the Allies realized that their enemies were on the point of producing the atomic bomb, and they acted like lightning. The first thing they did was to drop four parachute agents who made contact with the workers with a view to discovering what were the possibilities of destroying the works. The factory was seven stories high and built of steel and concrete. An air attack would be useless unless the bombs could be aimed with minute accuracy.

Then came two Halifax bombers with two freight gliders in tow. They came to grief on a mountain and there were a few dozen dead. But what account were they then the atomic bomb was at issue?

On Christmas Day 1942 six more agents landed in Norway. The day was chosen because the British, not without justification, hoped that the Germans would be sitting round the Christmas tree drinking punch. The saboteurs made their way into the completely desolate and uninhabited region of Vemork in a snowstorm. They were driven off their course and became separated, and it was weeks before they came together again. Two months after landing they had at last penetrated through to the Norsk-Hydro. On the 27th February, 1943, they over-powered the augmented watch, got inside the works, blew up the central plant and put the whole installation out of action for nearly twelve months. When the works were ready to go into production once more a few hundred American aircraft arrived whose exceptionally heavy bombs proved stronger than steel and concrete.

It was intended that the supplies of ‘heavy water’ which remained should be moved to Germany, but in February 1944, the train ferry in which they were being transported blew up. The British Secret Service - as ever best in the world - had attached a time bomb to the train. With this setback Germany fell finally into the rear with the production of the atomic bomb.

And now, a few months after the destruction of the Norsk-Hydro, I was sitting in a quayside tavern in Christiansund drinking Holzschnaps. It tasted awful. In 1944 everything tasted awful. A few more hours and I would be on board U-1230 again, bound for America, to discover how far the Americans had got with the atomic bomb, and to ascertain by what means their production of it could be stopped. The Allies had all this behind them.

On the following morning U-1230 left port. We sailed mostly at a depth of 260 feet. Ninety revolutions a minute produced a speed of two knots. We were able to manage about fifty miles a day.

It was uncanny. The Atlantic was ruled above and below water by the Allies, and there we were, attempting to cross it in a tiny boat at snail’s pace.

U-boat crews have a code of their own, and Billy and I had to fit in with it. During the war no boat sailed on the 13th or on a Friday. We had to get used to the toilets - one had to climb through a hole sideways and only reached one’s objective after performing a variety of contortions. Those who managed it for the first time received a mock diploma in accordance with time-honored custom.

The first bombs began to explode round the boat on our fourth day out. Warning of air attack! Alarm! Submerge! The conning tower hatch was closed down immediately. Daylight disappeared, the boat went down, the air became foul. The interminable gramophone records, to be heard in every part of the U-boat from morn till night, fell silent. The captain gave his orders. Billy stood by me and held me tightly by the hand.

“What shall we do,” he asked, “if a bomb hits us?”

“We will drown.” I replied, “Then it will all be over.”

He forgot to smile that time. We listened to the bombs. We could feel the shock of the explosions. The detonations sounded unusually long drawn out and strangely distant, as if shots were being fired in a tunnel. Then the lights came on. The faces of the men relaxed.

“All over,” said a mate who was near me. “You just have to make sure you disappear in time. But depth charges are far worse.”

We remained below water. Once the enemy has located a U-boat he spares neither time nor persistence in its pursuit. We doubled back on our tracks. We changed our course. Lili Marlene could be heard once more but we knew that she might be reduced to silence by an explosion at any moment.

“Do you know yet where we’re going to land?” asked Billy.

“No,” I replied.

“What fools we were to let ourselves in for this,” he went on. “It’s quite crazy.”

“You should have thought of that before. You said you hated America.”

“That’s quite true, I do,” he replied. “But I value my life.”

“And don’t you think I do?”

I looked at him. Fear is quite a natural thing, I told myself. I recalled Margarete’s words. I saw her before me, a small person with intensely blue, lively eyes and soft, well cared for hands. I heard her say: “I don’t trust him for a moment............you’ll see, he’ll betray you. Look at his ape-like arms. Look at his eyes. He can never look anyone straight in the face. You have picked out a fine one for yourself. The pride of Amt VI. You’ve got some surprises in store.”

It was too late to worry whether I could trust him or not. I was dependent on him for better or worse. He carried his heart on his tongue. Well, what of it? He was young and had not had much experience of this war. And where is the heart that can go on beating calmly when bombs are exploding all round?

We crawled on across the Atlantic at two knots. Throughout the day no word could be spoken aloud because of the enemy sound detectors. Even under water we could only whisper. Every day when darkness fell we rose to periscope depth, 42 feet. If the sea was calm the snorkel was raised. This supplied engines and crew with oxygen. If because of nearness to the enemy it could not be used, the engines were worked by electricity. The oxygen in the boat sufficed for human lungs for a further thirty-six hours. Then it was exhausted.

The constant state of tension seemed to devour the time. We were altogether 46 days en route, watching and being watched. We got used to the close quarters, the foul air, the depth charges, the whispering, the great odds stacked against us, the feeling of being alone and defenseless. The men spoke little of home but it was doubtless very much in their thoughts. At this period no U-boat would have dared to penetrate so far into the Atlantic without special orders. We wondered whether we would ever return. Who had the greater chance of survival, the crew of U-1230 who had to cross the ocean again or I who had to find the atomic plant?

It was just bad luck for anyone who fell ill, for there was no doctor on board. Any man who still possessed an appendix would do better to stay at home. If a man died he was wrapped in a hammock, and had the German flag wound about his body. There was an adequate supply of flags on board.

Death stalked us between the Faroes and Iceland. We successfully evaded the bombs, but we should all have died from suffocation if Engineer Böttger had not taken instant action on his own initiative. The snorkel used to protrude above the water as little as possible and every time the waves washed over it the pressure fell within the vessel. Ears felt as if they would burst, the heartbeats quickened, breathing became more difficult and the head began to swim. The food tins burst or became misshapen.

On this particular unlucky day we had to use the snorkel in a heavy seaway. A huge wave washed over our ventilator thus preventing the exhaust gases from escaping. They therefore streamed back into the vessel and went straight to our heads. We began to lose consciousness. The Diesel engines, which had been going at full speed, suddenly cut out, a thing which at that moment no one could understand. That is, no one but Engineer Böttger who was standing by the Diesel. He immediately grasped what was happening, pulled out the clutch of the Diesel engines, disconnected the shaft from the motor and changed over to the electric power. He was just in time. Eight men, Böttger among them, collapsed.

The boat, which with the failure of the Diesel engines had suddenly started to sink, slowly began to rise again.

“Surface!” ordered Lieutenant Hilbig.

Drawn up by compressed air, U-1230 shot out of the water like a fish. The tower hatch was opened and the fresh night air streamed in. It was just in time. A split second’s hesitation and the exhaust gases would have killed us. The eight unconscious members of the crew were hauled on ropes through the tower on to the deck. It was fortunate that at the time no enemy warship was in the offing.

Nearer and nearer to America. Nearer my fate. I went over my luggage. Was it nervousness or was it my sixth sense? I opened the pack off dollars I had been given only to find that they had been packed in bundles and that the wrappers round the bundles bore the words “Deutsche Reichsbank.” With infinite trouble I had been equipped with American shoes, American shirts and other articles of clothing, American revolvers, but they had forgotten to remove the wrappers - would have been a complete give-away.

We were still separated from American by four days, keeping in constant radio communication with our German headquarters and steering a direct course for the agreed landing-point, Frenchman Bay in the State of Maine, when the Signals Rating rushed our of his cabin and thrust a wireless message at Lieutenant Hilbig. In a few minutes Hilbig had decoded it. I stood beside him. He looked at me, flabbergasted.

“The swine!” he said. He read out the message in utter disgust, handed me the note. “What do you make of that?”

I read: “We have reason to believe that the enemy may be apprised of our undertaking. Act according to your own discretion.”

I sat down.

“What are you going to do?” asked Hilbig.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” I replied.

He nodded. “I’ll come into the tower with you,” he said. When we were up above he continued: “It’s enough to make a man weep. Do you want to land now or not?”

“Of course I’ll land,” I replied. “But not in Frenchman Bay.”

“Right.”

“One more thing,” I continued. “Colepaugh must be told nothing of this message.”

We went back into the officers’ mess and studied the charts in an attempt to find another landing place, but we were in for a painful surprise. Wherever we looked the water was too shallow to bring a U-boat in to shore. In these circumstances there were only two possibilities, either to turn back or land in Frenchman Bay.

“It’s not going to be any picnic,” said the commander. “If the Americans have got their wits about them, they’ll know well enough that we can only land in this bay. They only need to set up sounding apparatus and they’ll have us. That being so, I must make a few preparations and get the boat ready for scuttling. We might fall into enemy hands and in that case I’m responsible for seeing the boat’s scuttled.”

“Yes,” I replied. I knew that according to the code of U-boat commanders there was no greater disgrace than to allow one’s vessel to fall into the hands of the enemy intact.

But we were in any case unable to steer a direct course for Frenchman Bay. There was yet another hitch in the form of a short circuit in the transformers which put our depth-sounding apparatus out of action. Without this apparatus it was hopeless trying to operate in a relatively shallow bay. The ship’s engineer informed the commander that with the means at his disposal he was not in a position to repair the apparatus. I recalled that I had once been a radio engineer.

“There’s just a chance,” I said. “The transformers must be completely dismantled and re-wound.”

After three days of unremitting work the electrician managed to do this, and I myself fitted it back into the instrument. And it worked.

When we had neared the coast, I took bearings from Boston radio station and confirmed our new position. We were in Funday Bay. “If the bearings are correct,” said Hilbig, “we shall be seeing the lights of Mount Desert rock in two hours’ time.” My bearings are correct.

The crew was told that Billy and I were going to land. Nothing more. They could think the rest out for themselves. No more details had so far been given to the crew as there was always the danger that they might be taken prisoner.

The bay was guarded by a destroyer. We dived below it and remained on the seabed. Throughout the day, ships moved over us. We could hear the sound of engines and screws with our ears alone. We waited for the night and high tide. We rose to periscope depth and let ourselves be carried into Frenchman Bay between two islands. If the American coast defenses had not been asleep we should have been discovered long since. The coastguards had to answer for all this later before the court martial. The Americans made no use of their sound detectors or their radar apparatus. They already had victory in their pockets while we were trembling for our very lives. Current had to be saved and we could have no more cooked food. The cook prepared his cold dishes while the boat, fore and aft, was being made ready for scuttling. The captain allowed me two gallons of water to wash in, from his own special supplies. The first officer-of-the-watch cut my beard with an electric hair cutter, and after three attempts I managed a proper shave with a razor.

It seemed incredible. We could hardly believe that we had remained all this time undiscovered: and still no depth charges, no U-boat chasers, no attacks from the air. We ate sandwiches and waited for night to fall. The men who passed by me, pressed my hand. I had assisted as officer-of-the-watch and had got to know them all. The cook was a real character, known throughout the Navy. He was seasick on every voyage and on every return to port he volunteered for the next voyage out. The men murmured their good wishes. They wanted to question us, to warn, to sympathize with us, to admire us.

I pondered for a long time whether I should go ashore in uniform or civilian clothes. If I went ashore in uniform and was captured I should have to be treated as a prisoner-of-war. If I wore civilian clothes - I was a spy and would be hanged. But in any case I would have to remove the uniform some time for I could hardly be seen circulating in America in the uniform of a German naval engineer. Burying the uniform seemed to me more risky than landing in civilian clothes. Billy too had to take off his uniform. He was green with fear and shaking at the knees.

“Everything will soon be all right,” I told him. “Once we’ve landed we’ll be all right. It’s more dangerous here in the bay than on shore.”

The time passed with immeasurable slowness. The seconds, the minutes, the hours stretched themselves like so much elastic, and the whole boat seemed to crackle with the tension.

“In two hours’ time we will surface,” said Hilbig. “We want to find out how near we can approach the coast. I will let the boat run backwards. We will remain on the surface while you row to land. I think you’ll need fire cover.”

“I’d rather you made off,” I replied.

“No,” he said, “I have orders to see that you are put safely on shore. Standing by is part of my duty.”

My baggage was ready, but I still did not know if I would be able to go ashore that day. I might have to wait several days yet. Perhaps I should have to ask the sixty-two men of the U-boat crew to wait another thirty-six or forty-eight hours in the threat of depth charges. We knew what the system of coast defense was but we did not know exactly how if functioned on this section of the coast, how the shore was watched and how many observers would be on duty. Another hour, a half-hour, a quarter of an hour. I stood beside the commander. He looked at his wrist watch. We turned on the sound detectors. Nothing could be heard.

“Rise to periscope depth,” ordered the commander.

Almost without a sound the boat moved upwards. The periscope came out of the water and through it we watched the coast. It was positively alive with activity. We were still too early.

This is another exciting chapter in the life of German spy ERICH GIMPEL. ERICH is a great guy, and was with us twice for SHARKHUNTERS conventions in Chicago. --Harry Cooper

Spy for Germany

Chapter 7: To America by Submarine (KTB # 156)
Chapter 8: The Landing in America (KTB # 157)
Chapter 9: Tricked by Billy in NYC (KTB # 158)
Chapter 10 (I): I Work Out My Own Situation (KTB # 159)
Chapter 10 (II): I Work Out My Own Situation (KTB # 160)
Chapter 11 (I): Billy Betrays Me to the F.B.I. (KTB # 161)
Chapter 11 (II): Billy Betrays Me to the F.B.I. (KTB # 162)
Chapter 12 (I): Love -- and then Arrest! (KTB # 163)
Chapter 12 (II): Love -- and then Arrest! (KTB # 164)
Chapter 13 (I): Grilled by the FBI (KTB # 165)
Chapter 13 (II): Grilled by the FBI (KTB # 166)