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. In Chapter 7 (KTB #156) we read about the Atlantic crossing to the USA where ERICH and Billy were to be put ashore to assault the ‘Manhattan Project’.

Chapter 8: The Landing in America

Our pulses raced as we stood there in the tower, smoking, comparing the time by our watches. Before us in the periscope the coastline of the country into which I was to slip unnoticed seemed near enough to touch. How different it seemed from when I studied it on a map in Berlin. A tongue of land hemmed around by reed beds, then hedge-growth and behind that a wood, dissected by a road upon which car headlights could be seen moving. The moon had wrapped the reeds, hedges and woodland in a milky veil. Wisps of mist wafted out to us from inland. That anyhow was one good for Operation ELSTER. There were three things we needed: time, mist, and luck.

A fresh breeze bore the mist away again, and suddenly everything lay clear and naked before us. With the fantastic magnification of our periscope we could see every bush and tree in detail. We were perhaps still about 350 yards from land.

“I’ll try to get in a bit nearer,” said Hilbig. “I’ll bring the boat round once more & approach in reverse, but I shall have to take care the screw doesn’t get caught.” The boat turned, smoothly and quietly, its engines at half throttle. Engines have no eyes, no ears, no feelings. The navigator had to call out the soundings without pause: 70 feet, 65 feet, 60 feet, 70 feet. Hilbig’s lips were tightly compressed. He said not a word; he gave no orders; he had no need to; his men read his orders from his face.

We approached land by another sixty to seventy yards. Only our conning tower was showing out of the water. To the left was a house. No light was showing from it. We looked it over through the glasses. There was no sign of movement. Then another lorry came down the road, and was overtaken by a private car. One could see all this quite plainly. Two dogs were sporting together and their howling sounded like the crying of a little child.

“Now,” I whispered. The commander nodded.

“One moment,” he replied. “First we will train our artillery and machine guns to the shore. If you are surprised, jump into the water and swim back to us. I’ll give them something to think about on shore meanwhile.”

The inflatable rubber dinghy was fetched, its bottom still limp. It could not be pumped up until after it was taken on deck, as it would not pass through the narrow tower hatch inflated.

“We’ll wait twenty minutes after you land,” said the commander. “If nothing happens then, we’ll start on our way back. We can arrange our next meeting place tomorrow or in a few days’ time. You can always reach us with your transmitter.”

“If I once get over the landing I’ll get through,” I replied.

As we pulled the rubber dinghy through the hatch a beam of light came towards us, ever nearer. At night one always has the feeling that one is standing directly in the beam of a headlamp even if it is a mile away.

The rubber dinghy was thrown back and we waited motionless. It was a private car. We held it in our telescope. It was now on the spot at which the road ran closest to the coast. Soon the light would move away again. Another second, another two seconds. We already knew how the road curved from having watched the lorries go by.

But the light did not move away, it came nearer and nearer. It was quite uncanny. A car was drawing aside from the road. Why? How was it possible? We looked at each other. We followed the car with our glasses. It must now be 100, 150 200 yards to the side of the road.

And then the mist came again, and once more we were blind for a while. Had the car something to do with the Coast Guard or was it a Navy shore patrol car? We knew exactly how the American coast defenses were organized. Destroyers sailed up and down on the three mile limit, naval aircraft kept the coast under constant observation, while the shore was covered by the shore patrols of the Coast Guard according to a carefully worked out plan. The coast roads were covered by Army jeeps. The American coast defenses formed a net five to six layers thick. B>Hanky-Panky???

“Just look at that!” said the commander.

The mist had parted once again and the moon was now more clearly visible. I pressed the glass to my eye and saw the car. Was it a dream? A figment of the imagination? A man was sitting at the wheel with a woman beside him. He had put his arm around her and their faces pressed close together. What was this? A tryst in a motor-car? That was something that could be seen on any road in the States. The Americans stay put in their cars whether they are going to attend divine service or see a Wild West film, so why should they get out of their cars to kiss and make love? And for that matter how often had I driven along such a stretch of coast-road myself with a girl beside me? I had done it in Lima with Evelyn Texter, and wherever you go there is always an Evelyn Texter. There is always the need for her too when you have had too much to drink and not enough love. There are plenty of Lovers’ Lanes in America. You can suddenly turn off the main road, drive over a stretch of waste ground or over a field to a lane and here you can be alone. Alone to whisper, to kiss and swear eternal love.

But you usually turn off the inside lights of the car, a thing which our pair of lovers had evidently forgotten to do. We observed them through the telescope. Could we be mistaken? Were they what they appeared to be?

I stared at the car, but the longer I looked at it the more blurred the picture became. We stood there observing the couple for twenty minutes and were just thinking that we should have to postpone our landing operation when the car started up again and drove back into the night. At just about the same moment snow began to fall in thick, wet flakes. “Now!” I said to Billy.

The dinghy was brought up again, the compressed air tube attached to it, and in a few seconds it was inflated. Two hefty sailors stood ready. To deaden the sound of their paddles they had wrapped them round with rags. The commander shook hands.

“Good luck,” he said. “You’ll need it. I’ll come back at once if you call me.”

I nodded. My movements had become purely mechanical. I pulled Billy after me. He was stiff with fear, and was staring at the coast with terrified eyes. “We’ll soon be on shore,” I said.

The dinghy was lowered carefully on to the water and we got in.

The snow was driving out from land and we could not see a thing. The water was slightly choppy. We sat in the dinghy, the two sailors paddling strongly and rhythmically.............Five yards away from U-1230, then ten yards, then fifteen, then twenty.

It would take us two minutes to reach the shore. Maybe three, maybe four. We sat there like two drones. In moments of danger one often tries desperately to think of something pleasant. We were now half-way there. We had 120 - 130 yards still to go.

Once more the head-lamps of a lorry appeared on the horizon and we could hear the motor. It’s in third gear, I thought. No danger. It’s going on. If the driver had been going to stop he would have changed down by now.

Another eighty yards. I had two revolvers in my pocket, both with the safety catches off. What would I have done if I had been on shore and saw an enemy submarine? What indeed! If I had been alone, I would probably have done absolutely nothing. Or I might have kept observation. There is no knowing if the night has eyes. Another fifty yards.

“Remember the Dasch case,” Colonel M. had said. “Don’t be a fool. Have you still got the facts of this landing well in mind?”

“Yes,” I had replied.

“Dasch was surprised by a Coast Guard, a dull-witted old man. And he stood there palavering with him instead of shooting him. Don’t make the same stupid mistake. Shoot, man! Remember your life is at stake!”

He had paused for a while and lit a cigarette. “And your mission too,” he had added.

What should I do if the person who discovered me happened to be a woman, or a child of an old man? I had had to do many things that I had hated and despised, but I was certain that I could never bring myself to fire on women and children. I had agreed with Hilbig that I would try to take a prisoner and get him on board the U-boat. Throughout the voyage my mind had been filled with this idea. I had imagined how astonished everyone in Kiel would be when U-1230 arrived back with a prisoner on board, a prisoner straight from the American mainland.

With a slight creak the dinghy made contact with the bank. We were there. The two sailors remained seated. They looked as if they were about to say something.

I motioned them to be silent and gave them my hand.

I put one revolver in my left pocket. The other I held in my hand. We had packed the contents of the kit bag into two suitcases. I gave Billy a gentle kick. He did not want to leave the dinghy.

We went on shore, each of us carrying a suitcase and a revolver. The ground was soft and moist and squelched with every step, but after ten to fifteen yards it felt firmer. The snow was still falling and the branches of the trees brushed into our faces. We could not help making some noise.

The dinghy now moved off again. The two sailors had waited a few minutes although their orders were to row back to the U-boat at once. We could still see U-1230 with our naked eyes. Hilbig was waiting, his artillery trained upon the road.

We were now through the undergrowth and had reached the woods. “The worst is over,” I said. “Billy, if someone speaks to us, you answer.”

I felt suddenly as if I could not trust my English. It was stage fright. I tried to think of various English words but my mind was blank. I had a minute luminous compass attached to my watch and had worked out even before I left Germany what direction I’d have to take when I was once in the woods. The nearest sizeable place was Ellsworth, a small town two to three miles away, and this we wanted to avoid. Strangers always attract attention in a small town.

It was hard going in the woods; we tripped over tree-roots, fell down and picked ourselves up again. And oh, those damned suitcases! There was no point in going on like it. We would have to get on the road, whatever the consequences. So we marched along the roadside, I on the left, Billy on the right. The first car approached and the light of the head-lamps raked us from head to foot. The car came nearer, the light got brighter. We felt naked, caught, trapped. Billy made as if he wanted to take a dive back in the woods, but I held him back.

“Stay where you are, you idiot,” I hissed at him. “If you go rushing off now you’ll make yourself look much more suspicious than if you just carry on walking.”

It seemed an eternity as we waited for the thing to overtake us. It drove right past us; it was a lorry. On the hoarding at the roadside we read: “Melas Potato Chips. The best in Boston.” And on the other side: “Drive carefully. Death is so permanent.”

“There you are,” I said to Billy. “It’s quite simple, and it’s far better on the road than in the woods.”

He nodded. He suddenly seemed to be in possession of himself again. Yes, I thought, it’s a good thing I brought him with me.

How close we were to arrest at this hour on the Ellsworth to Boston road we learned only later. The whole of America had, of course, been warned by the Department of Psychological Warfare of the danger of spies and saboteurs, and the country had at first fallen a willing prey to Fifth Column psychosis. You can convince the Americans of anything if only you spend enough money on propaganda. But only for a limited time. The rabid enthusiasm with which they had first embraced the idea was not maintained, and when, after six months, then a year and then two years nothing much happened, no one took spy warnings seriously any more. No one, that is, but the children.

Half an hour after our landing a Boy Scout had cycled past us. He had been taking part in an evening sing-song. He was fifteen years old, had close-cropped fair hair, blue-eyes, a vivid imagination and a propensity for logical discussion. I got to know him in court much later, and there I learned his story.

He still believed in spies. We were carrying suitcases and no one in America carries a suitcase, at any rate not on a remote country road. We had no hats, and everyone in America, at any rate when he is out walking, wears a hat. We were wearing trench coats, while an American, at any rate in a heavy snow-storm, would have been wearing a thick winter overcoat.

To the fifteen-year-old boy we immediately became objects of suspicion, but he was not content with that. The American Boy Scouts cherish a unique romanticism which is something between practical neighborly love and a game of Red Indians. The boy searched for foot prints and found them in the soft snow. He took his torch and examined them. He applied himself diligently to his task and followed them right back to the shore. He was therefore convinced that we must have come from a ship, and he knew that there were two of us.

That same evening the Boy Scout reported his findings to the nearest police station. A fat sergeant roared with laughter and advised him to go home and get some sleep so as to be fresh for his lessons in the morning. But the boy would not give up so easily. He got in touch with the local branch of the F.B.I. At first they tried to throw him out, but when they saw that he was not to be diverted from his purpose they listened rather unwillingly to his story. He described his observations, presented his conclusions and reported the direction we had taken.

“You’re a very good lad,” he was told. “Carry on like this and you’ll make a fine soldier one day. The only trouble is, the war will be over by that time. Oh no, there haven’t been any spies here for a long time. It’s only the Boy Scouts who still find spies. At the rate of fifty a day......”

We knew nothing of all this, of course, as we trudged along the road, tired, bad tempered and already and a little apathetic when we were not actually in the beam of the head-lamp. Our hair was plastered down on to our perspiring brows, our feet ached, our arms were numb from carrying the heavy cases. I no longer had any illusions about our appearance. At best we looked like a pair of criminals. Even the most dim-witted policeman could not fail to notice us and the least he would want to do would be to examine our cases. And then that would be that. Or else I would shoot him as Colonel M. had instructed. Then perhaps I should be hanged for weeks sooner............. Once more a car approached us. The glare hurt my eyes. The fellow at the wheel did not dip his lights, but slowed down. As he changed gear there was a slight scraping sound. Something obviously was not quite in order. I thrust my hand into my pockets and put my finger on the trigger.

The car approached us slowly and stopped. The driver wound the window down. “Hallo boys!” he called over the road. Billy made as if to run away but I grabbed hold of him.

“Come on,” I told him, “let’s go over.”

The man in the car was alone. We breathed again. He was perhaps fifty, had a chubby face and spoke with a northeastern accent.

“What do you two look like?” he greeted us. “Where do you want to go?”

I had primed Billy as to what he would say. Now this was his moment. An opportunity like this would never occur again. He threw me a helpless look but I glared at him so fiercely that he finally realized that it was now up to him.

“We’ve had a bit of bad luck,” he said. “A goddam awful business. My friend,” he said, indicating me, “is that mad he can’t even bring himself to say anything. I drove his car into a ditch; you can just imagine what I feel like.”

“Have you got any money?”

“Sure.”

“And where do you want to get to?”

“We’ve got to get to Bangor.”

“You’re in luck’s way,” said chubby face. “This happens to be a taxi. It’s out of service just now, but even so, it doesn’t mind earning a dollar or two.”

We got in. Billy sat in front on the right next to the driver. I sat behind, my hand still in my pocket, my finger still on the trigger of the Colt. Just as in some ridiculous crime novel. So far I had never killed a man. How would it be, I thought, if I were forced to do so now? Supposing, for instance, I had to kill the man who was sitting two yards away from me, talking to Billy? Talking about his eight-year-old daughter who wanted a pedal-car for Christmas. It had to be a red pedal-car, but it wasn’t going to be a new one. He was getting a second-hand one. Even in America there were people who had to look at every dollar before they spent it.

“What are you going to do about your car?” asked the driver.

“Oh, we’re not worrying our heads about that,” said Billy laughing. “It’s only an old bone-shaker. We’ll have it hauled out of the ditch tomorrow. We may even let it stay there.”

The driver laughed.

“I wondered first of all if I would even stop. You didn’t look any great shakes, the pair of you........But then I thought, well, you might have had some sort of accident. Whoever would be walking about in weather like this, carrying a suitcase, if he wasn’t obliged to?”

“How far is it now?” asked Billy.

“Oh, another ten minutes or so. Would you like me to drive a bit faster?”

“No,” said Billy, “it’s all right. There’s not all that hurry.”

I did not say a word. I sat slumped down on the back seat with the suitcases beside me. I hoped everything would be all right. But in any case my mind was made up. I knew that I should not shrink from the worst if anything should go wrong; if the man were to get difficult, or if he drove us out of our way. It was the night of the 29th-30th November. We had come on shore at two minutes past eleven. We had taken eight minutes to reach the road. We had walked for twelve minutes along the road before the taxi driver met us. We had now been six minutes in the taxi. It must now be about half-past eleven, if my calculations were correct.

I looked at my watch, an American one of course, procured in Germany with great difficulty; I was seven and a half minutes out. I listened to the conversation in front and wondered whether we would still be able to catch the train coming in from Canada in Bangor. We might just manage it. I sat there repeating to myself:

“My name is Edward Green. I am thirty-three years old. Honourably discharged from the American Navy on grounds of ill health. With the rank of Captain. I was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut.......My name is Edward Green. I am thirty-three years old. Thirty-three years and two months. I have been discharged from the American Navy on grounds of ill health. Honourably discharged.......”

“There are the lights of Bangor already,” said the taxi driver. “Where shall I put you down?”

“At the station,” answered Billy.

That was of course thoughtless, but not without justification, for the silliest things of all would have been to spend any longer in the neighborhood of our landing-place. Billy paid six dollars. I still said not a word. I had both the cases. I tried to walk to the waiting room in a matter-of-fact sort of way. Billy was already standing at the ticket office. He took two tickets to Portland. The train was due in four minutes. We had made it. That was something which we could not have expected beforehand.

We sat in a typical American day-coach in which everyone could see everyone else and hear everyone else’s conversation. The arrangement of the compartment was similar to that of a German local train. In one corner sat five noisy G.I.’s. They had a bottle of whiskey half-full and were telling some wild stories about a certain Elizabeth. Next to them sat a priest, his lips constantly moving as if in prayer. Two country women were discussing poultry farming. The train traveled smoothly and rapidly through the night.

Billy and I said not a word to each other. Our two cases were stowed away on the luggage rack, and I tried to keep my eyes away from them as much as possible.

Another twenty minutes, another sixteen minutes, then ten and then four. Then came the lights of Portland. We would still have to pass the barrier. Then we would be another step forward.

The G.I.’s were making an awful row on the platform. An officer looked at them disapprovingly, and they moved on a few steps, grumbling about the ‘damned officers.’ Then they threw the empty whisky bottles down on to the lines. Everyone who was about at the time, and it was one hour after midnight, was diverted by the G.I.’s. Everyone was laughing or grumbling, about the soldiers and did not notice that we weren’t wearing proper winter overcoats and were walking bare-headed through the driving snow.

Excitement makes you hungry. We handed our cases in at the luggage office and the whole future of Operation ELSTER hung upon a yellow ticket, with which plus twenty cents I could re-claim my transmitter, invisible ink, diamonds, dollars and firearms.

We left the station and went along one or two main streets. They were more lively than German streets normally were in 1944. Santa Claus was already to be seen in the shop windows, wearing a white cotton-wool beard and a red coat as ever and always. He had long since fled from Germany. Neon lighting was the order of the night. There was no blackout. Everything in the shop windows was still illuminated, gold watches, fountain pens, wallets, food, wines and spirits. At the worst money was tight.

It had stopped snowing. We went back to the station. We still had an hour and a half and then we would go on to Boston. If our landing had indeed been observed, no one would imagine that we could be in Boston on the following morning. There was only one snag about Boston. It was the birthplace of Billy Colepaugh. We could not avoid Boston but it was quite clear to me that I should not be able to let my companion out of my sight there for one instant. He had relatives and friends in the big city, and he was getting more and more jumpy the nearer we approached it.

We found a buffet on the station. A man in a white apron asked us what he could get for us.

“Hams and eggs,” I replied. They were the first words of English I had spoken since we had landed.

“What bread would you like?” asked the man

This was my first blunder. What bread? Were there various kinds of bread then. I faltered. The man repeated his question:

“What bread would you like with your ham and eggs?”

“Oh, anything,” I replied.

He looked at me astonished. “Well, would you like toast?”

“Yes,” I replied, “toast will be fine.”

I ate as quickly as I could and disappeared. The fact that in America people ate five different kinds of bread had caught me out. There would be no doubt that the man had been surprised.

We took our seats in the Portland to Boston train. My blunder at the buffet had made me unsure of myself again. I had prepared myself so carefully in Germany, but I had not known about the five different kinds of bread.

I ran through my knowledge of America once again, asking myself how long was the Mississippi, how high the Empire State Building was, what were the names of the last ten American Presidents, who was leading in baseball?

I can’t remember how long the journey was but anyhow the day was dawning as we stepped out of the train.

We now had to find a hotel and chose one near the station, the Essex. In America there is no compulsion to register at hotels and as a matter of fact no one carries any identity papers. You give your name, stay there, pay your bill and go. The man in the reception desk wrote our names in a black book without even looking at us and I felt pretty sure he could not have described us afterwards.

We took a double bedroom and slept until midday. It would have been better to have stayed in different hotels, but I had to take care that Billy didn’t do anything foolish in Boston.

We ate in a cheap popular restaurant, and after that went to a department store near the station. I lost no time in buying myself two hats and we also got thick winter overcoats. I wore my trench coat only once more and that was in New York. I had gone into a shop to buy myself a tie and the salesman pointed to my coat:

“That coat wasn’t bought in the States,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I countered.

“I could see it at once from the cloth and the cut.”

“You’re right,” I declared. “As a matter of fact I got it in Spain.” That day I finally parted from the trench coat.

We went back to the Essex and lay down on our beds with our hats and coats on to banish the too-new look of our American clothes. I had once read that Anthony Eden, at that time British Foreign Secretary, adopted this method of removing the vulgarity of pristine newness from his suits. The tip now stood me in good stead.

We intended next day to travel on to New York. But we felt safer in Boston at night than on a railway train. At ten o’clock in the evening we were still in our room, which was not one of the best, with the wallpaper grinning at us. I did not want to go out, but I knew it was wrong to isolate myself. I had to get used to speaking to people. I must conquer my inhibitions. My English had a slight accent, not German but rather a Scandinavian one, but how many Americans are there who speak English entirely without accent?

I would have to go where I would be least expected, if I was expected at all. I decided on the nightclub known as The Carousel.

True to its name, this was a sort of roundabout. The bar with bar stools and the guests seated upon them turned on its own axis, and only the waiters in the middle remained stationary. There was real Scotch whisky to be had. Doubtless it had crossed the Atlantic more safely than I had in U-1230. A five-piece orchestra was playing hot or sweet, according to taste, and without extra charge.

As we drank, I felt the tension ease, but every time the door opened and someone else came in I felt it there again. Could we be sure that we wouldn’t meet any of Billy’s friends? It was true that Colepaugh had not been in Boston for five years, but is not the life of a secret agent a constant battle with fatal chance?

A platinum blonde singer was performing in a ghastly mauve evening dress. She smoked as she sang, through an enormous cigarette holder. Billy made straight for her without the slightest hesitation, and she came back and sat between us at the bar.

“You don’t belong here?” she asked.

“No,” replied Billy.

“And who’s this?” she said, pointing at me.

“A friend.”

“You’ve got some very silent friends.”

She turned to me. “What’s your name?”

“Edward.”

“I’ve heard nicer names, but I like you. Shall we dance?”

“But nobody’s dancing here,” I said.

“Ah, dancing’s in the next room,” she replied.

The music was replayed by loud-speaker. Elly pressed herself close to me. She understood every word I said. She asked no more questions about where I came from and she did not ask where I was going to. We drank champagne. We clinked glasses. It sounded gay and happy.

The champagne was paid for by Reich Security, but nevertheless it tasted good. I looked at my watch. I still had a few hours in hand. My train went at two minutes past nine in the morning, the train that was to take me to New York, the city where I was to carry out my first instruction.

But the bottle of Pomeroy was still half full..............

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)