Читать книгу Secrets of German Espionage - Bernard Newman - Страница 19

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Since I first began to write on the intriguing subject of espionage, I have been overwhelmed by letters from young men—and women—who are anxious to become spies and are amazed when I give them discouraging advice. This is certainly necessary in their own interest, for few of them have the slightest qualifications for such intensive work (for that matter, in order to anticipate any further applications, let me say that I have no espionage work to offer even to those who have). In Germany, on the other hand, the way of the would-be spy is much easier. Since the mass principle is favoured, the Nazis never can have enough spies. We have seen that agents are selected even without their knowledge, and sometimes without their acquiescence: certainly any person with espionage ambitions has only to apply to the local branch of the Gestapo.

It does not follow, of course, that he will get a job: even spies to be used en masse must be people of reasonable intelligence. Before he is finally admitted, the amateur is given a series of tests. The first will be applied by the local Gestapo officer: the initiate will be required to do some snooping round in his own district, listening to the conversation of his fellow workers, and reporting any activities which by any stretch of imagination can be classed as “subversive.” If he succeeds in passing his preliminary test, he will be moved to a regional headquarters. There are five or six of these in Germany. The organization and control differ according to the personality and ideas of the commandant, but the general principles of the tests and training are everywhere the same.

I received a most interesting account of one of these schools from a Pole who was a German subject. (Actually, the Germans did not know that he was of Polish stock—his family name had been Germanized—otherwise they would certainly never have admitted him to the school.) His idea in entering the German espionage service was to act as a double spy, carrying small pieces of information from Poland to Germany, and more important news from Germany to Poland.

In conversation I recalled some of the startling stories told about Nazi spy schools—how the students and teachers alike are masked so that they shall never know one another. He assured me that these accounts, sensational though they seem, were not exaggerated. It is the fixed idea of some spy schoolmasters that their agents must always act as individuals: in other schools, on the other hand, the view is taken that it may be useful for a spy to be able to recognize a confederate when faced with a difficult situation. The second method is perhaps more effective, but at the same time carries the greater danger—there is an obvious risk that a spy of another country planted inside the spy school would be able to recognize and denounce some of his fellow pupils!

The school to which my friend was posted was of the second type. The first tests were to try out his physical nerve. Arrived at the school—a country mansion a mile from the nearest village—he was shown into a room where a doctor gave him a most stringent medical examination. He was then taken out to a shooting-range: without warning a machine-gun opened fire and to his horror a group of men fell to the ground, apparently dead. Immediately the doctor pounced on the neophyte again, to feel his pulse and test his heart.

Candidates for air force commissions used to be familiar with the “revolving chair,” which whirled them round and round at a terrific pace, and in a few seconds gave them all the sensations of acrobats—this proved an effective mechanical test of nerve and steadiness. Anyone who could sit in the whirligig throughout its course, and retain a steady hand and a normal heart-beat, was not likely to be troubled by the vagaries of air combat.

My Pole, after successfully passing this stringent test, found himself introduced to another form of the whirligig chair. In one of his lessons in physical espionage he was clad in an amazing boiler-suit of rubber cloth, inflated at all joints and vital regions of the body, and was given a flying “crash helmet.” He was then seated on a contrivance not unlike a juvenile roundabout, except that it was smaller and very much faster. When it was turned at its fastest the seat suddenly collapsed and flung him to the ground, the inflated cushions saving him from injury. He was called upon to accomplish this feat time and time again, at last without any suit to protect him. The idea was to train him to jump from a moving car or train without injury. He was also given instructions in the use of parachutes, and taught to drive a car, practising with a dozen well-known makes.

Not only was a high standard of physical fitness demanded, but at the same time he had to attend classes in school. Languages were his first study, and here he had few fears: most Poles are intelligent, and educated Poles, without exception, are good linguists.^[1] He was able to pass his tests with flying colours.

The instruction was varied: although he was not primarily interested in naval affairs, my friend was given a lengthy course of instruction in naval matters. For a week the class was set to study the silhouettes of British and French warships in great detail, the instructor pointing out the characteristic differences between type and type and vessel and vessel. Nevertheless, my friend reported, when an examination was held at the end of the week, it was amazing how few of the pupils passed it, or even put up a good show.

He had a retentive memory, and was able to repeat to me many of the maxims which his instructors insisted, quite rightly in most cases, were an essential part of the spy law. When I considered German conservatism in espionage matters, I was not really surprised to find that the precepts were almost identical with those taught by the German spy school established at Antwerp in 1916 for the training of neutral hirelings.

[1] Esperantists will remember that Dr. Zamenhof, the creator of the most successful of synthetic languages, was a Pole.