Читать книгу Secrets of German Espionage - Bernard Newman - Страница 24

Of a different type, of course, is the school devoted to the naval, military or air force officer who decides to place his special talents at his country’s disposal. This might indeed be called the university of espionage: but no college was so exclusive as this. Here are trained the master spies—men who have already a technical background of naval, military or aerographic information, and who are to employ that knowledge not on the battlefield, but in the underground campaign which is continuously waged.

For the first term the course follows that of the ordinary spy school, with particular reference to foreign arms. Because a German officer is a capable artilleryman, it does not follow that he knows all there is to be known about French and British guns. Actual specimens are available for inspection—the habit of so many great powers of selling munitions to all comers makes it easy for Germany to secure samples via small states (and, of course, it is equally easy for other countries to obtain German samples; so is the path of espionage made easy). He must become as well acquainted with the French seventy-five as he is with his own seventy-seven. He must be familiar with its every detail, so that at a glance he can appreciate any new feature which may be added, or any amendment in design. His technical background is advanced far beyond that of the ordinary field officer.

Special care is devoted to his command of languages; he is instructed in the use of codes; then follows one of the most important sections of his tuition—the organization of espionage. It may be that occasionally he will be employed on some individual coup; he is more likely to have charge of a group of active agents; he may be stationed officially in some other country in charge of the German Intelligence organization there. Obviously he must know exactly what kind of information is wanted. The agents can work in the dark, but not the master spy.

At all costs he must keep abreast of the mobilization plans of any potential enemy—must know any detailed amendments which may be added to existing plans. This is vital. A gain of twenty-four hours in mobilization may easily mean the winning or losing of the first campaign: he must know the mobilization programme—the railheads to be used. Incidentally, he can pick up masses of information in a casual fashion—information which is available to all, but can only be appreciated by the expert. A British general before 1914 used to spend all his leave riding a bicycle about the Meuse valley, studying the route which he was convinced the Germans would use when war came.

I remember once being accused in Odessa of being a British spy. A chance remark in conversation with a Russian officer seemed to make my situation the worse, for I mentioned to him the number of divisions which the Russians could employ on the Bessarabian front should an attack on Roumania ever form part of Russian policy. Here, apparently, was evidence against me from my own mouth. But, I was able to point out, my information was gained by the most casual observation: I had come by train from the Roumanian frontier to Odessa; naturally I had looked out of the carriage window. Was that forbidden? I asked. Looking out of the carriage window I had necessarily noticed the size of the sidings at wayside stations. From these observations it was an elementary calculation to decide the size of the force which the railway could support with the necessary supplies.

The specialist spy organizer must necessarily pay great attention to the disposition of the air fleet of a potential enemy. He must not only identify existing aerodromes—this is simple enough—but by casual wandering in the frontier zone he must note sectors which could easily be converted into aerodromes at short notice. He must gather full details of the disposition of frontier forces—here again reports from a widespread net of active agents should supply all the information necessary. Naval Intelligence officers, of course, would work along parallel lines.

One feature of the course I was very interested to learn—from a graduate of the espionage university who subsequently decided that he did not love Hitler enough to die for him. Officers stationed—either diplomatically or as underground spies—in a foreign country are instructed to pay great attention to the actual commanders of armed forces. This is still one of the weakest points of political education, for the faulty German appreciation of foreign psychology has led to major disasters. On the military side, however, the psychological study is given careful attention. The stock example is that of Colonel Hoffman, who, rather than Hindenburg and Ludendorff, ought to be considered the victor of Tannenberg, where a Russian army was annihilated in 1914, and the Russian steam-roller halted—indeed, pressed vigorously into reverse. Hoffman’s daring dispositions were largely founded upon psychological intuition. A Russian army under Rennenkampf had advanced into East Prussia, and had fought an indecisive battle at Gumbinnen. Farther to the west a second Russian army under Samsonoff was advancing parallel with the Vistula, to cut off the German Army in East Prussia. Leaving only a thin screen of cavalry to hold Rennenkampf, Colonel Hoffman initiated the move which led to the victory of Tannenberg—withdrawing practically the whole of the German force of infantry and artillery with which to meet the new threat from Samsonoff. If the Russians had struck together, then it must have been the German force which would have been annihilated. But Hoffman had served during the Russian-Japanese War as military attaché with the Russian forces. He knew these two commanders—had actually seen Rennenkampf and Samsonoff quarrelling and boxing one another’s ears on Mukden railway station. Therefore, he argued, when Rennenkampf hears that Samsonoff is in trouble, he will not hurry to his assistance—he will rather be glad that his old opponent is having a rough time.

His reasoning was sound. Samsonoff, hopelessly defeated, committed suicide—and Rennenkampf did not move. The German forces, released by the victory, were again rushed back to the Gumbinnen front—and Rennenkampf in his turn had to make an over-hasty retreat.

This example is nevertheless misleading, for such a state of affairs could only exist in a corrupt country. Nevertheless, it should be emphasized that a study of an enemy’s command is just as important as a study of an enemy’s weapons.^[1] Long before 1914 the Germans knew of Foch’s passion for the offensive—knew full well if he had a choice which way he would choose. Certainly before the World War ended they had appreciated Haig’s bulldog grip—uncomfortable for the Germans, but very expensive for the British. I remember talking with a German general who had faced the British on the Somme: after the disasters of July 1st, he explained, any other general would have admitted defeat and transferred his efforts elsewhere. “But not so Haig; once he had set his face to a task, he would stick to it—and this knowledge was extremely useful to us. We knew that he would continue to attack on the Somme; it was elementary reasoning that if he continued to attack there, he would be unable to attack elsewhere. Therefore we were able to withdraw troops in safety from other parts of the line.”

By far the most important task of the master spy is to establish an organization and a system of communication which will function efficiently in war-time. The second of these is the more difficult, as we shall see in the succeeding chapter. He must not merely organize espionage: sabotage and propaganda are almost as important. His agents must be so posted as to give information of war-time increases in forces and the distribution of troops. Local men must be prepared to give the necessary indication to raiding aircraft—who in these days of black-outs can never be certain of their exact position. In the organization of sabotage he must have no scruple. Above all, in his dealings with the agents he must not tell them too much: nor must they be put in touch with one another: there is always the fear that one may be captured—and be persuaded to talk.

[1] On January 12th, 1940, a German aeroplane brought down in Belgium was found to contain, not merely photographs and plans of Belgian defences, but character sketches of Belgian commanders!