Churchill's White Rabbit (22 page)

On 17 March, the day before Evelyn’s death, an Abwehr officer and a member of the Paris SD interviewed the two captives. The SD man had been attached to the German consulate in Lyon prior to the war and recognised Bollaert as a former prefect of the Rhone department. Brossolette endeavoured to stick to his Boutet identity, but with Bollaert blown, the Germans were not foolish enough to think that Brossolette was not somehow involved in the resistance. Both men were soon on their way to the SD headquarters, well aware of the fate that was in store for them.

There was still an aura of uncertainty among the Germans about Brossolette’s real identity, but they were convinced that they would resolve that soon, using their familiar strategies. SD torture methods followed a pattern: there was a general beating, with interludes of interrogation, then usually the bath torture, where the victim was semi-drowned and then revived only to be drowned again. Forest was mere hours away from enduring this himself as Brossolette was abused and bloodied at the avenue Foch, the beautiful tree-lined street that the SD had taken over for their own purposes.

Brossolette would have lost track of time during the ordeal, which would have seemed eternal. He would also have known that escape was unlikely: there was only one way out and that was death. He began to think that if the Germans did not kill him with their methods he would have to take matters into his own hands. Resistance members and SOE were pragmatic about the odds of surviving torture without revealing something. Unlike in Hollywood movies where the hero unflinchingly endures pain at the hands of his enemies without uttering a word, in the real world of espionage few were able to hold their tongues forever. No one could predict if they would break under torture, but most would, if not completely then partially. For many the consequences for their comrades would not be huge, but for a man like Brossolette weakening under duress could result in the destruction of all he had worked for.

With all this in mind Brossolette knew he could not risk another session with his interrogators. Before beginning his resistance career he had informed his wife, sister and Claire Davinroy that should he be captured he would take his own life. He had come to the conclusion that the risk of caving under torture would simply be too great, but his options for death were limited. His cyanide pill had been lost long ago during his captivity, and being handcuffed meant that most forms of suicide were impossible for him. As he lay in a former maid’s bedroom on the fifth floor of one of the SD’s picturesque houses he sized up his options. His guard was outside his locked door, not particularly concerned about the danger posed by a badly beaten and semi-conscious prisoner. The room did not offer much hope, but there was a balcony outside the window that had carelessly been left open.

With what little strength he had left Brossolette dragged himself to the balcony and tumbled over the side. In later renditions of the story he would be described as jumping through a glass window in the middle of interrogation, leaving his interviewers dumbfounded and stunned. In reality his death was a last act of desperation.

Brossolette fell five floors but survived long enough to be rushed to hospital. The verdict of the doctors was that the suicide would be complete within hours. At midnight Brossolette breathed his last. His final words were recorded as: ‘Everything will be better on Tuesday.’ The Germans had lost yet another of their prime adversaries.

Forest had no knowledge of the terrible tragedy that had befallen his friend and with his mind on the rescue at Rennes, he travelled to Passy Métro for that fateful meeting with Antonin. It was ironic that within hours the two best resistance organisers and closest friends would both fall into enemy hands. Forest was arrested within sight of his father’s flat, by the tell-tale pointing finger of Antonin. Thinking only that he would now be unable to help Brossolette, he was bundled into a car and beaten as he was driven to the Gestapo headquarters. He would arrive at the avenue Foch an hour after Brossolette’s final flight from a fifth-floor window.

Notes

1
.  Jedburghs were the only uniformed teams SOE sent to France. They were multi-national trios sent in to coordinate the various Maquis groups and take part in guerrilla warfare to distract the Germans while the British invaded.

2
.  Seaman,
Op cit
.

3
.  
Ibid
.

– 12 –

The White Rabbit and the German Wolf

THE GERMANS HAD THEIR man. Bundled into a Citroën the elated Gestapo men inflicted blows and punches to Forest’s head while cheerfully singing: ‘We’ve got Shelley. English Officer. Terrorist.
Schweinehund
.
Scheisskert
.’
¹
  

Forest felt as though his head had swollen beyond all proportion and blood was pouring freely over his shirt. Despite this he endured the abuse with a strange feeling of disconnection. It was a remarkable skill of self-preservation that enabled him to shut himself down to the pain and humiliation, to view it almost with disinterest as though he was watching something being done to another man. It was this rare ability that would later help him survive the worse tortures his captors had in mind.

Forest later recalled that during this car journey he found himself surprisingly clear headed and able to consider his position in a rational manner. We can take this statement at face value or accept that it may in part come from a man in post-war Britain trying to think the best of himself. Forest’s early personal accounts read very much like this throughout, he rarely accepted weakness in himself and he certainly would not allow it to be published publically with his knowledge. Unfortunately the first two pages of Forest’s official report of the arrest, written on his return to Britain after the war, are missing from the SOE files, so we cannot tell how his official candid description of that drive tallied with what he told his biographer. Perhaps he was the incredibly calm and logical figure he portrayed, but it is too tempting to feel that the reality was far more human. Did Forest really spend his drive conjuring up ideas of how to preserve his silence under torture with indifference to his tormentors? More likely his thoughts came in random, panicked bursts. He must not let them know his real surname lest they go after his father – a shot of fear – he would pretend to be Dodkin still. He had left his identity tags at home – a stab of dread – no, no, that could work to his advantage as it would be illogical for a secret agent to publically carry tags with his real identity on them. Would anyone take on the reins of the rescue mission for Brossolette? If Forest had only known his friend was already in Gestapo hands and taking his suicide jump he never would have stood in Passy Métro and found himself in German clutches.

The ordeal was briefly paused as they arrived at Gestapo headquarters and Forest was dragged inside. His guards were still shouting excitedly about their catch and shoved him into an office where three men were seated. The men’s initial bafflement at the sudden appearance of Forest was quickly lost when his guards jubilantly yelled: ‘We have Shelley!’

No time was lost in beating him again and the three new Germans inflicted their own share of punches until Forest was virtually insensible. Then he was stripped naked, forced to stand on a telephone directory with his heels together and his hands handcuffed behind his back, and made to watch while the Germans searched his belongings for anything incriminating.

While Forest always had the sense to carry no paperwork other than his false identity papers, there were other objects among his belongings that left no doubt as to his role in the resistance. In his pocket he was carrying a pen containing tear-gas and, stripped naked, he could not hide the pistol still in its holster and strapped to his thigh. Upon finding these the Germans flew into another rage and beat him again, levelling several hard kicks to his groin. Somehow Forest managed to remain on the telephone directory, no doubt if he had fallen off he would have received even worse for his vulnerability.

In between the abuse the search continued. Two monocles given to Forest by SOE to help him change his identity quickly drew unexpected scorn from his captors, who threw them to the floor and ground them beneath their heels. There was something so bizarre, so petty, about the scene that Forest laughed and earned himself another beating.

The monocles were an amusing find, but the discovery of four sets of keys was deadly serious. Forest had been intending to deposit the keys back with their owners before leaving for Rennes, now he had no way of innocently explaining their presence.

The ordeal continued for over an hour, and the only consolation Forest could find was that this process of ‘preparing’ him for interrogation would buy his comrades time to escape. He had missed pre-arranged meetings and he trusted Maud and the other members of his
r
é
seau
to recognise the significance of this and begin wrapping up letterboxes, safe houses and any further meetings he had planned.

There was another thought at the back of Forest’s mind, the same thought that Brossolette had contemplated during his ordeal – suicide. Forest had been issued with a signet ring in which he could hide his cyanide tablet, it was the thing he had been able to retain during his interrogation. All he needed was for his guards to undo his handcuffs, even for just a moment, and he would be able to take it and be beyond their reach.

His hopes were dashed however, when a new German arrived. A towering figure, with cruel eyes and an ability to slip in and out of French and German, ‘Rudi’ as he was called, faced Forest with disdain. There has never been a clear identification of who Rudi really was, Forest suggested a candidate but his choice has usually been deemed a case of mistaken identity.
²
Whoever he was, Rudi was a sharp-eyed and quick-witted interrogator with a brutal streak. He spat in Forest’s face and slapped him to the floor. Forced into a chair to face his abuser, Forest made a valiant, if foolish, attempt to outstare him and received another punch to his jaw.

Then Rudi called for Forest to be released from the handcuffs and for an instant he thought he would be able to escape the torments ahead, but no sooner were his hands free than the swift Rudi spotted the ring and ordered it to be removed. His last hope gone, Forest had only his resolve left to face the fierce German before him.

‘You have played the game. You have lost. Now, if you are reasonable, everything will go well, or else!’ snapped Rudi. There was an element of routine about his words; presumably he said something similar to most agents in his grasp. Forest held his tongue.

‘So, are you going to talk?’

Silence.

‘Bastard!’

Blows rained down on Forest for a moment then Rudi was yelling again. ‘So, are you going to talk, yes or no?’ He was greeted with more silence and reacted by punching Forest hard in the mouth.

‘Bastard, scum, saboteur, spy, you will talk!’

There was one saving grace of the matter. Forest was allowed to get dressed again in Rudi’s presence while a typist was sent for to transcribe anything he said. The typist was a German called Ernst, who kept his face emotionally blank as he sat down to type.

‘Name?’ Rudi demanded.

‘Shelley,’ Forest answered.

‘Fool! Your real name.’

‘Kenneth Dodkin.’

‘Your serial number?’

‘47685.’

‘Rank?’

‘Squadron leader.’

‘Branch of the Service?’

‘Royal Air Force.’

‘Address?’

‘I do not require to reply to that question.’

‘You will reply all the same.’

‘I shall not.’

Rudi struck him hard, a heavy ring on his hand slicing open Forest’s cheek. More blows fell on his head until Forest’s ears were ringing. His vision was swimming and only the tight grasp of Rudi’s able assistants held him in the chair. But as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped and Rudi sat back in his chair. He took cigarettes from his pocket and gave one to Forest. Forest was not surprised by the switch, he had learned about German interrogation tactics from SOE and abusive treatment was always followed by a pretence of civility designed to shock the victim into speaking.

‘Listen,’ said Rudi, now calmly sitting in his chair. ‘You’ve had your flutter and you’ve lost. Antonin has told us everything you’ve been doing since the beginning of the year.’

The comment was Rudi’s first error and it made Forest realise his Gestapo ‘friends’ were not as fast on their intelligence as some mistakenly believed. Forest had been in the country for less than a month and had only been working with Antonin for a week, but it was worth playing along for his self-preservation.

‘Then he’s talked?’ Forest said with an expression of deep shock and distress.

‘Naturally.’

‘So you know about my appointments?’

‘Of course. You see it’s no use you making a martyr of yourself. You’ve had your flutter and lost.’ That seemed to be Rudi’s favourite phrase.