The Spy Net (4 page)

To each agent a number was given, and the son assumed the name of ‘Oram’. It was agreed that Oram was to be their immediate chief, that they were to obey him implicitly, that once located, they were not to move from their prescribed areas, and that Oram would arrange couriers to pick up the reports. Each one was sworn to secrecy not to divulge whom he was working for, nor to try to discover the identity of any of Oram’s other agents.

Thus was started an organisation in Holland which gradually increased in efficiency until eventually, during the last two years of the war, we had open continuously at least six ‘
tuyaux
’, or means of communication, with the interior of Belgium. When one broke down we had the other five in reserve, and others were continually being established.

The next problem was to post agents throughout the interior of Belgium in such a manner that, as a group, they would cover the whole of the occupied territory; to instruct them as to the information required; to establish contact men in the interior with whom reports could be deposited; and finally to find trustworthy couriers who should collect the reports and relay them for passage at the frontier.

There were three ways of establishing agents in the occupied territories. One was to send Belgians or Frenchmen back into Belgium or France by passing them through the electric wire on a dark night. Another was to use a courier in the interior to carry a letter from one of our agents in Holland to friends in Belgium, soliciting their help. Here again Moreau furnished us with the names of many railwaymen in Belgium who were glad
to work for their old chief; they turned out to be some of our best agents. And finally we were often able to establish contacts with old organisations which had functioned in 1915, and which had lost contact with the exterior when the frontier became practically sealed in 1916. Each agent in the interior could also be relied upon generally to recruit two or three others.

The establishment of couriers in the occupied territories presented a special difficulty. Owing to the identity card system, which was rigidly enforced, no one could travel more than 30 miles from the address written on his card without facing arrest. The German Secret Police, circulating in Belgium, paid special attention to people on the road, or in any means of conveyance. They realised as well as we did that no information was of any value until it had crossed the frontier.

The system of communication from the spy in the occupied territories to me in Rotterdam can be summed up briefly as follows:

Duplication and secrecy based on ignorance of the general system was necessary; it was the solid basis of our policy. Our main care was to build up a number of small groups, each isolated from the other, so that if one worker was caught, he could only involve at the most four or five others. Even the bravest patriots could not be relied upon to keep silent in the face of the German third degree methods; and the prisoners were often cruelly beaten until they confessed. Drugs were sometimes administered to break the resistance of the sternest will.

We had learned our lesson from the Frankignoul disaster, for I found, after investigating his organisation, that he had tied 200 agents in the interior to one solitary channel of communication with the outside: the tram which ran daily across the Belgian frontier to Maastricht. In this tram the reports had been hidden each day in Belgium, to be taken out by Frankignoul’s agents on their arrival in Holland. His method of communication was ideal because it was so direct and simple as to forestall detection for a considerable time; but it had worked so smoothly for months that he had lulled himself into the belief that it would go on working forever. He had made the additional error of allowing the identity of all his agents in Belgium to be known to each other. Hence when the link of communication fell into the hands of the Germans, they had time to seize all the reports
and trace down all the agents, since Frankignoul had no means to warn his men of this danger.

In the course of my activities I was continually in communication with Colonel Oppenheim at The Hague. He was the exact opposite of T: fairly tall, and somewhat frail, scholarly in appearance, highly strung, and retiring in disposition. One of his functions was to analyse information and telegraph reports, and having nothing to do with the procuring of information or with secret service organisation, I sometimes thought he did not quite realise the difficulties with which we had to contend. He was, however, a brilliant staff officer, as I found out afterwards from his masterly analyses of the reports I sent him. He got every scrap of information there was to glean from them, and in the examination of train-watching reports, he was an expert in gauging the exact volume of each troop movement.

From Colonel Oppenheim I learned exactly what information was required. It will probably astonish the layman to know that this was chiefly data on the movements of trains! I myself in other times would never have pictured secret service as an organisation devoted to, or even interested in, noting the arrivals and departures of railway units; yet this became a ruling interest of all our lives. The use of the trains by the Germans meant the movement of German troops, and the movement of troops often presaged a mass attack. On our information often depended the Allies’ hope of preparing to defend a position, or to surprise an attacking force. The Germans never did have enough troops to initiate an offensive on both fronts at the same time, and so each offensive was always preceded by a large transfer of troops from one front to the other. Hence Colonel Oppenheim’s emphasis
on the importance of getting all possible information about every troop movement, and the identity of the units involved. To assist identification of the different German regiments and units, he furnished me with handbooks of the German Army, which made me thoroughly conversant with its organisation and the various uniforms and distinguishing marks. All of this it was necessary to know in order to follow the movements of German troops with definiteness and assurance.

Urged on by him, we gradually built up a train-watching system which covered every strategic line in Belgium and northeastern France. The time and composition of each troop train was noted; at each junction we followed the movement, and so were able to trace each division from its point of entrainment to its place of detrainment. Troops coming from the Russian Front on their way to the Western Front were reported as they passed Herbesthal; from our Liège posts we knew whether the fifty-two trains which composed the division had branched off to Namur or to Brussels; at Namur or Brussels we caught them again and followed them through the various junctions until they detrained. By a system of duplicate train-watching posts we were able to check any errors, and special agents definitely settled in the detraining centres and rest areas identified the troops as they arrived. Divisions coming from a distance invariably went into a rest area before being put into the front line; or, in the case of an offensive involving several divisions, they were first concentrated in the back areas. Movements in the front line could be checked by taking prisoners, or by seizing letters and documents, but back of the Front it was chiefly on careful watchers that the High Command depended for its information.

It will be shown later how our train-watching posts caught all the east to west, and west to east movements. Even though there was often a delay of three to four days before we got the reports, this was of no importance, as it took weeks for the Germans to concentrate for an offensive. The transfer of a division through a given junction required at least two days, and as a rule four or five days, since, in addition to the fifty-two troop trains comprising the division, there were the trains carrying food and war material which had to be run through as well. Many divisions were required for an offensive; so it can readily be seen that we could get our reports out in ample time for GHQ to be warned about the various movements.

As I shall indicate later, we also obtained a variety of other information, such as enemy plans for the launching of offensives, the formation of new divisions and regiments, change in equipment, new inventions and new types of guns, new methods of attack, the arrival of drafts to replace losses, and targets for aerial bombardment; but by far our most important achievement was the continual check on the movements of the enemy, and the identification of the units involved. The interest and excitement of this service developed into a terrific tension toward the end of the war, for it became common knowledge that the German Command was working toward a climactic movement, the big offensive, designed to bring the war to a crashing and decisive end. It was a matter of chief importance to detect any traces of plans or first movements toward the big offensive, and we were on the alert constantly to note any massing of troops which might indicate the location chosen for it and the types of service troops destined to serve in it.

This, then, is a résumé of our objective, the difficulties we had to contend with, and a few of the technical details which I have had to explain in order to enable a better understanding of the tales of secret service which I am able to narrate. In order to avoid repetition, I intend mentioning only a few typical organisations. During the last two years of the war we had over 2,000 agents in our employ at different times; it would be impossible for me to relate the individual exploits of each one of them, or even to tell about all the organisations which we mounted.

O
N MY ARRIVAL
in Holland in May 1916, in view of the total lack of information coming through from occupied territories, I decided to begin by interrogating all refugees crossing the frontier. There were a few of them braving the electric wire from time to time on dark nights under the guidance of
passeurs
, who, knowing the frontier well, and having a supply of rubber gloves, got from 500 to 1000 francs from each refugee they conducted.

My object was not only to get military information, however meagre it might be, but also to enrol agents for service in the occupied territory, or to get addresses of people in the interior
who might be willing to work for us, if we could establish connection with them.

It took a very courageous and patriotic man to return to Belgium or France after having successfully braved the dangers of the electric wire. Hundreds of photographs which I have seen, and which the Germans purposely circulated, bore eloquent proof of the high mortality among those refugees who ventured to cross alone; corpses burned and scarred by the high voltage were exposed, horrible and terrifying to look at. Besides for those who were caught returning there was the great danger of arrest, which meant certain death by a firing-squad; even for those who were seized in the act of merely escaping into Holland, a long term of imprisonment or dispatch to a civilian concentration camp in Germany was meted out. Added to this was the risk of gossip: once a man had fled to Holland, his neighbours knew it; if he returned, they were quick at surmising that he had come back as a spy, and even though sympathetic, their talk could undo him. Among the civil population, there were also a number of traitors in the pay of the Germans, who spied on their neighbours, and who were sharp to catch any secret service activities on the part of returned citizens.

Henri van Bergen was our first recruit, a native of Louvain; he had crossed the frontier north of Antwerp by means of a
passeur
. Within twenty-four hours, I was interrogating him in our office on the Boompjes. The first thing that struck me about him was his bowler hat and his clothes, which he had donned on the previous day, before setting out on his hazardous trip. Immaculately dressed, he looked as if he had just stepped off the boat or train, instead of having come through the electric wire. I found
myself talking to a man of about forty-five, with dark piercing eyes, a lawyer by profession, keen and alert, who made an excellent impression. Having met with refusals to serve from several other refugees, I was surprised at the ready consent which he gave as soon as I had convinced him that he could render better services to the Allies by returning to Belgium than by proceeding to France to enlist as a soldier.

Oram was immediately ordered to arrange for a passage at the frontier, while I quickly instructed van Bergen as to the information we required, laying special stress on the mounting of train-watching posts. I explained fully to him the working of the posts and the details of information required – such as the composition of each troop train, the time of its passing. Nothing had to be repeated; his brief sharp nod, his concentrated gaze, showed me that his disciplined brain was already working with me. To avoid incriminating notes, he committed to memory the name and address of a cafe owner in Antwerp to whom he was to hand or send his reports; he himself was to be simply M. 60, a number which was at the same time identification and password. He understood at once the necessity of concealing his actual identity from the Antwerp letter box man. It was with a feeling of satisfaction that I dismissed so intelligent an agent, and yet I felt strangely sad as I said goodbye to him. As a soldier I had seen death in many forms, but in the guise of a civilian in Holland, the sanctity of human life was much more apparent to me. Right to the end, I could never shake off the terrible responsibility I felt in sending these men back into the occupied territory, many of whom I knew were going to their death.

The moon being favourable, within three days he was on
his way to the frontier near Eindhoven, in the hands of Charles Willekens, who was to prove himself one of our best
passeurs
. Crawling on their stomachs to the electric wire, in the blackness of night, Willekens took his man through successfully, thanks to the rubber gloves and socks. We afterwards learned, on his return, that he had conducted van Bergen to a small village called Moll, and then had sent him on his way alone.

Anxiously we waited for news. Each week contact was established with the cafe owner or ‘letter box’ in Antwerp, which was connected to our
tuyau
at the frontier by means of a courier. At the end of the third week, Oram brought us the first news, in the form of a train-watching report from a post at Ilerent, just outside Louvain, on the Louvain–Brussels line. It was written in indian ink on the typical service
papier pelure
, fine tissue paper, so that the courier could hide the report in his hat band, lining of his clothes, shoes, or elsewhere, in case he was stopped and searched on his way from the letter box to the frontier. In addition to this report there was word from van Bergen that he was trying to mount other posts, but that it was difficult, as he had not only to find the right men, but also persons who had houses overlooking the railway line. Shortly afterwards, he established another train-watching post at Louvain on the Liège line. We were now getting all the traffic passing through Louvain, since by subtraction we could get the traffic along the relatively unimportant Louvain–Malines line.

The reports came through regularly for four months. Van Bergen wrote hopefully of friends at Ghent, who had promised to mount posts there. I was much pleased, for some of our other organisations had just started sending out their first reports, and
gradually the network was spreading. Suddenly we heard that our courier from Antwerp to the frontier had been arrested. Later, from another Antwerp agent, whom we had asked to investigate the affair, we found that the owner of the cafe who had acted as letter box or contact man, had also been caught. We never heard from van Bergen again. After the Armistice, on my arrival in Brussels, I discovered that he had been shot, together with our two Antwerp men and the men who had been working for him in Louvain.

What led to his arrest, I was never able to find out for certain. It was obvious, however, that since neither van Bergen’s nor the Antwerp frontier courier’s identity was known to the letter box, nor that of the courier to van Bergen, the German Secret Police must have delayed making an arrest until they had followed all the active threads of the organisation. I am of the opinion that van Bergen himself was probably the first one to be caught. Well dressed, and with the obvious appearance of a gentleman, his association with the railwaymen whom he employed as train-watchers, and with the Antwerp cafe owner, who catered chiefly for boatmen in the poorer quarters of the city, may have attracted attention. We had advised him to secure an intermediary to reach these men, and to content himself with directing and keeping in the background, but he had probably not heeded our warning. A German agent may have followed him or his courier to the letter box, and there seen him handing over the reports. The Germans had probably proceeded, according to their usual method, to seize anyone making any contact whatever with an agent whom they had under suspicion. Our problem was that of the kidnapper trying to collect money from the relatives of his victim, with
the police looking on. We were never able to solve this problem completely. All that we could do to avert the Frankignoul catastrophe and the complete stoppage of information coming out of Belgium was to follow our cumbersome plan of having a dozen organisations functioning at the same time, each group being entirely independent of the other in every detail, from the train-watching post right into Holland.

After the war, in Brussels, I met a priest from Ghent, belonging to the order of the Petits Frères, who told me that he was the man from Ghent about whom van Bergen had written. He had already established two train-watching posts which were just ready to function when contact with Louvain was severed. He had arranged with van Bergen to enlist other members of his Order in different parts of Belgium, but with the arrest of the letter box he had no means of communication, and so was forced to abandon his plans. Many priests were employed in the different organisations which we mounted later. They were excellent agents, as they were often able to bridge over the gap which existed between the Belgian business and professional men and the ordinary workmen; they could frequent both classes without arousing suspicion. We needed men with brains, and yet we could not dispense with the railwayman, the smuggler, the small cafe owner, the boatman, and the peasant working on the frontier. It was often hard to make connections between them.

During his visit to me after the Armistice, the priest and I visited the grave of van Bergen, and as we stood beside it with bared heads, we mourned the death of a brave man. The keen-faced, quiet lawyer had rendered very great service, for his Louvain post controlled the Liège–Brussels line, one of the most important
railway lines through Belgium. For a considerable time, until we succeeded in mounting a duplicate post, it supplied the only information which the Allies were getting at that time concerning troop movements along this important artery.