‘It won’t get to London before late Monday at the earliest, more likely Tuesday or Wednesday,’ Hanne told him. ‘By the time they get back to us, it could be another week. You’ll just have to stay here. I’m sure I can find plenty of ways to amuse you!’
The response from London took longer than expected, and it was the weekend before Christmas before they finally heard back.
London very much appreciates Agent Laertes’ report.
Agent Laertes will understand that a number of issues remain unresolved: there are still questions to be answered.
Therefore, he is to travel covertly to Germany and gain entry to the Peenemünde site.
Because of the uncertainty of travel over Christmas and the New Year, he is to leave Copenhagen on 4 January.
He is to assume the identity of a French slave labourer.
He is to supply detailed information on what is going on at Peenemünde and provide a detailed diagram of the site.
He is to remain at Peenemünde until otherwise instructed.
En route to Peenemünde he is to meet an agent in Greifswald: this agent will facilitate his entry to the camp and receive his communications when he is there. Further instructions to follow.
On his return to Copenhagen, London will be very happy to arrange his return to England.
It took Prince a few days to get over the shock of this message: instead of spending Christmas with his son, he would be remaining in Copenhagen. That was bad enough, but the prospect of travelling back into Germany – a journey London had helpfully described as covert – was hard to contemplate. And as for gaining access to Peenemünde… just the thought of it terrified him. Even if he got in, he doubted he’d ever get out. He felt none of the excitement he’d experienced in anticipation of the Berlin trip.
Hanne was adamant he should remain in the apartment until he started his journey. They could never be certain that his Peter Rasmussen identity hadn’t been compromised. No one knew where he was staying: Otto Knudsen was unaware of it, and the address on his legitimationskort was that of an apartment that didn’t exist in a large and mostly deserted complex on the other side of Vesterbro.
Hanne spent much of the Christmas period at work, covering for colleagues who wanted to celebrate with their families. On Christmas Day, she visited her father. As much as she wanted to be with Prince, they both realised that if she spent too long in his apartment rather than her own, it could arouse suspicion.
Nonetheless they did have a good deal of time together, the physical passion unabated and bringing with it a genuine love, one they clearly shared.
But the sheer tedium of staying in the flat for a month took its toll. Prince would count the hours until Hanne’s next visit and worry if he thought she was late. Henry was never out of his thoughts: a love for his son that became more painful by the day, along with a growing sense of guilt that he’d abandoned him.
There were no fireworks in Copenhagen that New Year’s Eve. There was some optimism in the city, as people read between the lines and realised Stalingrad was turning into a disaster for the Nazis. The more astute said this was the turning point of the war. Not long now – maybe this time next year!
New Year’s Day was a Friday, and Hanne appeared at the apartment that afternoon. She pushed away his advances: they had serious matters to talk about.
She’d heard from London and had made arrangements for his journey. She’d called in a number of favours. A friend of hers – someone she absolutely trusted – would drive him down to the island of Falster tomorrow. They would take him to the port of Gedser. There he would be handed over to a friend of this friend. The following day – Sunday – the second friend would get him into the docks, where an engineer called Peder would smuggle him onto the ferry. There he’d be hidden and would spend the night. On Monday the ferry would sail to Warnmünde, which was the port area of Rostock. When Peder told him it was safe, he’d leave the ferry and make his way to Rostock railway station, where he’d catch a train to Greifswald. Once there, he’d meet an agent called Blackbird.
‘Are these people you trust?’
‘The person taking you to Gedser I know well, I absolutely trust them.’
‘And the others – the friend in Gedser and this Peder?’
Hanne shrugged. ‘What can I say? I trust my friend and I have to assume the other two are trustworthy. But as I’ve said before, we can’t pretend this isn’t a dangerous game.’
‘And when I get to Germany, what identity do I use?’
‘You have plenty of Reichsmarks, that’s something.’
‘I wasn’t talking about money; I was talking about my identity.’
‘Take your Peter Rasmussen legitimationskort with you but keep it concealed – you’ll need it for when you get back. If you’re challenged, use this.’
It was an identity card for a German national: Ulrich Leuschner.
‘Seriously, Hanne? You think he looks like me?’
‘He has a beard.’
‘That’s about it.’
‘And the age is similar. It only needs to last one journey. It will have to do.’
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘It was one of a dozen identity cards stolen by the resistance from German engineers who’d be sent here to work on the Gestapo headquarters. They came into the hands of the police and we’ve kept them safe, so to speak.’
‘Won’t they be looking out for the names if the cards were stolen?’
‘They were stolen over a year ago. Hopefully they’ll have forgotten about them.’
Prince shook his head. ‘It’s crazy. My German’s not good enough.’
‘Don’t say much; you’re an engineer after all. Just mutter.’
Chapter 15
Berlin; Rostov-on-Don, December 1942–January 1943
Charlottenburg, Berlin
26 December 1942
My dearest Karl-Heinrich,
Not a moment of the day or night passes when you are not foremost in my thoughts. Yesterday was so difficult: Christmas is a time for joy and families and I have neither. Christine persuaded me, against my better judgement I have to say, to join her family for dinner on Christmas Eve. It was like entering a different world. They were so happy and I so sad. Christine is a dear friend and one of the few people I am able to talk to, but her life is so different to mine. She has her parents and her four wonderful children, while my dear parents are no longer and I have failed the Führer and you through my inability to have children.
I am of course blessed with you, my wonderful husband, though your absence pains me deeply. Christine is so fortunate Friedrich is now based in Berlin. I don’t want to sound bitter, but I didn’t see any sign of his injury impairing him: for someone whose knee was apparently so badly injured, he certainly managed to dance very well!
But then I was racked with guilt. Here I am in our beautiful apartment, with wonderful furniture and a full-time maid. I don’t want for food, warmth or other comforts. Being the wife of a senior SS officer brings so many privileges, for which I must be grateful. And where you are it must be so difficult. I feel terrible about feeling sorry for myself.
I understand how you will not be able to talk about your circumstances: from what I read, the situation in Stalingrad is difficult and the weather must be dreadful. But I have no doubt whatsoever that right will prevail and the communists will be defeated. I hope that when you finally capture the city there will be a few communists and Jews still alive so you can ensure justice is served upon them.
Spending yesterday on my own has made me resolve to do more in the new year to help other people. Before Christmas there was a talk at the Frauenschaft about a wonderful home the organisation runs in Mecklenburg, where it takes care of the children whose parents have died in the service of the Fatherland.
I have decided to travel there tomorrow and spend a few weeks helping to run the home, which is in the city of Greifswald. You should still write to me at this address: M
aria will arrange for any letters to be forwarded to me.
I hope you do not disapprove of my doing this, Karl-Heinrich. I do know your view that a woman should remain at home, but I feel I must do my part in helping to bring about the Ultimate Victory!
With all my fondest love,
Heil Hitler!
Your loving wife,
Sophia
* * *
Headquarters of the 6th Army
Rostov-on-Don
8 January 1943
Darling Sophia,
Your letter warmed my heart more than all the fuel we dream of!
You must promise me not to feel guilty about the fact that I am here on the front line and you are enjoying comforts in Berlin. That you are safe and cared for is a source of great joy to me, one of the few things that sustains me at this difficult time.
I wish I was able to say otherwise, but life here is very hard and the military situation does not improve – in fact, it gets worse. The Soviets launched a major attack on our armies in November and we have found it hard to recover. Now we are being encircled and our thoughts are of survival rather than the capture of Stalingrad.
If you wonder why I am able to be so frank with you it is because I am sending this letter by hand with Konrad, whom I trust implicitly. Poor Konrad’s injuries are very bad and he is no longer resisting his repatriation to the Fatherland. I think it would be prudent if you burnt this letter once you have read it.
I am sorry to sound so miserable, but I have to be honest with you. However, my belief in the ideals of national socialism and my absolute conviction in Ultimate Victory are as strong and resolute as ever!
Whatever you may hear about the outcome of the Stalingrad campaign, do not lose heart. One setback will not prevent us winning the war. The blame for the situation we find ourselves in must not be placed on the Führer! If this campaign had been handled by the SS, I have no doubt we’d have been in control of Stalingrad by now. However, one always doubts the ability and the loyalty of the Wehrmacht. Colonel General Paulus is proving to be an inept commander. If he is replaced, there is still hope.
I would be surprised if any Jews (or indeed anyone else) remain in Stalingrad by the time we capture the wretched place, but if they do, rest assured that I will personally make sure we dispatch them in the usual manner!
I know you are a good and loyal National Socialist, and your typically selfless act in going to Greifswald to help those less fortunate than yourself is a wonderful inspiration and comfort to me. Be assured your work there will be a contribution to victory and it is something I heartily approve of!
There is a very large barracks in Greifswald and I do know that a few months ago Oberführer Hausser commanded the SS detachment there. Should you ever need his help, just mention my name!
I have to go now. My adjutant tells me there’s a staff meeting I have to attend. When will they learn that meetings don’t win wars!
With my eternal love,
Heil Hitler!
Your devoted husband,
Karl-Heinrich
Chapter 16
Germany, January 1943
To his surprise, Prince managed to grab some sleep on the ferry, especially after the engines were turned off for the night. The pumps continued to hum in the background, a sound he found reassuring. Less so the intermittent clanking sound of metal moving, which came across as if the hull of the ship was bending one way then the other.
He woke a few times, the cold eating through him despite the blankets. He sipped water and ate the sandwich from his backpack, but otherwise just sat there in the darkness, occasionally switching on the lamp to check the time. The ferry pulled away from its moorings at nine o’clock, and he certainly felt every minute of the crossing to Warnmünde, most of the journey making sure he wasn’t pitched against the side of the cupboard he was in.
It docked a few minutes after noon. He knew the port police would come on board and search the ship, so he pulled a pile of the lifejackets over him in the hope that that was all anyone would see. After an hour, he began to worry. He had to get from Warnmünde to Rostock station to catch a train to Greifswald, and this was a journey he’d rather do in daylight. Security checks seemed to be more demanding in the dark, and he didn’t think his Ulrich Leuschner identity would withstand much scrutiny.
Just before one thirty, he heard people walking past his hiding space, and then silence. A few minutes later, the cupboard was unlocked, and through a gap in the lifejackets he could see Peder.
‘Everything is fine, you may come out now.’
Prince gave himself a minute or two to straighten up and get used to the light. Peder handed him a mug of black coffee.
‘There were no problems today, but still be careful when you leave the ship. The railway station is about ten minutes’ walk from here, maybe a bit less – you can’t miss it. From there it’s about a fifteen-minute journey into Rostock central station. You don’t need to tell me where you’re going from there, but it is possible to buy a ticket from Warnmünde straight through to your destination – as long as that’s on a direct line from Rostock.’
At Warnmünde station, a train was already waiting, due to depart in five minutes. The woman in the tiny ticket office didn’t bother to ask for his identity card and was happy to sell him a ticket straight through to Greifswald as long as he had the correct change: ‘Don’t make me mess around with lots of coins, you understand? I’m doing this job on my own today. That’s fine, sir, have a good journey. My sister-in-law lived in Greifswald. Heil Hitler!’
By two thirty, he was on the main concourse of Rostock central railway station. Much of the roof was missing and the inside of the station showed extensive evidence of bomb damage. As far as Prince could tell, only two platforms were operating, and the board over one of them showed that the next train departing was at a quarter to three, stopping at Stralsund and arriving in Greifswald at a quarter past five.
Only now did he realise quite how hungry he was. Overnight he’d eaten the sandwich and apple he’d packed, and he’d had his last biscuit as the ferry crossed the Baltic. There was a station café, which looked inviting as long as one ignored the broken windows, but he decided not to push his luck. The sooner he boarded the train, the more likely he was to get a window seat in the centre of a carriage: in one session at Matlock, Hendrie had mentioned how police on a train seemed to be more bothered with people sitting in aisle seats by the doors, since they were likely to be looking for a quick getaway.
He found a seat by a window in the centre of a carriage towards the front of the train: he was counting on any police checks starting from the guard’s wagon at the back. He helped an elderly lady with her case and listened to her talk about her son for a few minutes. She introduced herself as Frau Henlein, and told him that she was going to Greifswald too. Would he be kind enough to help with her case when they arrived?
Prince assured her that of course he would and – through a bout of coughing – asked her to excuse him but he was not feeling too good and perhaps she’d understand if he rested for a while?
Not only did she understand, she also had a perfect remedy for him. From an apparently bottomless handbag she produced a bottle of schnapps.
‘It’s homemade,’ she told him. ‘My mother’s recipe: made with plums from my own garden. Please have some, it will make you feel better… and you must have some of this cake, too, made with my own cherries. You look so hungry…’
Prince dozed off, the schnapps warming him up inside. He dreamt of Frau Henlein’s garden, a veritable Garden of Eden, and somewhere in the dream he and Henry were helping the old woman to collect plums, of which there were more than they could handle.
He was woken by shouting in the carriage: ‘Tickets! Identity cards! Make sure they’re ready!’
He was still slumped in his window seat when they arrived alongside. He peered up, apparently having just woken up.
There are two types of police checks on trains:
bad and not so bad. The not so bad are the Bahnschutzpolizei – that’s the railway police. Here are some pictures of their uniforms, please have a good look. And then there’s the bad: the Gestapo.
There were two men working the carriage, and with their distinctive gunmetal-grey tunic with black trim and black trousers, he could tell they were both Bahnschutzpolizei.
‘Tickets! Identity cards!’
The passengers either side of him took their time, and by the time the Bahnschutzpolizei officer had finished with the old woman, he looked irritated. Further down the carriage, his colleague called out to him: ‘Hurry up, Franz, we’ll be in Stralsund soon.’
‘By the time this lot find their tickets, we’ll be on the return leg to Rostock. You, come on!’
Prince handed over his ticket and identity card. The Bahnschutzpolizei officer studied the ticket carefully. ‘Where are you going to?’
‘Greifswald.’
Then the identity card: the familiar and dreaded head movement, looking down at the photo on the card and up again at his face. Up and down. Repeat.
‘Name?’
‘Ulrich Leuschner.’
‘Speak up, man!’
‘Ulrich Leuschner.’
‘The purpose of your journey?’
He was saved by two people. First by Frau Henlein, who told the Bahnschutzpolizei officer the man was unwell and he should leave him alone, and then by the officer’s colleague shouting again: they really needed to get a move on. He handed the papers back to Prince and carried on.
‘Perhaps you’d like some more schnapps?’ asked Frau Henlein. ‘You really don’t look so good.’
* * *
‘So those are my instructions – seriously? I arrive at Greifswald and do nothing?’
‘You’ve not been listening Peter: I didn’t say do nothing, did I? You leave the train…’
‘Obviously.’
Prince of Spies Page 20