Chapter 19
A Tightening Noose
The supreme art of war is to subdue the
enemy without fighting ...
appear weak when you are strong,
and strong when you are weak.
- Sun Tzu
The storms along the coast of Normandy in the winter of 1943-1944 kept the fishing fleet in harbor for most of December. Antoine was one of the few hardy souls who dared venture out, challenging the rocky shoals just offshore. But the damage to gear and body made him reconsider, and like most of the other boats the St. Marianne mostly remained dockside. Bouchard took whatever jobs he could to help buy bread, wine, and cheese.
Construction activity in the area had slowed. The fortunes of the Nazi war machine had taken a terrible turn when the largest tank battle in history erupted in unspeakable violence near Kursk on the Russian plains. The Wehrmacht was reeling from its greatest defeat following on the heels of the disastrous Stalingrad campaign, and retreated in force back toward Poland. Even in defeat, however, the German army was a formidable opponent. Resources had been diverted to the Eastern Front, drawing both raw materials and manpower from nearly every sector of occupied Europe.
By November, 1943 Hitler issued FŸhrer Directive 51, declaring that all resources now had to be directed toward fortifying the western defenses against an anticipated invasion. In January he appointed Field Marshall Erwin Rommel to lead the reorganization of the Atlantic Wall defenses. In Normandy, rumors of new orders began to circulate. Bouchard took advantage of the foul weather to learn more about what was planned, and pocket some extra money in the process.
The owner of a large warehouse on the edge of the harbor hired him to help move building supplies from the railhead at Caen. On their return, the lorries took a turn off the main Caen-Courseulles road and stopped at an open field back away from the beach several kilometers.
“Stack the lumber over there,” the yard foreman barked. There were piles of rock and brick, lumber, and boxes of unmarked materials staged all over the field alongside the road. Bouchard thought it strange that so much material would be dropped off this far from anything, and when he finished his work that day he made a crude map of the area indicating the location of the stockpile. Over the next several weeks he had added several other locations to his supply station map. The Germans were planning new construction when the weather broke.
It was late January when he learned the true nature of the projects. The warehouse foreman had summoned Bouchard and about a dozen other local workers to help him clear space at the warehouse. It took several days, and it was obvious that something large was arriving.
He was not disappointed. Under cover of darkness to avoid the scrutiny of RAF reconnaissance flights, German transports moved slowly along the main road hauling a large cargo. It was easy for Bouchard to hide behind one of the outbuildings at the yard and spy on the delivery of four 100mm field guns that were stored in the warehouse and covered with large tarps to avoid detection. These were joined by other smaller field guns shortly thereafter. The Germans were building new hardened defense placements for mobile artillery that could withstand bombardment, yet be moved once an invasion came with relative ease. SIS planners in Britain would pay dearly for this new information.
By mid February Antoine had completed his map detailing the new construction, the locations of the inland strong points, and the new barracks and command posts built or commandeered in the immediate area. He was careful not to venture too far towards Caen. The active presence of the Gestapo in the city and the added security at the Carpiquet airfield made these areas more dangerous. He could walk the backroads of rural Calvados with relative impunity, but wandering around Caen could easily draw unwanted attention.
On the afternoon of February 20 he boarded the St. Marianne as the tide began to rise and the winds that had pummeled the coast abated, preparing for a run up the coast. The fresh fish markets had been nearly empty these past few weeks, and the demand for product was high. All the local boats were busy preparing for what was forecasted to be moderate weather for the next week or so, and the locks would open for the fleet at 5:00 PM. It was a general opening, so no record of the vessels leaving would be made this night. Harbor Master Le Collette strolled along the docks and the quay side chatting with the boat captains as they made their preparations, as was his custom.
“Ah, hello, Jacques,” he called out as he approached the St. Marianne.
“Monsieur Harbor Master,” Antoine acknowledged, politely but cautiously. Rumors that Le Collette played all sides against each other in the deadly game of survival in occupied France made Bouchard suspicious. For his part, Le Collette was certain that Bouchard, as Jacques Charbonneau, was spying for the German authorities. Wasn’t it Gerhardt who told him that Charbonneau had been a soldier in the German army in 1918, and a prisoner of the French army? Gerhardt talks too much, he would tell his circle of friends, those who kept a close eye on anyone suspected of collaboration. It was not a coincidence, he would remind them, that the warehouse owner Touland would hire Charbonneau to haul supplies between Courseulles and Caen when needed, and employ him in the warehouse. The Germans paid dearly to stage war material and supplies at his warehouse, and the profits Touland was making marked him as dangerous.
“Where are you off to?” he asked, knowing no fisherman would give him a straight answer, but this casual banter always preceded a general fleet sailing.
“The Channel Islands, most likely,” he replied back. Antoine knew that Le Collette would not believe him, but he was not going to follow the fleet despite reports of a large run in the island waters. Instead, he was setting the stage for an absence of several days. He also suspected that if Le Collette was selling or trading information to the Germans, they would want to know if he were going to the Channel Islands. German preparations to hold these strategic islands at the entrance to the English Channel had been extensive, and E-boats from Cherbourg and Brest routinely patrolled the waters. Fishing boats were stopped and searched on a regular basis, and the German command was especially interested in any notice of boats leaving for these waters.
Antoine had been warned to stay away from the Channel Islands by SIS. Operatives planted by the British in the nearby ports provided a steady stream of information on German dispositions in the islands, and they did not want to alert German authorities unnecessarily by expanding observation beyond SIS local control.
“The lock will be open at the evening high tide,” he advised, mindful that his own unique position between the local fisherman, merchants, and business owners, the local resistance, and the Germans required him to maintain an apparent good working relationship with all parties.
“What about the morning tide?” Bouchard asked, not really interested in the answer so much as clearing him for being absent until morning.
“I like my sleep, Captain,” he laughed. “If you need to offload, you will have to tie off bayside.” With that, Le Collette moved on down the line, stopping and chatting with each boat captain in their turn. When he finished his rounds, Le Collette returned to the Harbor office, and picked up the phone.
“Yes. Several boats are planning to head toward the islands,” he spoke cautiously, certain that the information was not accurate but was always of interest to the German officials. He knew the E-boat patrols would be alerted, and his job was complete. It was useless information, save for maintaining his credibility.
When the locks opened, the St. Marianne followed the small parade of boats up the narrow channel that led past the shallow beaches and turned west at the marker buoy. When dusk finally gave way to the blackness of night, helped by a cloudy sky that eliminated any moonlight, he slowly moved out of sight of any of the other boats and turned off his running lights. Safely out of range of prying eyes, he turned north and headed for the open channel.
The channel that night was black and deathly still. The St. Marianne motored at half throttle with its running lights off, crisscrossing the rendezvous area in the dead calm sea. Antoine kept looking at his watch as the hands slowly, maddeningly crept toward the half-hour mark. He was exposed out here in the channel, but he knew the German E-boats seldom ventured this far on a routine patrol. Even if they did, they always ran with their searchlights on and their engines could be heard at a great distance, especially on such a quiet night. He had been boarded and searched numerous times and was generally known by the boat commanders as just a local fisherman.
Shortly after 3:30 in the morning, the stillness of the night was broken by the sudden rush of water flowing off of the conning tower and deck of the submarine as it broke the surface - a familiar routine he had reenacted almost monthly since last summer. This time was different, however. Before he had carried only information in his head, never documents.
A powerful searchlight quickly bathed the St. Marianne in its stabbing light, and Antoine knew the submarine’s gun was manned and readied for action just in case. He steered toward the sub and throttled back just off the starboard beam as a life raft slid off the side and the men inside began to paddle towards him.
As the small boat came alongside, Antoine tossed the two-man crew a line and snugged the raft close to the hull. One clamored aboard, sidearm at his waist. The second waited in the raft, a young midshipman manning the oars. Antoine and the boarder went below deck.
The cabin was barely illuminated and curtains covered the small cabin windows, keeping the St. Marianne nearly invisible on the dark sea. The two men sat at the galley table and the boarder unfolded a small map of the port of Courseulles. In muted tones, Antoine quickly updated his contact on the status of the gun emplacements at the mouth of the port, the locations of the infantry bivouacs in Graye-sur-Mer, and the critical supply choke points for the movement of munitions and men to the beach defenses - all the locations he had meticulously drawn on his crude map.
The contact refolded the map, slipped it in a waterproof pouch, and returned on deck. He flashed a light in the direction of the submarine, and returned to talk to Antoine.
“E-boat patrols are reported to have been increased, and two new boats were recently added to the patrol out of Le Havre,” he explained.
This information alarmed Bouchard, and his contact acknowledged it quickly.
“Hold your position, captain. You will be joined shortly by a tender, and your hold filled with catch ... if you are boarded on your return, you will have your proof that you were busy fishing, too busy to bother with the annoying British.”
With that he slipped over the side into the raft, and returned to the submarine. As it stood guard, a fishing tender powered through the still night and came alongside the St. Marianne. Bouchard secured the lines, and several deck hands scurried aboard. One opened the hatch as a net full of fish was hoisted out of the tender’s hold and moved into position over the St. Marianne. Two more hands guided the net into the vessel’s hold and released the load. With a hold full of fish, the illusion was complete. It all seemed a little comical to Bouchard, however necessary.
The tender backed away as its crew released the mooring lines and scrambled back aboard. Once safely away, the ship turned north at full throttle for England. The St. Marianne throttled up its engine and headed south by southwest. Once within two kilometers of the shore, it would turn to traverse the coastline simulating its return from the fishing beds.
Antoine breathed a sigh of relief as he switched the running lights back on. A quick glance back at the empty channel verified the submersion of the sub and the disappearance of the tender, signaling that it was safe to resume normal operations. The curtains were withdrawn and the cabin lights brought back to half-lit, the customary lighting for a vessel underway at night.
As expected, the Le Havre E-boats intercepted him at first light. The boat’s captain sounded a loud horn demanding he heave to, and two sailors boarded the St. Marianne. All they found was some bitter coffee on the stove, a smelly French fisherman, and a hold full of fish. Had they been experienced with the fishing trade, they would have seen the net marks on the fish, something that a trawler like the St. Marianne would not have done. But the German navy was full of conscripts from the nearly landlocked Germany, and the inexperienced crew noticed none of these subtle signs.
Come early afternoon, the harbor master simply noticed the St. Marianne tied to the outer quay waiting for the rising tide. The captain was sound asleep on board. Nothing unusual, nothing to note in his security log book.
That night, Antoine wrote his American friend.
22 Feb 1944
Dear Andy,
The meetings at sea are becoming routine. The harbor master suspects nothing, for the tides favor coming and going at night, as does the fishing. The Germans patrol in their E-boats, but the patrols are ineffective.
The E-boat commanders are lazy, and the crews stupid, for there is little to do besides boarding smelly fishing boats.
Everyone knows an invasion is imminent. No one believes it will happen here. I do not think so, either, but I pay for my boat by passing information and filling my hold with British fish.
It is a lot of fuss over nothing, I am certain.
Antoine
R
The coast of Normandy was cold and blustery that February. The outdoor garden was closed at the Hotel de Paris, and Hauptmann Gerhardt took his afternoon glass of wine and cheese inside the restaurant. Today he was joined by a dour looking police detective from Caen, one of the French police who fronted for the Gestapo coordinating anti-resistance activities throughout the region. The two had a muted conversation at the officer’s favorite table, safe from prying ears - or so they thought. Monsieur Racine, the owner of the hotel, made a point of doting over the German colonel to catch as much of the conversation as he could.
“Monsieur Marchand, we have checked out this fisherman carefully. He was a German soldier in 1918 on the Western Front, and served as a prisoner of the French. All these details have been verified.”
“So why is he still here in France?” The policeman was naturally suspicious, and doubted the efficacy of the German intelligence.
“He could not return to his home in the Alsace because of French recriminations. The illegal Treaty of Versailles granted him French citizenship, where he would have been driven east out of the Alsace as so many were. This works for our advantage - he appears French, but hates the French, and has allegiances to the Reich. This makes him very useful, in a limited manner.”
“I do not trust this double game, and I do not trust this fisherman.”
This policeman is a fool, Gerhardt thought to himself. I can use this fool to misdirect attention and take credit for clearing the resistance out of this sector.
“Here he is now. I sent my aide to bring him here.”
Antoine entered the Hotel de Paris feeling somewhat uneasy at being seen in such a public place with Gerhardt again.
“Come on over, fisherman. This is Police Lieutenant Marchand of the Calvados department. I want him to hear your report.” Gerhardt never referred to Antoine by name, even in his presence.
“I am uncomfortable talking in such a public place, Herr Hauptmann. One never knows who is listening.”
“Nonsense, fisherman. We are the only ones here. This is my personal table, and M. Racine is most accommodating to me. You are to make your report, immediately.”
“As you wish, Herr Hauptmann.”
Gerhardt could not help but think these French are like small children. Show them the rod of authority, and they break to your will so easily.
“There is a cottage on the Caen-Bayeux road, just a kilometer east of the small cemetery. The cottage has a stone chimney in disrepair, and a small barn behind with a portion of the roof gone. The cottage has been abandoned since the last war, but three men meet there once a week. I have been watching them from behind a stone wall.”
“And what of their meeting?”
“I have not been able to get close enough to overhear their conversations, and they keep a lookout posted near the door in case anyone approaches. But they meet regularly for about an hour, then leave - each leaving at different times, and each going a different direction.
“So I followed each one separately over three weeks. One man is from Lorient. I verified this from the inn keeper where he is staying. The other is from St. Nazaire, according to the local priest. I provide fish to the church for the poor, and the priest is willing to help me in exchange for the authorities overlooking his trade in brandy.”
“Ah, the work of the pious,” Gerhardt smirked.
“The other man is local, but I do not know him. I will continue to try to determine his family.”
“Is that all, fisherman?”
“Yes, Herr Hauptmann.”
“Then you may go.”
Antoine quickly left the restaurant, stopping to make sure the way was clear before crossing over to the quay and stepping aboard his boat.
“I will set a team in place to watch this cottage,” the policeman offered. He was intrigued most by the where these men came from - ports on the Bay of Biscay with major submarine pens - too convenient to be a coincidence, considering submarine ordinance was routed through Caen by train.
“I will report this to Oberst Deptolla at the Ch‰teau de Tailleville. I have been ordered to keep him informed of the anti-resistance activities in this area.”
This was a lie. Gerhardt actively pursued Oberst Deptolla’s favors to feather his own nest even though Deptolla was mostly annoyed by his attentions. When the invasion came, he wanted out of this backwater command, and hoped to leverage his way into a fighting command with information. Having contacts in the Caen Gestapo headquarters could not hurt his chances of securing a front line assignment, he figured.
Aboard the St. Marianne, Antoine wrote another of his letters to Andy Anderson.
4 Mar 1944
Dear Andy,
I have been providing the Germans with false information on local resistance activity to learn as much as I can about their activities. Hauptmann Gerhardt is a fool who is so anxious for a transfer to a fighting unit he will believe most anything.
The police in Caen are greedy bastards who wish to please their Gestapo masters - so much so that their reports are exaggerated beyond belief.
Greed and self-interest will be the downfall these arrogant Germans and their accomplices. I am fearful, however, that there are those here who believe I am helping the Germans.
I must remain cautious and diligent.
Keep me in your prayers.
Antoine
R
“I understand, General. I can make the arrangements immediately,” Hauptmann Gerhart promised, and hung up the phone. He barked a command to his orderly, “Get me that fisherman, the one who likes to interrupt my afternoon meal. Quickly!”
In a few minutes the orderly returned with “Jacques Charbonneau” in tow.
“Ah, fisherman,” Gerhardt started. “I have need of your boat, right away. You will be compensated, of course. And you fuel tanks filled courtesy of the German army.”
“Oui, Herr Hauptmann,” he responded. This will be a good opportunity to do some close quarters spying, he thought.
“Good. Be ready to depart within the hour,” he demanded.
“But Herr Hauptmann, the tide is low, and the lock is closed. My boat is inside the lock tied to the quay. We must wait until high tide to get the lock opened.”
“Leave that to me, fisherman. You be ready to depart as ordered!”
“As you wish, Herr Hauptmann,” Bouchard acquiesced, laughing to himself at the German officer’s insistence despite the absurdity of it all.
The harbor master was not so accommodating.
“Herr Hauptmann, this is not possible!”
“You wish me to tell General Marcks that you will not cooperate, Harbor Master?” The threat was obvious. General Erich Marcks commanded the LXXXIV Corps. A veteran of many campaigns, he had been instrumental in sparing Paris from bombardment. Unlike many Generals, he believed Normandy would be the primary invasion zone selected by the Allies.
“But to lower the water in the harbor, it is not good. The deep draft boats will mire in the mud. The boats along the quay will all have to be floated free of the pier or their mooring cleats will pull off. This will be sheer chaos, Herr Hauptmann, and the captains will object.”
“And I care about that why?” Gerhardt shot back. “You have your orders, Harbor Master, and I suggest you get busy. We leave within the hour,” and he dismissed Le Collette by simply ignoring he was even there.
The harbor exploded with frantic activity as water was released through large valves at the bottom of the lock bridge and the level inside the harbor began to drop. Crews swarmed over the boats tied to the quay as mooring lines strained under the unexpected drop in water level, and many were simply cut against the strain. A large fishing schooner listed seriously as its keel went to ground, its hapless crew sitting helplessly by as the mast tangled with the rigging of nearby boats. Angry ships’ captains were met by armed German soldiers that streamed into the harbor and took up defensive positions at key points along the docks.
The St. Marianne had been moved to one of the floating piers, and sat with its engine running awaiting Hauptmann Gerhardt. All of this activity was dutifully noted by the friends of the harbor master, who began to doubt his role in all this activity.
After an hour, right on schedule as warned, a German staff officer’s car followed by a truck carrying troops pulled alongside the dock. After the soldiers exited and took up their own defensive positions, the doors to the staff car opened and four officers exited, stopping to look around momentarily. They then moved openly and arrogantly down the gang to the dock. The officer in the lead was wearing the heavy cloak and red-striped formal trousers of a German general. The other officers followed attentively. They were met at the St. Marianne by Hauptmann Gerhardt who stood at rigid attention.
“Heil Hitler!” he responded when General Marcks turned toward him.
“Ya, ya,” he responded with an indifferent salute and an immediate dismissal. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes, Herr General.”
“Good. I wish to depart immediately.”
With that the officers who had arrived by car boarded, along with two armed soldiers, and finally Hauptmann Gerhardt. One soldier took a position on the bow, machine gun at the ready, while the other hovered near Bouchard as he backed the St. Marianne from the slip and navigated the shallow harbor and the harbor channel out to the Bay of the Seine. Boat crews and locals simply glared at them as they departed, no one daring to say anything.
“Head two kilometers to sea, then turn east,” the General’s attachŽ commanded Bouchard. Antoine simply followed orders, but kept his attention riveted on the casual talk around him. They paralleled the shoreline just beyond the reefs for a while, passing Bernires-sur-Mer and past the opening of the Caen Canal. Bouchard was then ordered to reverse course. The St. Marianne passed the channel entrance to Courseulles and continued west. All the while, the officers were busy pointing out features, especially gun positions. The general questioned them extensively on their preparations.
As the wind increased and the temperature dropped, the officers retired below deck for the trip back to port. Bouchard moved to the inside steering position, and was generally ignored by the party. As a bottle of brandy was opened, the officers examined a large map that one had unfolded for the General, who stood commandingly at the head of the small galley table.
“The enemy will have to bring their tanks and mobile guns ashore using large landing craft. These will be vulnerable to the heavy guns ... here, here, and those inland as well. They will never get close to the beach.”
“So, Hauptmann Grote, you have been remarkably quiet,” the general stated. “What is your opinion?”
Hauptmann Grote commanded the hardened bunkers overlooking the beach at Courseulles and had been invited on the boat trip at the last minute.
“General, I have included in my reports my objection to the installation of the guns. The attitude of fire of the shoreside cannons is too high to allow them to fire on the beach itself.”
“General,” one of the officers countered, “the attitude of fire has been maximized to destroy the landing craft that will be bringing tanks to the beach while still offshore. That is where they will be most vulnerable. A single direct hit will destroy one of those craft and sink many tanks at once.”
“But General,” Grote objected, “if the tanks come ashore, both the command bunkers and hardened gun positions will be vulnerable.”
The general chuckled. “So, Hauptmann Grote. What do you think the Allies will do? Launch their tanks into the water? Perhaps they will just swim their tanks to the shore? Do you have secret intelligence on a new class of Allied ‘U-Panzers?’”
The officers all laughed together at General Marcks’ joke at the expense of the embarrassed Grote.
“I have seen enough, gentlemen. This is an unlikely location for heavy armor to be brought ashore in any event. These reefs will make it difficult for large landing craft to operate under heavy fire. You may have many targets to shoot at, but I agree they will remain offshore. We have a shortage of heavy guns, and I won’t waste any more here. We have the 21st Panzer Division available to repel any successful shore incursion, and mobile artillery to break up any inland movement. There will be ample mobile reserves if the Allies are foolish enough to invade on this beach.”
With that, the inspection party headed back to port. The general’s attachŽ unfolded the map and in the confusion of preparing to disembark, left it momentarily on the steering station console. Antoine quickly stashed it under the galley lazarette. Out of site, it was forgotten, and the officers disembarked the St. Marianne leaving the defensive disposition map behind.
Both Harbor Master Le Collette and Captain Jacques Carbonneau were viewed with an even greater degree of suspicion than ever before by the citizens of Courseulles.
R
Three men met in the wine cellar of the old chateau. They arrived at different times, from different directions, each stopping to make certain no prying eyes were watching them as they descended the steps and tapped in code on the door. Inside the dark cellar was illuminated by a small oil lantern. The men spread a hand-drawn map out across the floor.
“Here are the choke points,” the one with the large mustache said as he marked in pencil on the map. “You can see the telephone wires they have run between the gun emplacements and the command center. They converge at this point,” and he made a large circle where the lines converged near a small house next to the bridge linking Graye-sur-Mer with the Caen-Courseulles road. “Blowing this bridge and cutting these lines will isolate the garrison from the command center and prevent its deployment to the east. The reserve mobile guns in Caen and in the new encasements will be stuck on this side of the river.”
One of the men with long gray hair had a list of things to check off. The last on the list was a name ... Jacques Charbonneau.
“This one needs to be silenced as soon as the signal is given. I have been watching him. I have personally seen him meeting with Hauptmann Gerhardt at the Hotel de Paris. And yesterday Charbonneau took a small group of officers including General Marcks and Gerhardt out on his boat for the afternoon. He is very friendly with Harbor Master Le Collette as well.”
“What do you think he is giving the Germans?”
“He listens to everything, and asks too many questions. His boat comes and goes at odd hours, and none of the local fisherman know anything about him. They do not trust him.”
“What do you suggest?”
“AndrŽ will kill him and Le Collette as soon as the signal is given.”
The two others stared intently at the gray haired man.
“Killing men from the commune ... this is serious business.”
“It can be done, and appear to be the work of the Germans. Besides, what will it matter? If the invasion fails, all of our lives will be worth nothing.”
The man in the mustache nodded his head solemnly.
“If AndrŽ can do this thing, so be it. But we cannot acknowledge it, or lend support for this. We cannot speak of this again.”
The meeting broke up, and the three disappeared into the dark of the Calvados hedgerows.
R
Police Lieutenant Marchand spent the next several weeks watching the empty cottage on the Caen-Bayeux road with no results. He submitted a report to the head of the Caen Gestapo questioning the motives of Hauptmann Gerhardt and the legitimacy of his informant, a Courseulles fisherman named Jacques Charbonneau.
Gerhardt was transferred to a supply headquarters near Cherbourg, his plans for a fighting comman