SECRET SERVICE WORK

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXVI, Issue 3399, 28 July 1932, Page 3

SECRET SERVICE WORK

GRIM DOINGS ON RUSSIAN FRONT. The Russo-German front in Poland during the Great War was ideal country for spies. Spreading forests, unconnected outposts, cavalry patrols . . . They could cross the Vistula in boats under cover of darkness, land in a jungle of thick reeds, lose themselves in the woods, penetrate the enemy lines. One of the most interpid was Colonel Max Wild, who controlled the German Secret Intelligence Service in this area. And he recounts many a drama as stirring as any in fiction, states a writer in "John o' London's Weekly." A girl in a lonely farmhouse, he heard from prisoners, acted as an agent for the Russians. He had the farm surrounded, questioned the mother. When he asked her about her daughter, Manja, she told him she had been in Warsaw for a long time. He gave the sign, and his people began to search. Manja was easily found, hiding in a wardrobe. Immediately after, they brought her fiance along, too, whom they had dragged out from under a heap of rubbish on the floor. Secret service chiefs have methods of inducing captured spies to talk, for none wants to face a firing squad if he can help it. Manja's fiance needed little prompting. He told his tale without hesitation, and this time he added to the story, making out that Manja had been the mistress of a Russian officer who had to spend some time in the neighbourhood. He got no further. The girl rushed past me and sprang at him. "You contemptible brute, you cowax-d!" she shrieked, and beat the traitor's face with her fists. I oughtn't to have allowed it, but I let her wreak her fury on him. He never attempted to defend himself. "After a long cross-examination Manja's resistance was broken. She told Colonel Wild of the impending arrival of Mazur, a particularly dangerous spy. On the night he was to cross the Vistula an ambush was laid. He crossed, accompanied by five others, one a camp follower, a cocotte of the streets, who carried with her some small ikons. Later, at headquarters:! : You're a spy, a murderess!" I told her. In my excitement I struck the table violently with my hand, in which I was holding one of the ikons. The ikon broke, revealing a small slip of white paper. It wgs the same with the other images when I examined them. Closely-written instructions to the spy Antoseha. Places were namod, and against them were numbers and dates. Eventually, under the armpit of Mazur, was found a minute piece of paper, gummed, and revealing code letters and figures under a magnifying glass He was told that if he did not tell all he knew, betray the names of his confederates, his wife and family would die with him as accessories. Mazur set himself against betraying the agents in Posen:— "I can't get the words out of my mouth. I have worked with them a long time. And now I've got to do such a low-down thing." He strode about the room in his excitement. I handed him a piece of paper to write the names on. Several times he sat down to write them, but always sprang up again. But in the end the names were written out. A Change of Service. Mazur was allowed to take leave of his family before being taken to the place of execution, blindfold. When the bandage was removed he saw, instead of the firing squad, his wife and children. "I want to know if you will enter our service?" Colonel Wild said to him. He stared at me, but could not say a word. "Pawel! Pawel! Can't you speak? It's true, sir, isn't it? You're not going to shoot him? Won't you say something?' The woman flung herself down half laughing, half crying, and caught hold of my feet. Mazur had broken down rAfter a glass of water and a cigarette he was able to stand up again. At last he found his voice. "I'll serve you faithfully, sir. I shall never forget what you have done for me." And he seized my hand and kissed it. After that Mazur crossed the Vistula many times on secret missions, ostensibly for the Russians, but actually for the Germans. Among other things he obtained particulars of a fortress which was to be attacked, and was instrumental in blowing up the power station of a big- munition factory. And the Germans deputed him to go to the place and try to locate the culprit responsible for the outrage!

All the time he was gambling with death, and death was ugly where spies were concerned. At any moment he might have shared the fati of four who had stood up in a row in the courtyard. Unsteadily they groped about with their hands, each feeling for the one next to him;

they found an arm or a shoulder, and leant against one another and propped one another up. Short words of command ; a single sharp explosion—and one was seen to sink to his knees and then fall forward; another toppled over in front, like a felled tree; a third collapsed like an empty sack, and the fourth remained upright for an instant, as though he had not been hit, and then fell down sideways. They were all stone dead. I struggled against a feeling of nausea. On one occasion Colonel Wild captured a Russian officer who answered his challenge in a thin treble voice. Two large dark eyes stared at him anxiously; the tunic seemed unusually tight about the rounded hips. "Why, you must be a girl?" At this question the soldier's mouth quivered; then came the reply in sobs: "Yes, sir; I am a woman." "But who sent you over here?" "An officer in Minsk." She explained that she had been the mistress of an intelligence officer who thought to get rid of her in this way by giving her written instructions to an agent in the German rear. According to Colonel Wild an intelligence officer at the front should be a first-rate soldier, a profound psychologist, a constructive criminologist, a hunter of unending instinct, and a man of absolute discretion in any company; also on the Russian front he must be able to swim, climb, march long distances, and drive a car with skill. And here was a lovely girl, with a timid voice, who had never done espionage work before in her life, carrying secret messages to agents! Colonel Wild relates some thrilling hazards which he himself underwent. In the final stages of the campaign, when he crossed over to the Russian lines to help to foment revolution among the troops, Colonel Wild was imprisoned and condemne 1 to be shot. His hands were tied behind him to a stake in front of an open grave. A lieutenant gave the order "Load!" The rifles were brought to th.; aim. I wanted to look away, but could not. The muzzle openings stared at me, round and black. Then the judge advocate gave the signal. I saw a handkerchief fluttering in the breeze. An agony greater than I could bear clutched at my heart. I thought: "If only they would shoot!" I raised my head. The general was talking to the judge advocate, who kept on nodding. I could scarcely hold myself upright, but gazed at the two men. Suddenly I felt that my arm was being freed; a soldier had untied my bonds.

I grasped the stage mechanically, then sank down to the ground on the edge of the grave. He owed his life, he says, to the fact that General Alexeiv, the Com-mander-in-Chief, who confirmed his sentence, had been deposed and General Brussilov appointed in his place. On the outbreak of the revolution he escaped by way of Siberia and Mongolia, enduring more dangers and hardships.