Luck on the Wing: Thirteen Stories of a Sky Spy

by Elmer Haslett

After a more or less monotonous journey we arrived at Karlsruhe and were just leaving the station when we heard a big brass band coming down the street, followed by great crowds, and then a detachment of German soldiers swung into view, doing their famous goose step. As they passed we could see that they were just youngsters who did not look over sixteen years of age. Clinging fondly to them and showering flowers in their path were their mothers, sisters and other relatives. There might have been sweethearts, but the boys looked too young for that. I was convinced that Germany was getting into pretty hard straits when she had to send that class of men. It seemed to me that the flower of her male population had withered and that there were now only the upstarts and old men left.

At Karlsruhe we were taken to an old hotel which had been converted into a detention camp, and were put into confinement for a while. I was fortunate enough to be put into a room with several Britishers who had just been released from German hospitals. These lads had some food that had been sent them from home while in the hospital. They were wonderful fellows and if I had ever had any previous misgivings as to the sportsmanship of the British they certainly were removed in short order by the splendid and generous conduct of these boys.

The second day at Karlsruhe we were again called before an Intelligence Officer and again interrogated. This time I gave more beautiful demonstrations in the art of prevarication, for there were more cigarettes at stake. The examination here was confined to technical matters, while before it had been tactical. I became so interested in the subject in hand that I told him about our new combination sound and vibration recorder which did many things for us, even accurately indicating the moment that the German airplanes took off from their airdromes, what direction they were going, their altitude and the number of planes. By this instrument we were able to follow their planes and shoot them down very easily. It might have been a scientist’s dream, but I blandly explained it all to him, while I rapidly smoked his costly cigarettes, and the old boy took notes of my misinformation. But before I left this camp he had also found out that I was a liar, so he too tacked his little report to my already shattered reputation for truth and veracity.

After a week at the temporary detention camp we were marched up, en masse, about fifty prisoners in all, including British, French, Italian, Portuguese and American, to the Main Prison Camp at Karlsruhe.

We had to have all our money changed into German prison money at a terrible discount. I’ll say those Germans are thorough. For the fifth time we were searched. They even made one English Captain take off his wooden leg to insure that he did not have a compass or anything like that hidden within it. They searched every stitch of clothing on us, and finally tried to make us sign a little statement saying that we were not taking anything in there that was forbidden and that we had read the rules of war and would be guided thereby or pay the penalty. The solemn word of an Allied officer did not mean any more to the German than the ordinary word of a German meant to us.

Our money was exchanged at the rate of five hundred francs for three hundred marks in prisoners’ money, which was really worth about one hundred marks.

To search us they took us into a separate room, two at a time. As rumors will naturally leak out of the most secret chambers, we soon found that they were confiscating all leather goods, so in one accord everybody began to cut their leather goods into bits rather than turn it over to the Germans. I had my Sam Browne belt next to my skin and then my undershirt, then a woolen O. D. shirt, and then my blouse. In addition I had a pair of leather gloves. I intended to save them both and, if absolutely necessary, to give them up only after a good fight.

Finally my turn came to go in. I took off my blouse and my woolen shirt. The searcher demanded that I also take off my undershirt. I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, so without argument I proceeded to remove my undershirt, and of course he found my belt. He motioned for me to take it off, for he spoke nothing but German. I balked and told him in English that the belt was mine. We argued for two or three minutes, but I refused to budge. He got real peeved at my stubbornness and called an interpreter. The interpreter explained that all leather goods were being confiscated on account of the shortage of leather in Germany and that I would have to give my belt up. I told him to tell the German that I had paid for that Sam Browne belt out of my own money and it wasn’t Government property and was just as much mine as my trousers or my blouse. He told this to the guy who was searching me, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something, so the interpreter told me that it was ordered and not to talk so much and hand over the belt.

I calmly proceeded to put on my undershirt, but the searcher began to lay hands on me, saying to the interpreter, “Nicht, nein, verboten,” etc. The interpreter asked me to wait, he would request an officer to come down. In quick order an officer arrived to find out about the near riot. He spoke good English and explained to me that it was a ruling of the German Government that all leather goods were to be confiscated.

This officer was very rushed and didn’t have the time nor inclination to explain much, for explanations were not often made in Germany in those days, and especially not to prisoners. He told me it was an order and therefore had to be done and there was no use arguing about it. I politely told him the only kind of orders I took were in writing, and I had a right to see the written orders. I expected to see him order the belt off of me by force, but to my surprise he sent up to the Headquarters and got an order; at least, it looked like an order, for I could not read it after he got it—so, after palavering around for about five minutes I finally decided that the order was O. K. and I would have to give up the belt. The officer immediately sent the order back and I then demanded a receipt for the belt. We had another argument over this and I insisted that the order had said that a paper receipt would be given for all leather confiscated. I was trying to stall, but, true to the traditions of German efficiency, they sent for the order again. Hastily looking it over as if I read German perfectly, I begged his pardon gracefully and told him that I guessed I had read it so rapidly the first time that I had mistaken a similar word for receipt. In considerable disgust at this uncalled for delay the officer left.