Profiles in Courage: The Muslim Princess Spy

Noor Inayat Khan was born New Year's Day 1914 in Moscow to Hazrat Inayat Khan an Indian Sufi mystic of royal lineage and his American wife, Ora Ray Baker, half-sister of Perry Baker, often credited with introducing yoga into America. On her father's side, she was the great-great-great-granddaughter of Tipu Sultan, the celebrated Muslim ruler of Mysore, who in the 18th Century successfully fought the British, stemming their advance into South India. He was killed in battle in 1799.

As a child, she and her parents escaped the chaos of revolutionary Moscow in a carriage belonging to Tolstoy's son. Raised in Paris in a mansion filled with her father's students and devotees, Khan became a virtuoso of the harp and the veena (a plucked stringed instrument originating in ancient India), dressed in Western clothes, graduated from the Sorbonne and published a book of traditional Indian children's stories - all before she was 25. 

One year later, in May 1940, the Germans occupied Paris. Khan, her mother, and a younger brother and sister fled like millions of others, catching the last boat from Bordeaux to England, where she immediately joined the British war effort. 

In June 1941 she was assigned to RAF's Bomber Training School, but she soon got bored of her desk work there, and anxious to fight at the front applied for a commission for field duty. Thus in late 1942 Khan was recruited into the F (France) Section of the Special Operations Executive (SOE, aka the Baker Street Irregulars), the Spy Agency created by Churchill with the mission to carry out sabotage and subversion behind enemy lines.

After completion of her three months basic SOE training, in early February 1943 she was posted to the Air Ministry, Directorate of Air Intelligence, seconded to First Aid Nursing Yeomanry (FANY) and sent to various other SOE schools for further training. At the end of these Training Ops, she was a secret "Agent in the Field," though her official cover position was of an Assistant Section Officer seconded in the First Aid Women's Yeomanry (FANY).  

In June 1943 due to her fluency in both French and English, and her skills in Wireless Communications, she was selected to work with the French Resistance as a Radio Operator. Codenamed 'Madeleine', with a call sign of 'Nurse' and cover identity of Jeanne-Marie Regnier, Noor was parachuted into Nazi-occupied northern France during the night of June 16-17, the first woman spy to be sent into occupied France. From here she traveled to Paris with a Resistance member and together with two other SOE radio operators, Diana Rowden and Cecily Lefort joined the Physician Network (codenamed Prosper) led by Francis Suttill, a British Special Agent operating in France since Oct 1942. She was to become the communication link between Resistance and SOE in England at a time when the job of a Radio Operator in Nazi territories. 

Her clandestine efforts supported the French Underground as England prepared for the D-Day invasions. Among SOE agents, wireless operators had the most dangerous job of all, because the occupation authorities were skilled at tracking their signals. The average survival time for a Resistance telegrapher in Paris was about six weeks.

But even before her arrival, the Prosper Network had been heavily infiltrated by the Gestapo and over six weeks of her arrival in France almost all the members of the Prosper Network, numbering in hundreds and her fellow SOE spy operators were arrested in Gestapo's most successful coup against the Resistance in occupied France. It was later revealed that even Henri Dericourt, who received her in northern France was a double agent working for the Gestapo. After these arrests, Noor was advised by London to come back, but she refused as she was the last critical link between France and England, and continued her work behind enemy lines coordinating the airdrop of weapons and agents, and the rescue of downed Allied fliers.

Overnight thus the 'Eposte-Madeleine' became the most important link between French Resistance and the Allied Forces, and for a total of three and a half months, Noor carried out this extremely dangerous work. Moving from one hideout to another, changing her alias & appearance (dying her hair & changing hairstyles for instance) she managed to escape captivity while maintaining wireless communication with SOE. Noor used a dozen-odd apartment scattered around Paris as hideouts during this period, her complete fluency of French helping her pass through checkpoints and escape many other risky situations.  

The Gestapo had her full description as well as her code name, but in spite of deploying considerable forces for the specific purpose they could not capture her, and she always managed to keep ahead of the Nazis, constantly carrying her Heavy 15 kg B Mark II Set (B2) Radio Set wherever she went. 

She refused to abandon what had become the most important and dangerous post in France, although given the opportunity to return, she refused as she did not wish to leave her French comrades without communications and also hoped to rebuild her group. 

In Oct 1943 she was betrayed for 100,000 French Francs by Renee Garry, the sister of the Lt. Emile Garry, leader of the Prosper Network's Circuit Noor Inayat Khan was working with, who provided Gestapo with the address of the flat Noor was using at that time. 

Jealously played a part in this betrayal, Renee settled for less than the Germans were willing to pay for this critical information. Khan was thus captured in this her flat by the German SD Security Service (Sicherheitsdienst, Intelligence Agency of SS and the Nazi Party), and held in their Headquarters in Paris. She had unwisely kept copies of all her secret signals and the Germans were able to use her radio to trick London into sending new agents - straight into the hands of the waiting Gestapo.

During interrogation, she fought so fiercely that SD officers became fearful of her, and she was treated as an extremely dangerous prisoner. In spite of rigorous interrogation by the Gestapo lasting a month, all the Germans could extract from her was false information, they couldn't even get her to reveal her real name, leave aside any information on other spy operatives working in France. During this one month, she escaped captivity twice but due to bad luck (an ill-timed air raid alert once), she was captured in the vicinity on both occasions. 

Noor was taken to Germany in late November 1943 "for safe custody" and imprisoned in complete secrecy at Pforzheim, southwest Germany in solitary confinement, as a Nacht und Nebel" ("Night and Fog") prisoner. Classified as "highly dangerous," she was handcuffed and shackled in chains most of her ten months. In spite of repeated beatings, starvation and torture by her Nazi captors, she refused to reveal any information.

During the night of September 11, 1944, the Gestapo collected Noor Inayat Khan and three other SOE agents from Karlsruhe prison, Yolande Beekman, Eliane Plewman, and Madeleine Damerment, and drove them to Karlsruhe railway station in time to catch the early train to Munich. From there they caught a local train to Dachau and late in the evening walked to the infamous Dachau concentration camp arriving at about midnight. Between 8 am and 10 am the next morning, September 13, 1944, the four were removed from their cell, taken to a small courtyard, forced to kneel in pairs before being executed by a single shot to the head. Their bodies were immediately burned in the crematorium. 

An anonymous Dutch prisoner, who emerged in 1958, contended that Noor Inayat Khan was cruelly beaten by a high-ranking SS-Obersturmfuehrer Friedrich Wilhelm Ruppert before being shot from behind; the beating may have been the actual cause of her death. She may also have been sexually assaulted while in custody. Her last word has been recorded as, "Liberte." She was only 30-years-old.

Wilhelm Ruppert was tried for war crimes by the American occupying forces. He was subsequently convicted and executed by hanging on May 29, 1946.
 
Noor Inayat Khan's story is not only about the drama of fighting the Nazis -the brutality of the Gestapo, deception, betrayal, and escape -but also about the deep moral imperative that defined this young woman throughout her struggle who was raised with strong principles and believed in religious tolerance and non-violence.

 Noor Inayat Khan became one of the most decorated agents of the British S.O.E. After the war, she was posthumously awarded the George Cross, the highest civilian medal given for bravery and sacrifice in Great Britain. The French awarded her the Croix de Guerre with Gold Star. In 2013, a memorial statue was erected in London's Gordon Square.

A PBS one-hour docudrama about her life and adventures entitled "Enemy of the Reich: The Noor Inayat Khan Story" was first aired in September 2014. 

Academy Award-winning actress Dame Helen Mirren narrates the film, which stars Indian American actress Grace Srinivasan as Khan. A copy of the DVD can be purchased from PBS at http://www.shoppbs.org/product/index.jsp?productId=45091586

Military Myths & Legends: Andersonville Prison

There were 150 prison camps on both sides in the Civil War, and they all suffered from disease, overcrowding, exposure, and food shortages. But Andersonville was notorious for being the worst. Some men agreed to freedom and fought for the South as galvanized soldiers, fearing the dangers of imprisonment to be greater than those of the battlefield.

Officially named Camp Sumter, the most notorious Civil War stockade was hastily constructed in early 1864 near the town of Andersonville in southwest Georgia. The number of Union soldiers held near Richmond had swelled with the breakdown of prisoner exchange agreements, posing a threat to the Confederate capital's security and taxing Virginia's already limited resources.

In late February, Federal prisoners began to be transferred to the still-unfinished Georgia facility. By July, Andersonville, built to accommodate up to 10,000 captured soldiers, was jammed with over 32,000, almost all enlisted men. The open-air stockade, enclosed by 20 foot-high log walls, grew to 26 acres but remained horribly overcrowded and conditions became more and more intolerable. Running in the middle of the camp was a stagnant, befouled stream, absurdly named Sweet Water Branch, used as a sewer as well as for drinking and bathing. There were no barracks; prisoners were forbidden to construct shelters, and while some did erect tents and flimsy lean-tos, most were left fully exposed to the elements. Medical treatment was virtually nonexistent.

With the South barely able to feed its own men, the prisoners, who were supposed to get the same rations as Confederate soldiers, starved-receiving rancid grain and perhaps a few tablespoons a day of mealy beans or peas.

The poor food and sanitation, the lack of shelter and health care, the crowding, and the hot Georgia sun all took their toll in the form of dysentery, scurvy, malaria, and exposure. 

During the summer months, more than 100 prisoners died every day. Others fell victim to thieves and marauders among their fellow captives. The desperate situation led a Confederate medical commission to recommend relocating those prisoners who were not too ill to move, and in September 1864, as William T. Sherman's advancing army approached, most of Andersonville's able-bodied inmates were sent to other camps.

Remaining in operation until the end of the war, Andersonville held more captured Union soldiers than any other Confederate camp, a total of more than 45,000, nearly 30 percent of whom died in captivity. The North had learned of the camp's appalling conditions well before the emaciated survivors were released in 1865, and outraged citizens urged retribution on Southern prisoners of war. That was hardly necessary: the Union had its own wretched prison camps, including Elmira, New York, where the death rate approached Andersonville's, even though the North was far better equipped to cope with captured soldiers. Mismanagement and severe shortages were more to blame for the horrors of Andersonville than any deliberate attempt to mistreat prisoners.

Nevertheless, many Northerners insisted that the abuse was deliberate and demanded vengeance. Consequently, after being tried by a U.S. military court and convicted of war crimes, the prison's commander, Captain Henry Wirz, was hanged in November 1865 for "impairing the health and destroying the lives of prisoners." Meanwhile, Clara Barton and other government workers compiled a list of 12,912 prisoners who had died at the camp. Andersonville's mass graves were replaced by a national cemetery, which is today still used as a burial ground for American veterans

Battle Chronicles: Meuse-Argonne Offensive

World War I will be remembered as one of the bloodiest wars in human history. Millions of soldiers died on both sides, and whole generations of young men were wiped out. Armies were bogged down in impenetrable trenches, resulting in thousands dying in futile assaults against fortified enemies. The war also introduced new and terrible weapons, such as the machine gun, which made the war even more horrific and bloody. There were many terrible battles, but the worst one for the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) was the Meuse-Argonne Offensive.

On August 30, 1918, the supreme commander of Allied forces, Marshal Ferdinand Foch, arrived at the headquarters of General John J. Pershing's 1st US Army. Foch ordered Pershing to effectively shelve a planned offensive against the St. Mihiel salient as he wished to use the American troops piecemeal to support a British offensive to the north.

Outraged, Pershing refused to let his command be broken apart and argued in favor of moving forward with the assault on St. Mihiel. Ultimately, the two came to a compromise: Pershing would be permitted to attack St. Mihiel but was required to be in position for an offensive in the Argonne Valley by mid-September. Foch also placed Pershing as the overall commander of the offensive since the American Expeditionary Force was to play the main attacking role in what would be the largest American-run offensive of World War I.

This required Pershing to fight a major battle, and then shift approximately 400,000 men sixty miles all within the span of ten days. Stepping off on September 12, Pershing won a swift victory at St. Mihiel and began moving his troops to the Argonne. Coordinated by Colonel George C. Marshall, this movement was completed in time to commence the Meuse-Argonne Offensive on September 26.

Unlike the flat terrain of St.Mihiel, the Argonne was a valley flanked by thick forest to one side and the Meuse River on the other. This terrain provided an excellent defensive position for five divisions from General Georg von der Marwitz's Fifth Army. 

Flush with his St. Mihiel victory, Pershing's objectives for the first day of the attack were extremely optimistic and called for his men to break through two major defensive lines, dubbed Giselher and Kreimhilde by the Germans. In addition, American forces were hampered by the fact that five of the nine divisions slated for the attack had not yet seen combat.

The Meuse-Argonne ground campaign began in the early morning fog on September 26, 1918. The previous night, Allied Forces had bombarded German positions. The fog gave good cover to the more than 700 Allied tanks that were advancing, with numerous infantry troops following behind. 

The Germans were taken by surprise, and the Allied forces were gaining ground. They'd captured 23,000 German prisoners and moved almost 6 miles forward.

While the goal of the offensive was to destroy the Germans, the strategy to do this was to cut off their main supply route. The Germans controlled the land between the Argonne Forest and the River Meuse in France, just inside its border with Belgium. The Sedan-Mezieres railroad, Germany's main supply link, was in this area. Taking control of this railroad was the Allied Force's main objective.

Both the Allied Forces and the Germans understood how critical this area was to Germany's ability to continue its offensive into France. For this reason, both sides invested all available troops to the Meuse-Argonne Offensive and surrounding battles.

The Meuse-Argonne presented a number of challenges to the U.S. forces, which made up the largest part of the Allied Forces fighting. First, the overgrown, bushy, terrain of the area was difficult. The forest had no roads over which tanks and troops could easily move. Furthermore, the Germans had been in control of the area for the past four years and had well-fortified it.

The other key challenge was logistical. Most of the Americans were some miles away from where they had just fought a battle at St. Mihiel Salient. Moving that many troops and their armory in such a short time period was an unprecedented logistical operation. Without the successful troop movement, the Germans would have likely held their supply lines.

However, one American division had difficulty capturing its assigned land, and the entire Allied advance was slowed down. During this day-long stoppage, the Germans were able to retreat back to the Giselher line, where they prepared to make stand. 

German General Max von Gallwitz directed six reserve divisions to shore up the line. The arrival of additional German troops ended American hopes for a quick victory in the Argonne. While Montfaucon was taken the next day, the advance proved slow, and American forces were plagued by leadership and logistical issues. By October 1, the offensive had come to a halt. Traveling among his forces, Pershing replaced several of his green divisions with more experienced troops, though this movement only added to the logistical and traffic difficulties.

On October 4, Pershing ordered an assault all along the American line. This was met with ferocious resistance from the Germans with the advance measured in yards. It was during this phase of the fighting that the 77th Division's famed "Lost Battalion" made its stand. Elsewhere, Corporal Alvin York earned the Medal of Honor for capturing 132 Germans. 

On October 8, Pershing made a push on the east side of the Meuse with the goal of silencing German artillery in the area. This made little headway. Two days later, he turned command of the 1st Army over to Lieutenant General Hunter Liggett.

As Liggett pressed on, Pershing formed the 2nd U.S. Army on the east side of the Meuse and placed Lieutenant General Robert L. Bullard in command. From October 13-16, American forces began to break through the German lines with the capture of Malbrouck, Consenvoye, Cote Dame Marie, and Chatillon. With these victories in hand, American forces pierced the Kreimhilde line, achieving Pershing's goal for the first day. With this done, Liggett called a halt to reorganize. While collecting stragglers and re-supplying, Liggett ordered an attack towards Grandpre by the 78th Division. The town fell after a ten-day battle.

On November 1, following a massive bombardment, Liggett resumed a general advance all along the line. Slamming into the tired Germans, the 1st Army made large gains with the V Corps gaining five miles in the center. Forced into a headlong retreat, the Germans were prevented from forming new lines by the rapid American advance. 

On November 5, the 5th Division crossed the Meuse, frustrating German plans to use the river as a defensive line. Three days later, the Germans contacted Foch about an armistice. Feeling that the war should continue until the German's unconditionally surrendered, Pershing pushed his two armies to attack without mercy. Driving the Germans, American forces allowed the French to take Sedan as the war came to a close on November 11, 1918.

The Meuse-Argonne Offensive cost Pershing 26,277 killed and 95,786 wounded, making it the largest and bloodiest operation of the war for the American Expeditionary Force. American losses were exacerbated by the inexperience of many of the troops and tactics used during the early phases of the operation. German's losses numbered 28,000 killed and 92,250 wounded. 

The Meuse-Argonne Offensive was the largest American military campaign and one of the world's greatest battles.

Rocket: A Dog's Story

He was a little dog, the sort you would know at a glance to be some boy's most understanding friend. Because he had shipped for his first cruise on LSM(R) 194, the little guy answered to the name of "Rocket."

Rocket came aboard at San Diego. Jimmy, the Gunner's Mate, having just made First Class, paid for half of him. During the long weeks that followed, the ship steamed from island base to island base until she reached a newly won anchorage in the Philippines. Rocket led a quiet life; it was hot on the steel decks so that he usually sought the shady coolness of the 5-inch handling room. At morning General Quarters, he was always to be found there. The men shared their trays with him at chow, and his presence in the vast sea of loneliness brought all hands a remembrance of the things they had left behind.

Then one morning, the ships slipped out of the anchorage and sailed north to the new D-Day and their destiny. For six weeks, Rocket's ship pounded the beaches of the enemy, clearing the way for the troops. On lonely patrols, it fought off dive bombers, and each hour carried the fight closer to the Japanese homeland. During all the sleepless hours that followed and the General Quarters without number seemed to combine into a hazy tired recollection, Rocket made the handling room his Battle Station. Just above him was Jimmy's station, by the 5-inch gun.

They were on one of their interminable patrols when out of the dusk for Japanese bombers swooped in to attack the ship. By some miracle, they escaped injury. But though they had come off "Scot Free," a strange premonition grew in the hearts of many. It was then that Jimmy realized that Rocket was the only hand aboard without a life jacket. That night, an old kapok jacket was cut down to fit. It was trimmed so that the tie strings held it securely about the middle and allowed is paws freedom for swimming. At first, Rocket, like many new sailors, rebelled at this inconvenience. For several ensuing "Flash Reds" (air attack imminent), he tried to paw it off, but the tie strings had been sewed well and beyond the reach of his paws. Finally, he suffered from canine resignation to the indignity of his unsinkable straightjacket.

Shortly thereafter came the evening when the Japs with fanatical fury, dove in Rocket's ship. In a moment, a proud fighting LSM(R) was transformed into a cauldron of flaming gasoline, burning powder, and devastation. Fire flashed through the handling room, and in its wake, there were scorched men and death. Topside, those who were able, fought the blaze, but the trickles from the ruptured fire mains proved a hopeless mockery. The dusk was settling in an ironic race with the ship. The Pharmacist's Mate worked with plasma to replace the vital fluid in the burnt-out bodies and administered morphine syrettes to the members of the gun crews who had caught the brunt of the attack. When it became apparent that heroism alone could not save them, the captain gave the word: "Abandon Ship" - the Te Deum of the Sea.

Into the darkening waters, men handed their wounded shipmates. Life rafts were lashed together, and the unwounded propelled them away from the vessel. And now explosions from the sinking ship were turning the water like an irresistible churn that shook and frequently ruptured men's guts. The pyre of the ship illuminated the sea, and the noise of ravishing flames drowned out the cries of the wounded and the delirious. That is all but one cry, the well-membered bark of thoroughly miserable Rocket. As far as any could recall, no one had lived to escape the handling room, but there paddling along, his eyes smarting with oil was Rocket. 

One of the men turned from the raft and swam back through the oil to the dog. His life jacket worked; it had protected the greater part of his body from burns, and though his paw was burnt raw, Rocket survived. The swimmer called for the dog to come toward him, without avail, so that he had to close the last twenty yards to discover why. Beside Rocket in the water that was mangled with blood, were the scattered inhuman remains of his shipmate Jimmy.

A jolting underwater concussion jarred Rocket so that he turned to his rescuer. Perched on the collar of his life jacket, man and dog paddled toward the flashlights of a destroyer's whaleboat that had stood by them in their agony.

When I last saw Rocket, he was heading for his new home with Jimmy's family; the boys all thought he would like to spend his survivors' leave and the days thereafter with them.

Why Men Love War

Editor's Note: William Dodson "Bill" Broyles, Jr. is an American screenwriter, who has worked on the television series China Beach, the films Apollo 13, Cast Away, Entrapment, Planet of the Apes, Unfaithful, The Polar Express, and Jarhead. He also assisted in the screenplay of Saving Private Ryan.

In 1968, Broyles's career was put on hold when he was drafted into the United States Marine Corps. Between 1969 and 1971, he rose to the rank of First Lieutenant and served in Vietnam, first as an Infantry Commander, and later as an aide-de-camp to the Assistant Division Commander, 1st Marine Division. Due to his educational background and experience, his assigned duties included social issues with an emphasis on the refugees in the Quang Nam Province. Broyles received the Bronze Star.

Broyles's experiences in Vietnam inspired two of his most critically acclaimed projects. In 1984, he was one of the first veterans to return to Vietnam. His book "Brothers in Arms: A Journey from War to Peace", recounts his visit and his impressions of the aftermath of war on himself and his fellow soldiers, as well as on the country he fought against in battle. In 1988, Broyles once again drew upon his memories in Vietnam when he co-created the award-winning television series, 'China Beach,' a weekly drama for ABC about the doctors and nurses stationed at an American military base in Da Nang.

I read "Why Men Love War" shortly after it was published in an issue of a 1984 issue of Esquire. For me, it captured the essence of war and what it does to those of us who experienced it. I expect readers are going to either hate the article or love it.  I recommend those of you who to elect to read the article with an open mind, you too may find much truth it what Broyles wrote.

To get you started, I have posted the first three paragraphs. Below that is the internet site for the entire nearly 7,000 well-grafter, provocative words.
 - Editor, Michael Christy

I last saw Hiers in a rice paddy in Vietnam. He was nineteen then - my wonderfully skilled and maddeningly insubordinate radio operator. For months we were seldom more than three feet apart. Then one day he went home, and fifteen years passed before we met by accident last winter at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington. A few months later I visited Hiers and his wife. Susan, in Vermont, where they run a bed-and-breakfast place. The first morning we were up at dawn trying to save five newborn rabbits. Hiers built a nest of rabbit fur and straw in his barn and positioned a lamp to provide warmth against the bitter cold.

"What people can't understand," Hiers said, gently picking up each tiny rabbit and placing it in the nest, "is how much fun Vietnam was. I loved it. I loved it, and I can't tell anybody."

Hiers loved war. And as I drove back from Vermont in a blizzard, my children asleep in the back of the car, I had to admit that for all these years I also had loved it, and more than I knew. I hated war, too. Ask me, ask any man who has been to war about his experience, and chances are we'll say we don't want to talk about it - implying that we hated it so much, it was so terrible, that we would rather leave it buried. And it is no mystery why men hate war. War is ugly, horrible, evil, and it is reasonable for men to hate all that. But I believe that most men who have been to war would have to admit if they are honest, that somewhere inside themselves they loved it too, loved it as much as anything that has happened to them before or since. And how do you explain that to your wife, your children, your parents, or your friends?

That's why men in their sixties and seventies sit in their dens and recreation rooms around America and know that nothing in their life will equal the day they parachuted into St. Lo or charged the bunker on Okinawa. That's why veterans' reunions are invariably filled with boozy awkwardness, forced camaraderie ending in sadness and tears: you are together again, these are the men who were your brothers, but it's not the same, can never be the same. That's why when we returned from Vietnam we moped around, listless, not interested in anything or anyone. Something had gone out of our lives forever, and our behavior on returning was inexplicable except as the behavior of men who had lost a great perhaps the great-love of their lives, and had no way to tell anyone about it.

http://public.wsu.edu/~hughesc/why_men_love_war.htm