The mistake is narrowly avoided, and—ten chapters later—the statue of Mendelssohn is finally pulled down. In spite of their efforts not to damage it, the Czech workmen break one of its hands when they’re laying it on the ground. This comic story is based on fact: the statue of Mendelssohn really was knocked over in 1941, and (as in the novel) one of its hands was broken. I wonder if they stuck it back on again? In any case, the peregrinations of the poor SS guards in charge of removing the statue—imagined by a man who lived through this period—are an apex of burlesque typical of Czech literature, which is always imbued with this very particular kind of humor, sugarcoated yet subversive. Its patron saint is Jaroslav Hašek, immortal author of the adventures of the good soldier Švejk.
126
Moravec watches the parachute commandos being trained. Soldiers in combat fatigues run, jump, and shoot. He notices an agile, energetic little man who brings down all his opponents in hand-to-hand combat. He asks the instructor—an old Englishman who has served in the colonies—what this soldier is like with explosives. “An expert,” the Englishman replies. And with firearms? “An artist!” His name? “Jozef Gabčík.” A Slovak-sounding name. He is summoned immediately.
127
Colonel Moravec talks to the two parachutists selected for Operation Anthropoid: Sergeant Jozef Gabčík and Sergeant Anton Svoboda—a Slovak and a Czech, just as President Beneš wished.
“You will know, from newspapers and the radio, about the insane murders being committed in our homeland. The Germans are killing the best of us. This state of affairs, however, is part and parcel of war, so there’s no point moaning or crying about it. We must fight.
“In our homeland, our people have fought. But now they find themselves in a situation that limits their ability to do so anymore. It’s our turn to help them, from the outside. One of the tasks that must be performed as part of this outside help will be entrusted to you. October is the month of our national holiday—the saddest since we won our independence. We must commemorate this anniversary in a dazzling, devastating way. It has been decided that this will be done by an act that will go down in history—just as the murders committed against our people have done.
“In Prague, there are two men who personify this mass extermination: Karl Hermann Frank and Heydrich, the new arrival. In our opinion, and in the opinions of our bosses, you must see to it that one of these two pays for everything—to show them that we’ll fight back, an eye for an eye. This is your mission. You must go back to our homeland, the two of you, so that you can support each other. This will be necessary because, for reasons that will become clear, this is a task you must complete without the collaboration of our compatriots. I mean to say that you won’t receive any real help until your mission has been accomplished. Afterward, you will get plenty of assistance from them. You must decide yourselves how to accomplish your mission, and how long it will take you to do so. You will be equipped with everything we are able to give you. But, for your part, you must act with prudence and consideration. I don’t need to repeat that your mission is of great historic importance and that the risks are high. To succeed, you must rely on your own skill. We’ll talk more about this when you come back from your special training. As I’ve said, the task is serious. You should therefore consider it with an open and loyal heart. If you have any doubts about what I’ve said, tell me.”
Gabčík and Svoboda have no doubts. And if the high command was perhaps still hesitating over the choice of target (as Moravec’s speech would suggest), the two of them already know which way their hearts incline them. It’s the Hangman of Prague—the Butcher, the Blond Beast—who must pay.
128
Captain Sustr is talking to Gabčík. “The news isn’t good.” Following a parachute accident that occurred during a training jump, Svoboda—the second man of Operation Anthropoid, the Czech—is still suffering from persistent migraines. He’s been sent to London to be examined by a doctor. Gabčík must complete his preparation alone, but he already knows that Anthropoid has been postponed. His partner will not go with him. “Do you know anyone among the men here capable of replacing him?” the captain asks.
“Yes, Captain, I know someone,” Gabčík replies.
Jan Kubiš can now make his entry upon the great stage of history.
129
I’m now going to paint a portrait of the two heroes with much less hesitation than before, as all I need to do is quote directly from the British Army’s personnel reports:
JOZEF GABCIK:
A smart and well-disciplined soldier.
Not the brain of some others, slow at acquiring knowledge.
Thoroughly reliable and very keen, with plenty of common sense.
Self-confidence in practical work but lacks it as far as brain is concerned.
Good leader when sure of his ground and obeys orders to the last detail. He is surprisingly good at signalling.
Also appears to have technical knowledge, perhaps of use (worked in poison gas factory).
Physical training: very good
Fieldcraft: good
Close combat: very good
Weapon training: good
Explosives: good 86%
Communication: very good 12 words/min in Morse code
Reports: very good
Map reading and sketching: fair 68%
Driving:
bike yes
motorbike no
car yes
JAN KUBIS:
A good reliable soldier, quiet, comes in for a certain amount of good-natured teasing.
Physical training: very good
Fieldcraft: good
Close combat: very good
Weapon training: good
Explosives: good (90%, slow in practice and instructions)
Communication: good
Reports: good
Map reading and sketching: very good (95%)
Driving: bike motorbike car
You can’t imagine my joy at discovering this document at the army museum in Prague. Natacha is the only one who could describe it to you, as she saw me feverishly copy down these precious notes.
These reports allow us to sketch the contrasts in style and personality between the two friends: Gabčík, the small one, is a fiery ball of energy, while Kubiš, the tall one, is more thoughtful and easygoing. All the witness accounts I’ve found support this view. What it meant in concrete terms is that they were allocated different tasks: Gabčík got the machine gun, and Kubiš the explosives.
Other than that, what I know of Gabčík leads me to believe that the officer who wrote the report scandalously underestimated his intellectual capacities. And my feeling is corroborated by Gabčík’s boss, Colonel Moravec, who writes in his memoirs:
During the training, he showed himself to be talented, clever and cheerful, even in the most difficult situations. He was open, warm-hearted, enterprising and resourceful. A natural born leader. He overcame all the difficulties of training without ever complaining and with excellent results.
About Kubiš, on the other hand, Moravec confirms that he was
slow in his movements, but with great stamina and perserverance. His instructors noted his intelligence and imagination. He was very disciplined, discreet and reliable. He was also very calm, reserved and serious—the complete opposite of Gabčík’s merry, outgoing personality.
This book, Master of Spies—picked up at the clearance sale of a bookshop in Illinois—is one of my most cherished possessions. Colonel Moravec had a real story to tell. If I’d followed my instincts, I’d have copied out the whole thing. Sometimes I feel like a character in a Borges story. But no, I’m not a character either.