Codes of Courage, page 16
Would Frieda think less of him? A year ago, she’d seemed so proud to have a husband on a U-boat commanded by a hero of the Reich. But during his last trip home, she’d seemed weary of the war, uninterested in the U-115 and its work. Maybe it was her condition. The new baby ought to arrive any day now.
A son or a daughter. Rolf would never wish to shirk his duty, but he longed to be closer when the baby came. Service on a U-boat included a great many sacrifices, but the cramped quarters, moldy food, and lack of showers all seemed trivial in comparison to missing the birth of his first child. He selected one of the more melancholy records from his pile, placed it on the turntable, and piped it over the U-115’s loudspeakers.
* * *
Millie read through the words she had just translated from German into English and fixated on the final sentence. Congratulations to Radio Petty Officer Denhart on the arrival of a special delivery without periscope.
She handed the paper to the watch officer. “Does that mean what I think it might mean?”
Mr. Fletcher glanced at it. “It means that Radio Petty Officer Denhart’s wife just had a baby girl. Admiral Dönitz insists on radioing birth announcements to the U-boats. We assume with periscope means a boy and without periscope means a girl.”
Millie worked through the next message in her pile. There were a lot of them to translate, and that had to be good for their side—someone was successfully decoding them. But her mind was on Frau Denhart and a newborn baby girl. The right information from Bletchley Park guiding a warship to just the right location plus a slew of depth charges could very well equal a sunken U-boat plus a little girl who would never meet her father. Millie had always thought of the U-boats as things—things that hunted Karl and all the other sailors shipping supplies to Britain, things that threatened the survival of her mother’s homeland, things to be annihilated as often and as quickly as possible. But living men with families who loved them were on those ships.
She finished a few more translations. Then she went outside for a break. An evening shift in December meant the break would involve a dark night and chilly temperatures, not to mention a few evil geese, but she needed a couple of minutes away from the hut.
“Miss Stevens? Is everything all right?” Miss Smyth had followed her.
She nodded, even though that wasn’t entirely true.
“It’s the birth announcement, isn’t it?”
She nodded again. “They’re the enemy, but . . . well, sometimes I forget that there’s a cost for them too.”
Miss Smyth had been a schoolteacher before coming to Station X. She rarely showed emotion, but now she put a gentle hand on Millie’s arm. “Let me give you some advice. We’re at war, and the battle being waged in the convoy lanes will determine who wins. People will die. Real people with real lives and real families and real futures. That’s certain. The only question is if more of the men on their side will die or if more of the men on our side will die. That will determine the outcome of the battle, the outcome of the war.”
Millie nodded. She knew that, but having it put in blunt terms made it clearer. Their work was saving men like Karl, and if it cost babies like the one born to Radio Petty Officer Denhart their fathers, then so be it.
Someone rushed along the dark, outdoor path between huts. “Edith, have you heard?”
Miss Smyth gave the woman coming toward them her full attention. “Heard what?”
“The Japanese attacked British Malaya. I just heard it on the wireless.”
“But . . .” Miss Smyth broke off. “We’re already fighting the Germans and the Italians. How can we fight against the Japanese too?”
Millie and Miss Smyth went back to their hut. They shared the news, and a sober feeling permeated the room. Mr. Fletcher sent Miss Smyth to Bletchley Manor to find out more details.
Millie worked on her assigned messages, consulted with Mr. Jamison over one of his translations, and tried not to think about what an attack by the Japanese on a British colony might mean for the war. It seemed less and less likely that Germany would invade Great Britain—especially not now, with German armies stalled just outside of Moscow. Last time Millie had been to London, Dad had said he thought the Germans had missed their chance to take the Soviet capital this year. Winter would slow their campaign to a halt. But if the Germans advanced again in the spring or if they grew content with the amount of Soviet territory they’d already taken, eventually they might threaten Britain again, especially if Britain were forced to wage war not only in Europe, Africa, the Atlantic, and the Mediterranean but also in Asia and the Pacific.
Miss Smyth’s face was pale when she returned. She’d been absent longer than expected, and everyone turned to her, eager for news. “It’s not just Malaya. They also attacked American forces in the Philippines . . . and the American naval base in Hawaii.”
Hawaii? The Japanese had attacked Hawaii? “Are you sure?” Millie asked.
Miss Smyth nodded.
“That means the Americans will have to join the war now.” Mr. Jamison’s voice carried more excitement than Millie thought proper for news like that. He seemed to remember Millie’s nationality and toned down his enthusiasm. “Any word on casualties?”
“They attacked by air and sank several ships, but . . . well, they didn’t have many details yet.”
* * *
Millie and Shirley rode their bicycles home in the pitch dark of midnight. “They’re not even the first American sailors to die. We’ve already had casualties in the Atlantic. But that they would strike without warning . . . that they could strike without warning.” The words kept tumbling from Millie’s mouth. She’d been shocked into silence when Miss Smyth had brought in the news, but now her emotions—fear plus rage plus surprise—all came out. “Why didn’t anyone see their aircraft carriers? And why didn’t the Japanese tell the Germans, because then maybe we would have heard about it.”
“Millie . . .” Shirley said.
Millie shook her head. “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say something like that out here.”
“I doubt anyone else is awake at this hour, but we’ll be to Mrs. Twill’s home soon. You can’t talk about anything you haven’t heard on the wireless or read in the newspapers.”
Millie nodded and kept silent for the rest of the ride. Normally when they arrived home after working the evening shift, they immediately ate whatever Mrs. Twill had prepared for them. But today, the first thing they did was turn on the tabletop radio. While they waited for the vacuum tubes to warm up, Millie pulled sandwiches from the icebox and Shirley put a kettle of water on the stove. Then they listened through the small hours of the morning.
* * *
A knock on the bedroom door the next day pulled Millie abruptly from her sleep. She pushed aside the curtain to see murky sunlight that didn’t quite reveal the hour but did show that Shirley had already woken and left the room. Millie climbed from her bed and opened the door.
Mrs. Twill stood there, an excited expression on her face. “Mr. Eckerstorfer is here to see you. He said he can come back at a better time if you’ll let him know when.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon, dear.”
Millie stifled a groan. Of all the days to oversleep. But crying always wore her out, and tears had come the previous night while straining to hear the news on the radio. She had a suspicion that this war was no longer just a battle for her mother’s homeland but also for her father’s. She was even more committed now. “I just need a few minutes. Do you mind letting him wait in the parlor?”
Mrs. Twill nodded. “I’ll tell him you’ll be around shortly.”
Part of Millie cringed that Karl would know she’d been sleeping all morning and that he had come when she needed to be at work again at four o’clock that afternoon. But the attack on Hawaii had shaken her. Karl had come exactly when she needed comfort, and her next day off was still two days away, so traveling to London to seek consolation from her parents wasn’t presently an option.
She rushed through her ablutions and spent only a moment deciding to go with simple rather than flattering when it came to her hair. She valued time with Karl more than she valued perfectly pinned hair, and she thought he did too. She made up for it by wearing the dress she normally saved for Sundays.
“And how was your last voyage, Mr. Eckerstorfer?” Millie heard Shirley’s voice as she approached the parlor.
“We made good time and didn’t run into too many difficulties as far as weather or enemy vessels. That’s the best we can hope for, especially this time of year.”
Just hearing Karl’s voice did something to Millie’s heart rate. She turned the corner and met his eyes.
He stood the moment he saw her, and a smile lit his face. “Hello, Millie. I hope I wasn’t too bold to call on you without notice.”
Shirley stood. “Well, it was lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Eckerstorfer. I hope you don’t mind if I excuse myself. I have a few errands to run.”
Karl took his eyes off Millie for a moment. “It was a pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Percy.”
Shirley nodded her goodbye, and when her back was to Karl, she gave Millie a wink and a smile that signaled approval.
Karl took a step toward her. Millie closed the distance and accepted his embrace.
“I’m sorry I didn’t send word first,” he said. “We just put in yesterday, but there was too much to do on the ship for me to sneak away to send a telegram, and then with the news . . . Captain Blake wasn’t sure how it would affect our next voyage, so he only gave me twenty-four hours. I’d lost track of what shift you were working and knew I might not see you at all, but I had to try.”
She held him a little tighter. “Thank you for coming. I missed you. And the news . . . It hit me hard.” Destruction of that magnitude plus complete surprise equaled war for her country and ragged emotions for Millie.
“Is your brother involved? I couldn’t remember if he navigated navy planes or Air Corps planes.”
“He’s with the Air Corps. Stationed in Florida. He’s safe, for now, but . . . everything is going to change.” Sentiment made her voice shake. She tried to laugh it off. “Sorry, I was up late listening to the radio, and . . . and I must look an awful sight.”
“You? You look wonderful. I’m the one who should apologize for my appearance. I didn’t even have time to stop by the barber.”
She pulled free of his arms and took a moment to study him. His hair was on the long side, but there was something appealing about the extra length. And his suit . . . It was the same one he’d worn before, but it fit him better than it had the last time she’d seen him. “Did you have your suit tailored?”
He nodded. “Found a man in Liverpool who would do it while I was away. He couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be destroyed in an air raid, but he assured me no U-boats would get at it.”
“Let me look at you properly.” She stood back as he straightened his suit. Karl Eckerstorfer was a good-looking man. The suit fit him well now, and those startling blue eyes of his gave him a dashing look, even if the longer hair made him look a bit rebellious.
“I’m lucky, I suppose.” She ran her hand over the length of his tie, even though it was already straight. “There was an air raid at work only once, so I haven’t really had to worry about my things being lost by bomb or by torpedo. If you ever wish to leave anything with me, I would be happy to keep it for you.”
“I may take you up on that offer, but I’ll have to think about what to do with your letters. I don’t want to lose them, but I reread them often enough that I’d miss them if they weren’t in my sea locker.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “May I take you for a walk?”
She nodded. “Let me get my coat.”
The weather lately had been chilly but not brutally cold. Still, she bundled up, expecting she wouldn’t want to say goodbye to Karl until she absolutely had to.
When they were outside, they kept an easy pace, holding hands. “You know, I hadn’t even heard of Pearl Harbor until yesterday,” Karl said.
“I expect America will be at war within a day or two.”
Karl nodded. “Someone on the train said President Roosevelt is addressing Congress later today.”
“I wish I knew what it meant for the future.”
Karl was quiet for a moment. “For me, I think it means that American naval vessels will start dropping depth charges on U-boats themselves rather than radioing positions to the Royal Navy. Maybe more trips to New York. Putting all that aside, it feels like the war just became a great deal larger, and it already felt big enough.”
Chapter 23
Rolf finished transcribing an overheard radio message. Traffic flooded the airwaves as careless merchant vessels casually discussed their estimated arrival times at various ports along the U.S. coast.
Meyer stuck his head into the radio shack. “You’re off watch in five minutes, right?”
Rolf glanced at the time. “Yes.”
“Come up on deck when you’re done. There’s something you should see.”
“Is it warm or cold up there?” The eastern American seaboard wasn’t known for being balmy in January, but they’d passed Cape Hatteras two days ago. It had to be getting warmer.
“You’ll want a jacket.”
What Rolf really wanted was his bunk. For his first several patrols, he’d shared a hammock with another crewman. While one worked, the other slept. But as a petty officer, he had the privilege of his own place to sleep. Or maybe what he really wanted was to be home with Frieda and baby Ilsa. Just the memory of his last leave made him smile. There was an added joy to having a new baby at Christmastime. That was what Christmas was all about, after all—the birth of a baby. Frieda had seemed more content than she’d been for months. Their conversations had been about diapers and the Christmas tree and Ilsa’s soft hair and tiny fingers. Not a single mention of the Jews. Little talk about the war in the East. Not a peep about the führer. Maybe that was how leave would be for him from now on. A focus on his wife and his daughter. A break from the war.
When the funkgast arrived, Rolf handed over his duties, grabbed his knitted wool cap and long leather jacket, and climbed the ladder to the bridge. Starlight greeted him, a vast spray, clear and bright in a way only seen when in the middle of the ocean if the moon was down and the sky clear of clouds.
A glow near the horizon caught his attention. He joined Meyer and the lookouts at the rails. “What is that?”
Meyer chuckled. “It seems no one told the Americans they’re at war. They still have the lights on, everywhere.”
One of the crewmen called out a contact. Rolf watched as the silhouette of a ship passed in front of the lights. “Do they know how easy it is for us to spot their ships when all the lights on shore are shining?”
Meyer shrugged. “They’d have to be stupid not to . . . and yet, here we are.”
“Do they have escorts?” It was too easy. Maybe all the radio traffic and the backlit tanker were part of a plot to draw the U-115 into a trap.
“A few. On an extremely predictable schedule.” Meyer gestured to the highlighted ship—no doubt their next target. “I think we’ll earn a few victory pennants tonight.”
Rolf nodded. He would enjoy a few victories after all the patrols that had given the U-115 almost no targets. This patrol could very well prove memorable not just because of the new Enigma machine he was to start using in February but also because of the potential tonnage they might add to their totals, even when patrolling so far from home.
The kommandant arrived to lead the attack, and Rolf headed back down in case he was needed in the radio shack. He had spoken the truth when he’d told Frieda he didn’t enjoy war, but war with the Americans was past due. They’d been helping the British hunt U-boats all summer. Now they were a legitimate target rather than a source of danger that hid behind false neutrality. If the Americans wanted to fight, let them do it on equal ground. Rolf glanced back at the light on the horizon. If the Americans weren’t even wise enough to turn off the lights, it was going to be an easy fight.
* * *
Millie shivered by the lake in front of the manor home. “Do you know what happened?” she asked her uncle. “All of a sudden we aren’t reading any U-boat traffic.”
Uncle Silas glanced around to make sure no one could overhear them. “Do you know how the Germans encrypt their messages?”
Millie shook her head. “Only a little. You once mentioned a machine with moving rotors.”
“Yes. The machine had three rotors in use at a time. Now we think there are four.”
Millie stared across the lake to the manor house, the one Shirley thought so ugly. “So, whatever we were doing before, we need to multiply our efforts by twenty-six.”
Uncle Silas gave her a wry smile. “Something like that, but that’s not possible overnight, and the longer we go without any breaks, the harder it is to come up with cribs.”
“Cribs?”
“Guesses as to what a message says. If we can assume it’s a weather report from a specific station, we can put the predicted text into a machine and have it eliminate all the settings that don’t work.”
“How?” Millie had long wanted to know more about other aspects of the codebreaking process, but she’d always been reluctant to ask. As an American, she’d been lucky to get a job at Bletchley Park, and even for the native British, security was strict. She hesitated to bend the rules, but her uncle seemed willing to explain.
“The cryptographers know more about that than I do, but my understanding is the Enigma never encrypts any letter as itself. Only one tiny crack, but something they can pursue.”
Millie nodded. Any weakness could be exploited, but if they couldn’t exploit it quickly enough, the information would be too old to be helpful.
