Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Three

Paul Chancellor was furious and hated Percy Sweet because he had just learned about the news about Brian Standish. "You lied to me!" Paul yelled at Percy. "You put me out of your way on purpose before you told Flick!" "That's true, but it's the most—" "I'm the commander—do you have the right to hide any information from me!" "I think you'd abort the flight in that case." "Maybe I will—maybe I should." "But you did it out of love for Flick, not out of a need for action." Now Percy hits Paul on a soft spot, as Paul jeopardizes his status as leader by sleeping with the group.This annoyed him even more.But he forced himself to suppress the anger.

Unable to contact Flick's plane, and flying in enemy airspace is subject to radio silence regulations, the two of them spend the night at the airport, smoking and pacing for the love of their - in different ways - The woman is worried.In Paul's coat pocket was a wooden French toothbrush which he had used together on Friday morning after an evening with Flick.He wasn't generally superstitious, but he kept touching this toothbrush now, as if stroking her, trusting that she was all right. When the plane returned, the pilot told them how Flick had grown suspicious of Chatler's pick-up team and ended up skydiving near Chartres, and Paul was so relieved that he almost cried.

A few minutes later, Percy received a call from Special Operations London, informed that Brian Standish had demanded to know what was wrong.Paul decided to send in reply the message that Flick had drawn up and had the pilot bring back.If Brian was free, the message would inform him that Jackdaw had landed and would contact him, but no further information was given because he might have fallen into the hands of the Gestapo. Still no one knows what happened there.This uncertainty was overwhelming for Paul.Either way, Flick would go to Reims.He had to know if she would fall into the trap set by the Gestapo.Is there any way to check if the message from Brian is real or not?

His signal had the correct safety marking, Percy double-checked.But the Gestapo knew about the security markings, they could torture Brian and learn his markings.There were subtle checks, Percy said, but with the help of the girls at the listening post.So Paul decided to go there. Percy was against it at first.Breaking into the signaling system by people involved in military operations poses a danger, he said, disrupting the smooth functioning of hundreds of special agent signaling services.Paul ignored this.Then, the person in charge of the signal station said that he was very happy that Paul could visit there by appointment, in two or three weeks?No, said Paul, I was thinking within two or three hours.He insisted on it, softening at first, but relentlessly, and finally threatening with Monty's rage.With that, he went to Glendon Underwood.

When Paul was a child in Sunday school, he was troubled by a theological problem.He noticed that in Arlington, Va., where he lived with his parents, kids his age all went to bed at 7:30 p.m. at the same time.This means they pray at the same time.If these voices ascended to heaven together, how could God have heard his Paul voice?The pastor just said that God can do anything, he was not satisfied with the pastor's answer, he knew it was an excuse.This question has troubled him for several years. If he had been to Glendon Underwood then, he would have understood. Like God, SOS has countless messages to listen to, many of them happening at the same time.Secret agents tapped the Morse keys at the same time in their hideouts, like those nine-year-olds in Arlington who knelt at their bedside at seven-thirty at night.Special Operations can hear it all.

Glendon Underwood is also a huge country house that the owner vacated for the military to take over.The official name here is Station 53a, and it's a listening post.On its spacious flat ground, there are radio antennas erected in a huge arc, like the ears of God, listening to the information in the wide area from the North Pole of Norway in the north to the dusty southern part of Spain in the south. .Four hundred radio operators and codecs worked in the big house, mostly young women from the Emergency Nurses Corps, who lived in makeshift Nissen-style mobile camps in the courtyard. Supervisor Joan Bevans, a large woman with glasses, showed Paul around.At first she was intimidated by the mogul who was visiting on Montgomery's behalf, but it was Paul's smile and soft-spoken voice that put her at ease.She took him to the dispatch room, where more than a hundred girls sat side by side, each wearing headphones and with notebooks and pencils.On a large blackboard were codes for agents and transmission times—they called them “schedules,” always using the American pronunciation of the word—and how often they were likely to use them.The atmosphere was tense, and the only sound came from an operator tapping Morse code, telling the agent that the signal she received here was clear and accurate.

Joan introduces Paul to Lucy Bridges, a pretty blonde.She spoke with a strong Yorkshire accent, and Paul had to concentrate to understand what she was saying. "'Helicopter'?" she said. "Well, I know 'Helicopter'—he's new here. He generates at twenty and receives at twenty-three. So far, no problems." She never made the "h" sound when she spoke.Realizing this, Paul found it easier to imitate the accent. "What do you mean?" he asked her. "What kind of problems do you usually find?" "Oh, some people don't have their transmitters tuned right, so you have to find their frequency. The signal can also be so weak that you can't hear it clearly, and you can't tell if you're hearing a dash for a period, or, for example, The letter B is very similar to the D. Besides, those suitcase-style transmitters always don't get a good signal, because the thing is so small."

"Can you recognize his 'handwriting'?" She hesitated. "He sent only three telegrams. On Wednesday he was in a bit of a hurry, probably because it was his first, but his pace was steady, as if he knew he had plenty of time. I'm glad that--I think he must be Feeling safe. We're all worried about them, you know. We're sitting here, warm, and they're behind enemy lines, always on the lookout for the damn Gestapo." "Where's his second telegram?" "It was Thursday, and he was in a hurry. When they're in a hurry, it's hard to make out what they mean—you know, what do they mean when they write two periods after each other, or a dash? I don't know if he came from Where did he send the report, he must want to leave there immediately."

"and after?" "Friday he didn't send. I wasn't worried though. They don't usually send until they have to, and it's too dangerous to send once. Then he called on Saturday morning, before daybreak. The telegram was urgent, but he It sounded unhurried. In fact, I remember thinking to myself – he’s got the knack. You know, the signal was strong, the rhythm was steady, all the letters were clear.” "Is it possible that someone else is using his transmitter this time?" She thought for a moment, then said, "Sounds like him...but, yeah, I think it could be someone else, I think. If it's a German pretending to be him, they'll know when they type." , stability, because there is nothing to be afraid of.”

Paul felt as if he were wading in a pool of mud.Every question he asks has two answers.What he desperately wanted was something certain.He had been terrified at the terrible prospect of losing Flick, and it had been less than a week since she had entered his life as a gift from God, and he had to work through it again and again. Joan had been away for a while, and now she was back with a piece of paper in her plump hand. "I've got the three-part deciphered message from the 'helicopter'," she said.Her quiet quickness pleased Paul. He reads the first one. "He can't score points for spelling," Paul commented.

"It's not that his spelling is bad," Joan said. "They often make mistakes in Morse. We stipulate that the codecs decipher it as it is, and don't organize these places. If it means something special, it can be preserved." The content of Bryan's second telegram was the strength of Bollinger's resistance organization, and the telegram was slightly longer. Paul looked up. "This one is worse," said Lucy. "As I said, he was in a hurry the second time." There was still some content in the second message, mainly detailing what happened in the cathedral.Paul went on to read the third copy: "He's improved," Paul said, "with just one mistake." "I think he's more free on a Saturday," said Lucy. "It could be, but maybe it was a message from another person." Suddenly, Paul thought of a way to test whether this "Brian" was himself, or a Gestapo impersonator.If it worked, it would at least clear his doubts. "Lucy, did you ever make a mistake in sending a telegram?" "Barely." She glanced uneasily at her superior. "If a new girl makes a mistake, the agent throws a tantrum. That's understandable. There shouldn't be any mistakes—the agent's place There are a lot of problems to deal with.” Paul turned to Joan and said, "If I write a message, can you transcribe it into code?" "certainly." He looked at his watch.It's seven thirty in the afternoon. "He'll send at eight. Then you'll be able to send?" The supervisor said, "Yes. He called in first, and we told him to wait and get an urgent message right away." Paul sat down, thought for a while, then wrote in a notepad: He thought about it for a while.This is an unreasonable request, worded with a high-pressure accent, it looks like it was hastily coded and transmitted.He showed it to Joan.She frowned and said, "This is terrible news, I'm so embarrassed to send it." "How do you think the agents would react if they received it?" She smiled humorlessly. "He'd rush back to a message with a few more curse words in it." "Please code it as it is and send it to 'Helicopter'." She looked at him in bewilderment and said, "If you wish to." "Yes, please." "Okay." She took the message away. Paul went to find something to eat.The cafeteria, like the listening post, worked twenty-four hours a day, but the coffee was tasteless, and there was nothing to eat but stale sandwiches and dry cakes. A few minutes after eight o'clock, the supervisor walked into the cafeteria. "The 'helicopter' came in and said he hadn't heard anything from the female leopard. We are sending him an urgent message right now." "Thank you." Brian—or the Gestapo posing as him—would spend at least an hour decoding the message, writing the reply, encrypting it, and transmitting it.Paul looked at the plate in front of him and wondered where the Englishman had the courage to call it a sandwich: two slices of white bread with margarine and a thin slice of ham. Still no mustard.