Chapter 31 Chapter Thirty-One

Before the land came into view, ahead of the plane, the clear, cloudless sky gleamed with silvery, puffing clogging balloons, giving the British Isles a festive air.In the sunny weather of August, the land looks very peaceful.Cars and trucks crawled along narrow roads through undulating fields of yellow and green broken up by black fences.Small flocks of sheep are grazing, and farmers are harvesting corn like moving puppets.The plane flew over the towns clustered around gray-spired cathedrals, over rivers and woods and marshes and green fenced fields, over the happy England that is depicted in picture books, paintings and poems.

①Blocking balloon: it is a balloon with steel cables and wires to protect important areas or facilities and prevent low-altitude aircraft from attacking. It was the end of Pug's tedious week of traveling through Zurich, Madrid, Lisbon and Dublin.The trip was sparked by a wax-sealed letter in a mail bag from Washington to Berlin.On the envelope was handwritten in red ink: "Top Secret - From Colonel Victor Pug Henry".He opened it to find a sealed letter from the White House. Dear Pug: The Deputy Chief of Naval Operations said you were a longtime proponent of "radar."The British secretly reported to us that they bought something called a "radio direction finder" in the air battle, which was very successful.The result of our discussion, I want you to take a look.what do you think?You will have urgent orders and our friends will be waiting for you.London must be interesting right now, if a little too hot.We'd like to send them fifty destroyers, and if you think we're too emotionally "hot" for that, please write and let me know.

Fred Roosevelt Very loosely worded instructions for this piece of paper.Pug had mixed feelings.Any excuse to leave Berlin pleased him.Newspapers were dull, and the boastful words printed in red letters were unbearable; in the government agencies, the Germans were full of joy and self-satisfaction, talking about how to start a happy post-war life in a month; women dressed in French clothes. Satin, with French make-up, with a sly, smug air, walking on the avenue.All this was intolerable.Pug even felt guilty about eating looted Polish ham, Danish butter, French veal, and wine in fancy restaurants.In the evening, sitting alone in the big house in the Greenwood area looted from the Jews, listening to the radio announcer's cheerful voice report the news that the British aircraft had suffered heavy losses and the Luftwaffe had no losses, and he felt extremely irritated.The command to leave it all is simply a grace.But the letter also distressed him.He had not lived naval life on deck for more than four years, and life ashore seemed to be becoming more and more regular.

He walked home that afternoon, past the rusty olive flak batteries, and felt that it made him want to leave Berlin more than anything else.People no longer stare blankly at the high tower bristling with guns as they did when the beams and thick steel plates were first erected.There has been speculation about the tower for weeks.Now the truth is out.It turned out to be an anti-aircraft battery used to shoot low-altitude bombers.No tall buildings can be within range.It towers far above the tallest rooftop in Berlin and is a real eyesore.The few British bombers so far had been flying high, but the Germans were considerate.This huge hazel iron tower stands high in the beautiful zoo where children play and old people take a walk. Victor Henry thinks this is the epitome of Nazi rule.

The lonely and silent house bored him that night when his secret police servant tiptoed to one end of the long bare table serving him a Danish pork chop.He is restless.Pug decided that if he had to come back, he would take a room at the Adlon Hotel.He packed his clothes: dressing gown, blue uniform, homemade uniform, evening dress, khaki, civilian dress, civilian dress, which is a heavy burden for a military officer.He wrote to Rhoda, Warren, and Byron, thinking of his wife at bedtime, and thinking that in London he might see Pamela Tudsbury. said Pug's assistant military attache, a handsome lieutenant colonel who spoke fluent German, the next day.He will gladly take over his duties.As it happened he was a relative of Wendell Wilkie.He had been popular among Germans since the Republican National Convention. "I guess I'm going to be stuck this weekend?" he said. "Unfortunately, I've made an appointment to go to Abendreu with Wolf Stober's family. They've been very nice to me lately. They say Göring might be there."

"You go ahead," said Pug. "You can get some inside information about the Luftwaffe. Tell your wife to bring a pair of knickerbockers." The assistant military officer was puzzled and stared at him angrily, which made him very happy.And so he left Berlin. "See how you've maintained it so well?" he said to Naval Attaché Brink Vance, who came to greet him at London airport.Twenty-five years later, Vance still blinks his eyes when he speaks, as he did in Annapolis when Victor Henry was a freshman in the Naval Academy and Vance denounced him for wearing a dirty white shoe .Vance wore a brown London tracksuit and gray trousers.His face was dry and wrinkled, but he still had the slender figure of a second-year student.

"What a fine day for tennis, Pug. I play tennis an hour or two every day." "Really, aren't you guys at war here?" "War. Some places are fighting, mostly in the south." Vance vaguely waved one hand to the clear sky. "We had air raid sirens; the Germans hadn't dropped anything in London until now. You could see the occasional puff of smoke and you knew it was fighter jets polluting the nearby clouds. Otherwise, you listened to the British radio reporting the shot down Numbers of enemy planes. This strange ghost war is a game of numbers for planes."

Henry had just traveled through the bombed areas of France and the Low Countries, and was amazed at the tranquility and integrity of London's traffic, well-dressed and cheerful people.He was also surprised by the array of exquisite wares in the endless store windows.Berlin, despite its flooded markets with looted goods, was nothing more than a bleak military zone by comparison. Vance drove Victor Henry to a London apartment not far from Grosswinner Square.This was the Naval Senior Officers' Guest House, a set of very dark rooms in the basement by the wicket.Consisting of a kitchen stocked with empty beer and whiskey bottles, a dining room and a small sitting room, there are three bedrooms along the corridor. "You'll find it too crowded," Vance said, looking at the luggage and clothes of the other two tenants in the apartment.

"I like company." Brink frowned, blinked, and said tentatively, "Pug, I never knew you were an expert." "expert?" "Science expert. That's what they call it here. It is said that you came to see their latest invention and gave you the green light from the top." Victor Henry said as he unwrapped his bag, "Really? " The naval attache grinned at his cautious silence. "You'll hear from the Brit later. My mission is over. Unless you need me." The loud, gruff ringing of the telephone in London woke Pug from his nap.The rhythm and sound of this ringing are very different from the buzzing of Berlin telephone bells.A ray of sunlight filtered in through the hanging brown curtains.

"Colonel Henry? I'm Major General Tillett, Office of War History." The voice was high, powerful, and completely British. "Tomorrow I'm driving to Portsmouth, probably at Radar Station. Would you like to go with me?" Pug had never heard the word Radar Station. "That's very good, General. Thank you." "Really, that's great." Tillett's voice sounded cheerful, as if he were bringing up a dry matter, but Pug was surprisingly kind. "I'll pick you up at five, and we'll escape the morning traffic, shall we? Take your toiletry and a shirt."

Pug heard drunken laughter from the next room, a bass voice and the silvery voice of a young woman.It was just six o'clock.He turned on the radio while getting dressed.The Schubert Trio, which he used to listen to on Radio Berlin, was over, and the news went on.In calm, almost disjointed voices, the announcer reported a massive air battle that had lasted all afternoon.The RAF shot down over a hundred German planes, losing twenty-five of their own.Half of British pilots parachuted to safety.The air battle continues, the broadcaster said.If, Pug thought, there was any truth to this overly cautious report, then, while the Londoners were going their separate ways, a stunning victory was in sight in the unseen heights. He looked up Pamela Tudsbury's number in the phone book and called her.It was another girl who answered the phone.When Victor Henry said his name, the girl's already coquettish voice became even more coquettish.She told him that Pamela was now a Women's Auxiliary in the Air Force, working at headquarters outside London.She told him to dial another number.He tried dialing, and sure enough it was Pamela who answered the phone. "Colonel Henry! Here you come! Oh, how wonderful! You're just in time. Isn't it?" "Really well played, Pam?" "Have you listened to the afternoon news?" "I usually don't trust the radio much." She laughed heartily. "Oh, that's Berlin Radio. Goodness, it's good to talk to you. It's all true. We beat 'em down today. But they're coming. I'm on duty in an hour, and now I'm Hurry up to get something to eat. I heard an officer say this was the turning point of the war. By the way, if you ever get a chance to visit, remember I'm with the Eleventh Fighter Squadron, Group Combat Command Post." "Sure, how is your fiancé?" "Ted? Great. Now on the ground. He's very busy today. Poor guy, just turned twenty-nine, and already an old man in the squadron. Hey, when will we get a chance to see you The Taide squadron will not be on duty next week. We will surely come to London together. How long will you stay here?" "I'm still here next week." "That's great. Give me your number and I'll call you. I'm so glad you're here." He goes for a walk.On this evening London was bathed in a golden radiance, the radiance of the setting sun through the clear air.He strolled along the winding streets, along the rows of elegant houses in the city, and then walked through a verdant park where swans swam slowly on the peaceful lake.He came to Trafalgar Square, passing many government buildings in Whitehall.Then walk along the Thames onto Westminster Bridge.He walked to the middle of the bridge, stopped, and stared at the famous and safe ancient city extending on both sides of the river. London's red double-decker buses and speeding black taxis are sandwiched between the bustling private cars, passing the bridge in a steady stream.There are very few vehicles in Berlin, mostly government or military vehicles.London, he felt, was still a city of common people, though it was full of people in uniform.There are no anti-aircraft guns here.The British Navy and Royal Air Force seem to be the leftovers from a great feast.Now the line must be guarded by this army armed with leftovers.His task was to assess whether they could hold it; moreover, to see if their new electronic equipment was really advanced.Looking at this scene of peace and prosperity, he felt suspicious in his heart. He ate dinner alone in a small restaurant, and ate the delicious roast beef that can only be eaten in dreams in Berlin.When he came home, the apartment was dark and quiet.He didn't sleep until he heard the news.The numerical record for the number of aircraft declared shot down on this day is: 130 for Germany and 49 for Britain.Could it be true? A short, bald, mustache general in a well-cut khaki uniform smoked a stubby pipe as he drove.His well-know, wrinkled face was serious.After talking on the phone, Victor Henry believed that he was probably the author of military books, Tillet, whose work he admired.It was him, indeed; Tillette more or less resembled the photograph on the cover of his work, but the photograph on the cover appeared to be twenty years younger.Pug didn't want to talk to the inaccessible scholar.Tillett drove his little Vauxhall down the road and back down the road, all the while hardly saying a word.Pug knew by the sun that he was heading due south.The further south they went, the more Britain seemed to be at war.Road signs have disappeared, place names have been daubed out, and some towns are deserted.Large hoops with barbed steel poles hang high above the unsigned road.Tilet pointed with his finger and said, "This is to prevent the glider from landing." Then he fell silent again.Finally, Victor Henry got tired of the silence and the changing beauty."I think the Germans got a good beating yesterday," he said. Tillet puffed until his pipe was red and crackling.Victor Henry thought he wasn't going to answer.But he suddenly said: "I told Hitler that the range of the Messerschmitt 109 is very short. He agreed with me and said that he would study it with Göring. But due to the bureaucratic style of the Luftwaffe, this The idea that dictators are omnipotent is a huge mistake! Like all politicians, they are trapped by bureaucrats, if not worse. Some because of fear, some want to flatter, everyone All lied to him. Adolf Hitler was surrounded by a web of flattery and false figures. His work was said to be great. He was still sensitive to facts. This is the mark of his genius. You must have seen Him?" "I've seen it once or twice." "I had a few meetings with him. He said he admired my work. His understanding was sharp and deep. Talented laymen are usually like that. Goering designed the fighter plane as an auxiliary tool on the ground. I said He made the same mistake the french did with the tanks on the fighter planes. Auxiliary ground mechs don't have to travel long distances because the fuel tanks are always at hand and easy to refill. Those french tanks are the best combat weapons and they have thousands But these poor things can only run fifty or sixty miles at a stretch. Guderian's tanks can run two hundred miles a day. What a difference! The French never thought that tanks should be concentrated and fight independently. God knows Fuller, De Gaulle and I have tried so hard to explain it to them." The car passed the concrete dragon's tooth sign ① and a stone wall, rattling along the winding dirt road, skirting the barbed wire blocking the road .Masked workers kicked up clouds of dust with hammers and jackhammers. ①Dragon tooth sign: a sign of danger at the turning point of the mountain road. "Look at the stupidity of this," said Tilett, pointing his pipe at a tank trap, "to use this to stop the intruders. These rubbish can only reduce the combat capability of our reserve army to zero. Luckily, Brook is in charge now. He's going to clean it up." Pug asked, "Is that General Alan Brook?" "Yes, our greatest man. Genius on the battlefield. He was in charge of the Dunkirk evacuation. I was in his headquarters. I only saw him in a bad mood once. It was the headquarters from Arles When Mantierre retreated toward Lear." Tillett poured the ashes into the ashtray on the dashboard in the car, and turned his cold gray eyes to Pug. "At that time, the road was full of fleeing people. Our command cars were all immobilized. The Armantières Asylum was bombed. The madmen escaped. There were about two thousand people on the road, all wearing fat brown wicks. Fleece pajamas, walking with their heads down, talking nonsense, sometimes giggling. They circled our car, looking in the window, drooling, grimacing, shaking their heads. Alan said to me:' It's a rout, Taid,' he said, 'we're screwed, the British Expeditionary Force is screwed. We've lost the bloody war.' So I said, 'Never mind, Alan, there are more madmen in Germany, including their The boss is inside." This made him laugh out loud, the first time he had laughed in many days. After that, he was back to normal again. As the "Bible" said: "The words are at the right time① .'" ①See Chapter 15, Section 24 of The Bible·Old Testament·Proverbs. "Do you think Hitler is crazy?" Henry said.Tilet bit his pipe and looked at the road. "He was a schizophrenic. Half the time he was a rational, witty politician, but deep down he was mysterious, arrogant and stupid. He told me that the English Channel was nothing but a river barrier, If he wants to cross by force, the Luftwaffe can just play the role of artillery, and the navy can play the role of engineer. How naive. Overall, I still quite like this man. There is something very touching about him. He looks sincere And withdrawn. Of course, there is no other way but to eliminate him now. Ah, we almost forgot to turn. Let's go and see this airport." It was the first time in England that Pug had seen anything like that of the defeated Poland and France.Crooked, blackened beams hang from bombed planes in hangars.Rows of sooty, burnt-out plane wreckage lay on the ground, with steamrollers roaring around debris piles and bombed-out runways.Tilet said excitedly: "If we are not prepared, the Germans can do bad things here!" .Except for the burned houses.The air was as fresh as in the garden.As he drove away, Tillett said: "Göring didn't realize until now that the airfields and aircraft factories were being targeted. He wasted a whole month bloody bombing the harbors and chasing convoys. The idiot didn't realize until the autumnal equinox. The English Channel will be impassable after September 15th. His task is to control the air. It is not to block it. Find out your task!" He said to Victor Henry angrily like a teacher : "Get your mission clear! Don't relax!" Tillet cites the Battle of Waterloo, which was lost because an officer forgot his mission and failed to take with him a few nails and a dozen hammers.He said that Marshal Ney's cavalry had stormed the center of Wellington unprepared, and the British batteries were caught off guard and captured.So they had an excellent opportunity to plug the gun ports.But no one thought of taking hammer and nails. "If they block the guns," said Tilett, gnashing his teeth, smoking the pipe he held tightly in his hand, turning the steering wheel with one hand, his face flushed with vigor. "As long as Marshal Ney remembers what his mission is, if one out of five thousand French soldiers thinks about his mission, we will live in a very different world. If our cannons fail to fire, another A cavalry charge would strike down the center of Wellington. Then France would have another hundred and fifty years of dominance in Europe. Germany would not fly in this vacuum. We were at war with the Kaiser in 1914 , and now fighting Adolf, all because Ney, a fool, forgot his mission at Waterloo—if he knew what his mission was." "For want of nails, the country is ruined," said Pug. "Not bad at all!" "Waterloo, I don't know much. But I've never heard it said. All I remember is that Brooke came at sunset with the Prussians and turned the tide." "If Ney remembers to bring hammer and nails, they'll get nothing. By sunset, Wellington will be utterly defeated. Napoleon has broken Brooke three days ago. Will he break Brooke again? Effortless." The car climbed to the top of a hill.In front of an empty green pasture, the azure English Channel stretches in the sunshine, and the French coastline is as thin as a hair, extending along the horizon.They got out of the car and stood among tall weeds and red poppies blooming in the cool sea breeze.Only the chirping of birds breaks the unforgettable silence.After a while Tilet said: "Look! You see Hitler's France now." They took turns watching the opposite coast carefully with the binoculars that Tillett took out from the carriage.On the far side, small houses and boats can be seen faintly. "The Germans are getting very close," Tilet said. "It's so close." "Not long ago, the Germans took all the military attachés from neutral countries to France for a tour," said Pug. "Takes us all the way to the coast. There are poppies there too. We see your steep hills and the Maginots aimed at you. Now I see the other side of those cannons." "They're nothing," said Tillet. "They fired a few shells to frighten people, but they all fell in the fields. No one was frightened." They drove west along the coast, passing through quiet villages heavily fenced with barbed wire, with their doors and windows nailed up.Around the hills and villages and towns, there are many camouflaged bunkers.Pug saw the children's play-carousel, with cannon muzzles peeking out from beneath its painted platforms.On the flat rocky beach, iron bars wrapped with iron wires are nailed.Odd-shaped iron pipes rose and fell with the sea waves, protruding from the water."Ah, you're not unsuspecting," said Pug. "Yes. Adolf was polite enough to give us respite, and we made the most of it. Those iron pipes sticking out of the water were the ancient Greek tactic of fire. We set the sea on fire with gasoline, and fried those we No Drowned Germans." A number of jam balloons burst into view, drifting westward over the hills. "Ah, we're finally here." Tilet stopped the car under an ancient tree with lush branches. "There are two decent restaurants in Portsmouth. But the city was bombed. They Maybe not even the cups and plates.I took some sandwiches and coffee with me in the compartment. " "great." Pug walked up and down the road, regaining feeling in his numb, heavy legs, and then sat down beside Tillette under the big tree.They had lunch together in silence.It seemed that Tillett didn't really want to say anything.Pug didn't mind either, and he kind of liked it himself. "Look over there," Tillet gestured with the last sandwich in his hand.A withered yellow flower appeared high above the city's azure sky, and a jammed balloon was on fire. "They're going home at last today. Any more coffee?" "No, thank you." "What is this idiot doing here to blow up poor Portsmouth Harbor again? He went to the interior yesterday, and that's where he should be." Tillet quickly packed the tableware and picked up the binoculars.The sound of distant thumping anti-aircraft gunfire and buzzing aircraft filled the sky. "Shall we go down? I reckon it's a bluff. Not like a big fight." "good." Pug was about to get into the car when he stopped again to look carefully at the eastern sky. "Look, General." Tilet squinted at the sky, seeing nothing, and looked through the binoculars again.His eyes widened. "Yeah, it looks like it is." He handed the binoculars to Victor Henry.They used binoculars to clearly see that the moving gray dot was indeed the fleet flying north.The planes flew in a neat V formation across the clear blue sky. "Heinkels, lots of 109s, some 110s," Pug said, "over a hundred." "Are there no Stugas? They're just brooding birds. Our pilots say they're no fun to chase." "I don't see any with curved wings. But they fly a long way." "Would you like to join our observation team, Colonel Henry?" Tillett said to him, in a slightly more friendly tone than before. Over Portsmouth more clogged balloons ignited, rolling slowly downward in black smoke.The pier was on fire, and billows of white smoke dragged their tails and criss-crossed in the blue sky.Their car passed a jet-black plane, nose down, burning in the grass, its markings obscured by flames.When they arrived in Portsmouth, firefighters were spraying water with hoses, and many people stood dumbfounded on the road.Many houses had collapsed and were burning, and many streets were blocked by piles of rubble, but the city was nothing like Rotterdam, or even some bombed-out towns in France. "Would you like to go and see what's been bombed? You're welcome to go, but it's a miserable scene. I think we might as well drive all the way to the radar station. The German might go there today, and you might find it interesting." "OK." There were only two of them on the ferry.The broken wooden boat ferried to the Isle of Wight in one breath, and the bumps made them dizzy. "People forget how treacherous the waves of the English Channel are," said Tilett, hugging a wooden post.He raised his voice, his voice drowning out the roar of the sea wind and the roar of the machine. "If the Germans did cross the sea, they'd be too dizzy to fight. That's a factor." An olive-colored army vehicle was waiting for them on the shore.Their car runs on the idyllic island, passing by tall buildings that are deserted, surrounded by overgrown weeds and blooming flowers.Their car drove all the way to the many small iron houses and log cabins gathered around the iron tower, and they didn't see other vehicles along the way.Several iron towers here stand leaning against the sky, becoming an ugly stain on the festival green island.The air force colonel in charge of the radar station was a stocky, red-faced man.He invited them to tea in his small office and talked about the raid on Portsmouth.He also spoke triumphantly of a large bass he had hauled out of the sea at dawn. "Uh, let's go see what's going on, shall we? I know there's been a lot of air strikes today." Victor Henry saw British radar displays for the first time in a smoky, overcrowded cabin in Venteno, lit only by a single red light.It amazed him.He listened intently to the pale, thin, gray tweed-clad Dr. Kentwell, and watched the radar displays with him.These intense green spots alone are novel enough.Great Britain far surpasses the United States.According to American experts, it will take 20 years for the United States to master the technology mastered by the United Kingdom. The RAF measured the range and bearing of ships to within a hundred yards, and the measurements could be seen with the naked eye on a display.They can also detect individual intruders, count the number of aircraft in a group, and measure their altitude.They were marvels compared to what he'd seen last year on the USS New York experimented with and mass-customized for the Navy.Two thoughts flashed through Pug Henry's mind at once: the U.S. Navy must have this equipment; Britain was far better prepared for war than the world knew.He was impressed and admired by Major General Tilet's dramatic silence.His performance was very successful.But it all depends on the fact that they have this precious radar.On this small island abandoned by the rich as a sports field, facing the guns of the turned Maginot Line, Britain and the United States, under the pretext of a casual visit, exchanged ideas in this smokey room in an unrestrained atmosphere. In the dark hut filled with the smell of electrical machinery, there was a momentary contest. "We don't have anything like that yet," he said. "Really?" said Dr. Kentwell, lighting a cigarette. "Is that so? As far as we know, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology has already done a lot of research in this area." "I know what we've got," Pug said at the red light, and Pug saw General Tilett's face showing a secret smug look at a good deck of cards, the wrinkles on his face deepened, his eyes sparkling. "How can you get such a concentrated beam? I asked our young people to figure out a way. They replied that the key is to shorten the wavelength as much as possible. But, they said, beyond a certain limit, it will not work, and it will not be possible to transmit the pulse to the required distance." The scientist nodded, his eyes almost closed, his face trying not to show any expression.He was a pleasant fellow, Pug thought. "Well, that's a problem, isn't it?" he muttered. "But they're going to find out. It's all about the tube design, the overall circuitry, and so on. Our cavity magnetron works really well for that, and we're pretty happy with it." "Cavity magnetron?" "That's right. Cavity magnetron. You know, we don't need a grid in a vacuum tube. We control the current with an external magnetic field. This allows a larger pulse wave to pass. It takes a bit of brainstorming, you guys. The people there will figure it out in due course." "Of course. Do you have cavity magnetrons for sale?" Both Tillett and Dr. Kentwell burst out laughing, and even the soldiers by the monitors turned their heads and laughed. The air force colonel with a red face stared at the monitor, and a childish operator next to him was talking to the transmitter: "Hello, it seems that there is another group of planes flying in our direction. They are queuing up over Havre again. You mean Twenty or so, Stebbins?" "Thirty-seven, sir." The reports from several monitors made the air in the dark room suddenly tense.A young duty officer wearing a headset walks from one monitor to the next, writing lines on a clipping board while talking to the operators.From Pug Henry's point of view, what was going on here was a kind of skilled work, just like the intense and hectic work going on on the conning tower of a submarine during an attack. General Tillett said, "I suppose you think our cavity magnetrons are fine?" "This is a very significant breakthrough, General." "Well, yes. Queer, isn't it? War has grown to the point of defense with complex contraptions that only a few poor scholars can make and understand." "That's a lot of use," said Pug, watching the duty officer take down the range and bearing the radar operator gave. "Gain accurate intelligence on the enemy's location and activities without exposing yourself." "Of course. We are very grateful to our aeronautics. There are a few Britons who are indeed sane when our politicians completely ignore the balance of power in the air and other military situations. Well, you have now seen It's over, you want to go back to London right away? I thought we might stay here for a day or two before we could see the fighting, but the Germans are kind of helpful. We can find a good hotel on the road and go to London. There's A few people want to talk to you." Outside No. 10 Downing Street, there was only a helmeted policeman pacing back and forth in the morning sun, while several tourists on the opposite sidewalk looked at him.Recalling the heightened security of the secret police in front of Hitler's marble Chancellery, Victor Henry smiled at the unarmed Briton who guarded the row of old houses in the Chancellery.Tilet took him in, introduced him to a male secretary in a morning coat, and left.The secretary ushered him up the wide staircase hung with portraits—Pug recognized Disraeli, Gladstone, and Macdonald—and invited him to sit in a room furnished with elegant antiques and Waiting in the large room with excellent oil paintings, he walked away.Pug rested alone on the sofa, waiting for the secretary to come back and introduce him.He waited for a long time, feeling a little nervous. ① Gladstone (1809-1898), a British politician, served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom for four times from 1864 to 1894. ② Disraeli (1804-1881), a British politician. In 1868 and 1880, he served as prime minister. In a small messy and stuffy room that smelled of old books and cigar butts, the fat old Prime Minister stood by the window, with one hand on his hip, looking down at the photos spread out on the desk.He was short and stout, with a badly bent back and small hands and feet.It is thick in the middle and small at both ends, just like a spinning top.His steps were slow and clumsy as he turned and walked towards Victor Henry.He shook hands, welcomed Pug, and asked him to sit down.The secretary walked away.Churchill sat on the armrest, put one hand on the armrest, leaned back, and looked at the US Navy captain with hazy eyes.His large, red face, freckled and blotched with age, looked serious and suspicious.He sucked at the end of his cigar and said slowly in a low voice, "We'll win, you know." “我对这一点开始深信不疑了，首相先生。”维克多•亨利说着，竭力控制自己发紧的喉咙，好让说话的语调正常起来。 丘吉尔戴上半月形眼镜，拿起一张纸看了一眼，然后从眼镜边缘望着亨利。“您的职位是驻柏林的海军武官。您的总统派您到这里来看看我们的无线电探索器。您对这个有专门知识。他对您的判断是非常信任的。” 丘吉尔说话时稍稍带有讽刺的口吻，暗示他明白帕格是罗斯福派来的另一耳目，特地来观察英国如何对待德国空袭；他同时表示对于这种观察毫不介意。 “是啊，先生，我们管它叫雷达。” “您觉得这东西怎么样，现在您已经看过了。” “美国很可以利用它。” 丘吉尔高兴地说：“真的吗？尽管有不少出类拔萃的美国人参观过我们的雷达站，这还是我头一次听美国人讲这样的话。” “也许他们不知道我们的情况，可是我是知道的。” “哦，那末我建议您向您的总统汇报说，我们这些简单的英国人，总算掌握了一些他可以利用的东西了。” “我已经这样做了。” “好极了，请看看这些。” 首相从那一堆摊开的相片底下，抽出几张图表，递给这个美国人看。他把烟头扔到一只装着砂的亮闪闪的铜罐里，又点起一支雪茄。这根雪茄在他嘴里颤动着。 这张图表上用着色的曲线和纵线显示出驱逐舰和商船的损失数字、新造船只的增长率、欧洲纳粹占领的海岸线的加长，以及被击沉的潜艇的数字的上升，这是一张惊人的图表。丘吉尔一面喷着蓝灰色的烟，一面说，他只向总统要求五十艘旧驱逐舰。英国新造的船要到明年三月才能使用。未来八个月的关键问题是保证运输线畅通，以便击退侵略。 他说，危险与日俱增，但是谈判却迟迟没有进展。罗斯福想租借加勒比海英国岛屿上的海军基地作为供给这批驱逐舰的交换条件。但是用英国国土换取舰只，议会感到为难。再说，总统还要一份书面保证，一旦纳粹入侵并取得胜利，英国舰队不得向德寇投降或逃跑，而必须驶回美国港口。“这一点我根本不能考虑，更不用说写成公文了。”丘吉尔怒冲冲她说。“德国军舰在逃跑和投降方面有很丰富的实际经验。我们却没有。” 丘吉尔狡猾地露齿一笑，使帕格感到有点象弗兰克林•罗斯福。他接着说，交战时给一方五十艘战舰，就是对另一方不太友好的表示。总统的几位顾问担心希特勒会向美国宣战。这是另一难处。 “这种危险倒不大，”维克多•亨利说。 “是啊，这种可能性不大，”丘吉尔说。“我也完全同意。”紧皱的双眉下的他那对眼睛象喜剧演员那么调皮。维克多•亨利感到很高兴，因为首相通过一个聪明的地笑，把他的全盘作战计划透露给他了。 “这些都是那个坏蛋用来进犯的舰队。登陆艇部门，”丘吉尔接着说，一面找出一捆照片递给他。照片上是一些奇形怪状的船只，有些是从空中拍摄的舰群，有的是从近旁拍摄的。“是他拼凑的一堆破铜烂铁。大部分是他们用在内陆河道的平底船。这种轻舟很容易让德国人淹死，我们正希望淹死大批德国人呢。我想请您转告您的总统，现在正是制造登陆艇的好时机。我们将来还要回到法国，会需要大批登陆艇。在一九一七年我那个设计的基础上，我们制造出一些非常先进的船只。趁您在这里，您可以去看看。我们需要有亨利•福特的干劲。” 维克多•亨利禁不住惊讶地注视着这个精神萎靡、被腾腾烟雾包围着的老人，他正抚摸看穿着黑裤子的大肚皮上沉甸甸的金链条。他只有三、四个战斗师，敦刻尔克一役，又失掉几乎全部大炮和坦克。面对着希特勒咄咄逼人的一百二十个师，他居然谈起进攻欧洲大陆来了。 丘吉尔翘起厚厚的下嘴唇，回瞪了他一眼。“嗯，我告诉您，我们是要这样干的。轰炸机司令部加强得很快。总有一天我们会炸得他们鸡犬不宁，而一次进攻会致他于死地。但是我们将需要登陆艇。”他停顿了一下，转过头来盯了亨利一眼。“事实上，如果他胆敢轰炸伦敦，我们准备立刻轰炸柏林。如果事情发生时您还在伦敦，如果您不认为这是件蠢事的话。您可以一起去看看情况。”他脸上那种好战的神情消失了，镜片下面那对皱纹累累的眼睛愉快地闪动起来。他说话很慢，有点大舌头，很滑稽。“听我说，我可没有要您乘降落伞回到您的工作岗位上去。这样当然节省时间，可是德国佬会认为很不雅观，他们最讲究形式。”帕格虽然认为这全是无稽之谈，但他还是立刻回答说：“我会感到非常荣幸。” “嗯，嗯，也许只是说说罢了。不过那样走一趟也挺有意思，是不是？”丘吉尔费力地从椅子里站起来。帕格也连忙站起来。“我想梯莱特将军对您照顾得还不错吧？不管好的坏的，您想看什么就看什么吧。” “他对我照顾得好极啦，先生。” “梯莱特挺好。他对加利波利的观点可不怎么样，他把我说成是一个西哈诺①，一个笨伯和懦夫啦。”他伸出他的手。 ①法国十九世纪剧作家罗斯丹所著诗剧《西哈诺》的主人公。 “我想您一定见过几次希特勒吧。你认为他怎么样？” “很不幸，他非常能干。” “他坏透了。德国非常缺乏传统和权威，否则这个面色阴沉的市井小儿也不会崭露头角。如果我们在一九一九年恢复了霍亨佐伦王朝，那希特勒将仍然是个贫贱的游民，只能在维也纳肮脏的下等客店里自言自语罢了。可是现在，要消灭他可不容易。我们必需消灭他。”丘吉尔在桌旁握了握帕格的手。“您过去在作战计划处呆过，您也许会重新回到那里去。我建议您把我们所有最新登陆艇的资料全部带去。向梯莱特要好了。” "Okay, sir." “我们将需要大批登陆艇。大批……”丘吉尔大张两臂，维克多•亨利仿佛看见成千上万艘登陆艇在一个灰蒙蒙的黎明缓缓朝海滩驶去。 “谢谢您，首相先生。” 梯莱特少将在他的汽车里等着。他们来到海军部的一个房间，墙壁上挂着大幅的舰队位置示意图。在地中海、波斯湾和印度洋的蓝色海面上，五颜六色的小图钉稀稀拉拉，但英伦三岛周围却密密麻麻。图钉连成一条细线标出横渡大西洋的运输路线。梯莱特用烟斗指着这条细线说：“关键在这里。我们靠这条路活命。万一被德国人切断，我们就完了。我们很可以利用上次大战后你们剩下来闲置着的驱逐舰。” “是啊，首相也这么说。不过这里有个政策问题，将军。如果希特勒威胁美国，那么我们自己的东西我们全部需要，而且还不够；如果他不对我们进行威胁，那我们有什么理由让你们拥有我们的部分舰队去打他们呢？我这是向你提出孤立主义的论点。” “哦，不错。我们当然希望你们会考虑我们共同的传统和有关种种，考虑到让我们继续存在的好处，而且万一德日两国占领了欧亚两洲和几大洋，我们今后会遇到前所未有的不幸。现在我还想让您看看我们在布里斯托尔造的登陆艇和斯坦莫尔的战斗司令部。” “如果可以的话，我还想看看第十一战斗机大队作战指挥所。” 梯莱特朝他眨了眨眼。“第十一大队？好极了。需要安排一下，不过我想能安排上。”