AA DE NSS, the radiomen typed, and a moment later, K. “Unknown station using this net, identify yourself.” There was a faintly querulous note to Radio Annapolis’ normally steady tone. AA DE NSS, it sent again, and then, after a nearly imperceptible pause, ZKA ZKB. One of the radiomen jerked out a well-used pamphlet which had been stuffed between receivers at his station, flipped it open. Rich and Buck crowded to read over his shoulder. He ran his thumb down the margin. ZKA first. “I am net control,” read the procedure signal entry. Immediately below, ZKB—“You are required to request permission to use this net.”
Buck and the chief were smiling. There was an upward twitch also to Richardson’s mouth as he said, “Don’t answer. I suppose we’ll have to confess someday, just to keep them from apoplexy down in Naval Communications in Washington. But we’ll worry about that some other time. What now, mister communications wizard?”
“We wait long enough for Keith’s people to set up his SSB set, and then we pick up our hand mike and start talking. If he heard our wolfpack transmission, he’ll be there.” Buck’s pleasure at Richardson’s compliment was evident.
The radio supervisor and one of his assistants were bustling about one of the radio sets ranged on the shelf above the operating positions. “Do you want to take it here?” he asked, addressing both Rich and Buck. “We can pipe it either to the bridge or to the Commodore’s Office.”
“Here’s fine,” said Rich. “If we have any problems, we may need your help.”
“Okay, sir,” said the chief, handing a microphone on the end of a wire to Richardson. “You can give me back that headset. You’ll not be needing that. Just press this button on the mike and talk across it, not directly into it. You’ll hear him on our speaker when you let go the button. Use normal voice procedure.”
Rich fingered the microphone, looked it over carefully. The button was on the side convenient to his thumb. “Are we all ready? Has he had enough time?” he asked.
“Yessir. Go ahead.” The chief still had his eyes on his equipment. Buck only smiled, nodded his head.
Richardson pressed the button, let go. A faint buzz came from the bulkhead-mounted speaker above the radio set. He could sense the powerful carrier wave emanating from the antenna on the tender’s foremast, spreading instantaneously, in a huge ellipse oriented north and south up to and partway through earth’s Heaviside Layer. A portion of it, now much weakened by distance over the frozen Arctic, would come within reach of the Cushing’s antennas and thence to the receivers in her radio room.
This had, in fact, already happened, and with the speed of light. Keith’s receiver, if turned on and properly tuned to the right frequency, had already heard the unmodified note Rich had transmitted by pressing the button.
He pressed it again, held the microphone to one side of his mouth. “Keith,” he said, “this is Rich. Buck is here too. Do you read me? How are you, old man?” He released the button, heard the squelch come off the bulkhead speaker.
The chief radioman had his fingers on the receiver dials, sensitively and carefully moving them. There was a faint crackle. He turned past the spot again, more slowly yet. There were words, high-pitched, faint, surrounded by static, but words nevertheless. More gentle adjustment of the dials.
“—and clear,” the distant voice, suddenly distinct, said through the speaker. “How me? Over.” It was Keith. Richardson felt a peculiar sensation on his skin. Keith was speaking slowly, distinctly, to give his words maximum readability over the thousands of miles of frozen sea, tundra and ordinary land it must cover. He must be in his own radio room, therefore well below the ice even if Cushing were somehow entirely surfaced.
Richardson squeezed the mike button. “We hear you the same, Keith. Buck’s here with me. There’s an answer already on the way to your first dispatch, and we’ve just intercepted your second. Can you stay up on voice? Over.”
“Negative, Rich. There’s too much activity over the equator.” Rich caught the sharp glance from Buck, grimaced understandingly in return. “Our second message explains it better. It’s great to hear you, though. Over.” Keith spoke rapidly, now that communications had been established. There was just enough emphasis on the word “great” to accentuate the undercurrent of anxiety in his words.
“That’s okay, Keith. We just want you to know we’re with you, and will keep this circuit up on our end. Anytime you want to use it, open up and we’ll be here. Over.”
Keith evidently had begun talking even before Rich enunciated the final word. “—help a great deal,” his voice said. “There’s not much time—” There was a short pause, someone saying something in the distance, words unintelligible, then Keith’s voice again, speaking even more rapidly. “Got to go. Thanks for calling. I’ll come back to you when I can. Out.” There were both urgency and finality in his voice.
“He’s under a lot of pressure, Buck,” said Rich gravely. “Something’s really wrong up there.”
“We hardly got a chance to talk at all. I was hoping there’d be enough time to say more than just ‘hello,’ ” said Williams, betraying his own concern by speaking nearly as rapidly as Keith. “Should we tell him we’re on our way to help him? He might be able to hear us even if he can’t answer.”
“No. He’s signed off. That’s telling us something, right there. Probably he’s already retracting antennas and flooding tanks. No point in adding any more complication to his life right now. Let’s take this message of his and decode it. That’s the most useful thing we can do.”
Buck hesitated an instant, then said, “Shall I leave instructions up here about guarding the voice frequency? I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Okay, Buck, thanks,” said Richardson. “I have the key to the coding room down in my safe. Tell the chief to set up a continuous watch on voice and CW both, and call one of us if they hear anything. Also, they should record all transmissions on tape, especially if we’re not there to hear them. The squadron office has a tape recorder. Have them get it up here and be ready to use it.”
Setting up the coding machine was an unfamiliar exercise for both officers, although both had been well versed in an earlier model. An added complication was the necessity of implementing a totally new top-secret code, extracted from the code room safe. Much reference to the printed instructions and many false starts were necessary before the machine finally began to type out intelligible copy. Richardson and Williams, their heads nearly touching, read the words as they appeared from under the typing bar.
“This CHARLIE JULIET business is silly,” muttered Buck as the first words appeared. “What good is a code name in a ciphered message?”
Rich did not answer. The next few words engaged his full attention. He could feel Buck Williams’ heavy breathing, only inches away.
FROM CHARLIE JULIET X SECOND REPORT FOR COMSUBLANT COMSUBRON TEN X MAX SHAFT SPEED TWENTY RPM WITH HEAVY VIBRATION X PROPELLER STERN PLANES AND LOWER RUDDER DAMAGED COLLISION SUBMERGED OBJECT BELIEVED TO BE SOVIET SUBMARINE X SECONDARY PROPULSION MOTOR WIPED OFF X NO SERIOUS LEAKS X NO PREVIOUS SONAR CONTACT X MILITARY TYPE AIRCRAFT APPARENTLY SEARCHING AREA X UNABLE INSPECT SCREW WITHOUT RISK DETECTION X ICE COVER FIFTEEN DASH TWENTY FEET EXCEPT POLYNYAS AND LEADS FEW AND FAR BETWEEN WHERE FROZEN ONLY THREE DASH FOUR FEET X INSPECTION MANDATORY BEFORE PROCEEDING DUE VERY HEAVY VIBRATION X REMAINING IN POLYNYA POSITION GOLF NOVEMBER TWO NINE AWAITING OPPORTUNITY USE DIVERS X SUSPECT BENT SHAFT X WILL REPORT RESULTS ASAP X IN VIEW APPARENT DAMAGE BELIEVE MUST ABORT MISSION BUT UNABLE ESTIMATE ABILITY YET TO CLEAR PACK X