The Arch thrummed to life, peeling back the layers of causality as the singularity formed and spun out. “I did not have to be too specific on spatial location, he said, and I networked the Golems into a computation cloud for fifteen minutes to nail down the temporal coordinates. This was a fairly easy algorithm sequence. The equation is re-usable as well, so we can try several times on these coordinates. Shifting the temporal variable is easy.”
“Where are you opening the continuum?” Maeve’s inner sense of caution prickled up the moment she felt the vibration coming from the Arch.
“Right over London,” said Kelly. “Well up in the atmosphere. I’m just going to establish a breach and transmit. On my mark… three… two… one.” He gave the go signal and the peculiar vibration of the Arch changed ever so slightly. There was a slowly rising tone in the humming below them, and Kelly began to tap out a message using the space bar of his keyboard. This went directly to the radio equipment below, and was hopefully broadcast through the decades, to a gray evening over London, May, 1941.
He tapped away, his face set with concentration. The seconds seemed like hours, but the breach was really only open for a minute or two and he completed his message in the peculiar series of codes words Paul had given him. When Bismarck had first been sighted off the coast of Malmo, Sweden the coast watcher there had simply sent a telegram: Pit Props and Battens Rising. The message Kelly sent was equally obtuse, though in layman’s English it told a fairly plan story after decoding, ending with a precise time and the call sign Paul had chosen:
“To all stations. Bergen. Today. Bismarck and Prince Eugen have put to sea. Time: 1712. Lonesome Dove.”
Part V
Changes
“Those who expect moments of change to be comfortable and free of conflict have not learned their history.”
“If you want to truly understand something, try to change it.”
Chapter 13
Lieutenant Simms was still on the “Huff Duff” receiving station that evening, a bit bleary eyed from the long day’s work. “Huff Duff” was the handle for HF/DF, the High Frequency Direction Finding equipment that would work in coordination with established “Y stations” and ships at sea to detect and track incoming wireless signals. His net had been full of the usual fish that evening, weather bulletins, convoy traffic, an occasional suspected U-Boat sighting, but at 21:40 hours he picked up an unusual signal.
“Hello,” he said to himself as the coded message came in, loud and clear. “What’s this about?” The signal used proper form and template, though the signalmen indicated “Origin Not Fixed” in the upper check box on this report, time number 17:12. That, in itself, was an oddity, as most traffic crossing Simms’ desk would be well fixed for point of origin. He did note the signal was designated “Sky Wave” and not “Ground Wave” traffic, which could mean a few things. Either it was sent from an aircraft, the most obvious conclusion, or it was a fluke of the weather given its bearing. Sky Wave signals that reflected from ionospheric layers were usually of lower strength and made bearing and range determination unreliable. But Simms noted that, while the signal strength was very high on this intercept, the bearing line was still left blank, filled only with a single question mark.
He nonetheless set about completing the decoding, looking up the closing call sign in his code book to verify it as legitimate. It was one of sixteen independent variable codes allowable that month, ‘Dove.’ The handle would tend to indicate the signal originated from a clandestine operator, yet in this case Sky Wave traffic would be unusual. He picked up his telephone, ringing up the Signalman for more information.
“Just calling on signal bearing for message 1712,” he said. “The field was left blank.”
“Not sure on that one, sir,” came the reply. “We make it somewhere between South 20 East and South 40 East, sir, but it was very brief and we couldn’t get a fix, as there was no triangulation.”
“Very well, Signalman. Be sure to note the field properly on all incoming messages, whether you have a permanent fix of not. Carry on.”
Simms took a brief look at that bearing, noting the heading would be at 220 degrees and take the line right over London. He extended the line in his mind, noting it would cross the channel and strike the French coast near Abbeville, and concluded it might be traffic from a Free French underground operator. Yet he could not be sure, as they would need a second intercept point to triangulate.
He decided to make another call to the Y station desk. “See hear, he said. I’ve a message, number 1712, without proper triangulation and bearing. See if you have anything on it, will you? I’ll hold.”
A minute later the voice at the other end of the line had more data for him. “We get a bearing of 180 true out of Hull, and another at South 40 West out of Norwich. No other stations reporting.”
“Well, well, well,” he said, looking at his chart again. The lines were all intersecting over London! Why would someone be sending from there? He crossed out his presumption note on the first bearing and underlined ‘Source Unknown.’
“I’d best get this to the Admiralty, in any case.”
Minutes later the decoded message was clattering down the tubes in the receiving desk at the Admiralty Citadel. It was opened and passed to a staff officer, who read it with some interest.
“See hear,” he said to the Deputy Chief on duty at the time. “We’ve news on Bismarck! It seems she is reported to have left Bergen after all.”
“What’s that?” The Deputy Chief reached for the signal, reading it, his brow tightening as he scanned the notation. “Source unknown – }
“Sailed from Bergen? How would the Free French know about it then? Wouldn’t this come in from coast watchers in Norway?”
“I would assume as much,” said the staff officer. “That note has been crossed out, sir.”
“Damn sloppy, isn’t it? Well let’s get hold of Air Command and see about a photo run into Bergen. In the meantime, we’d best pass this on to the Admirals. ”
“Right away, sir.”
It was all of an hour later before the telephone rang again at Fleet headquarters, Scapa Flow, the second time that day. Aboard the flagship King George V, Admiral John Tovey’s flag flew proudly in the waning light, and his Chief of Staff, Commodore Patrick “Daddy” Brind answered. The line it came over stretched from the ship out across the Flow via buoys to a land station, and from there down over the Scottish Highlands for the whole of the 500 mile journey to the Admiralty Citadel in London. It had carried the voices and commands of many proud and distinguished men over the years, including Churchill himself when he held the post of First Sea Lord, and now it carried what looked to be a vital report concerning Tovey’s number one headache.
The Bismarck was reported to have left Bergen! There was no confirmation from Air Command as yet, and the source of the message seemed a bit vague, but there it was. “To all stations. Bergen. Today. Bismarck and Prince Eugen have put to sea. Time: 17:12. Lonesome Dove.”