Fraser-Brown rarely attracted a second look from men who were hungry for female company, but she understood that her asset was hidden away, a powerful brain secreted behind a plain face.
As did her contemporaries and overseers, who understood the beauty of an incisive mind.
Lieutenant-Commander Trelawny read the rough text of the conversation and grunted by way of thanks, moving over to a board where the ‘listeners’ and those who interpreted the conversations posted their suspicions.
Encouraging the visitor forward, Trelawny handed him the message and then examined the board.
“We know that only one important location has been lost this morning, and that is Erkelenz, so that confirms our belief,” he tapped the chalk notation indicating the codeword ‘Akula’.
His guest passed back the form without comment.
“Clearly, Akula-Three is within the same district, and the speaker mentions Wegburg, which fits the bill quite nicely I think.”
The ‘Westphalia’ board was nestled in the middle of a set of nine such displays, each carrying its own set of definites and possibles, all products of the intelligence game.
Four of the boards had red areas, inside which were items of information that the Allies’ pet spies had told Moscow were known to Allied Intelligence.
That side operation was one of the main reasons that Sir Roger Marais Dalziel was present in Station X, checking that the game was still being played according to his rules, and those who had been caught still observed the niceties of their position, niceties that kept them from the hangman’s noose.
One board, that of the group of enemy units suspected of planning to attack southwards into Northern Italy, remained virtually blank.
That also told them something, as that much military hardware never stays silent without good reason.
The ‘what’s and where’s’ caused the Allied Intelligence community a great deal of angst.
None the less, Rear Admiral Dalziel was still buoyed by his previous meeting with the code breakers.
Operation Venona, based mainly in the States, had presented Bletchley Park with a morsel of information, a snippet of enemy code that was recognisable, and on which the machines had worked incessantly.
Today, in the breaking dawn, the Colossus machines had presented the Allies with the ability to read much of the new NKVD code.
As soon as he had completed his business in Bletchley, Dalziel had a date with a transport aircraft for a ride to Versailles.
“You come at a bad time, Sir Roger.”
Even to a man more used to naval engagements, that fact had been obvious from the moment he alighted from his staff car.
SHAEF staff were running in all directions, some obviously charged with important business, others seemingly milling in panic.
Eisenhower turned back to the map, not waiting for a response, exchanging urgent whispers with Bedell-Smith.
The situation map reflected a Soviet surge, the front spectacularly sundered in four places and folding badly in two others.
Bedell-Smith hurried away, ready to carry out the decisions that Eisenhower had just passed on.
Ike resorted to his standard psychological prop, the smoke stinging the eyes of the non-smoking Englishman.
“Is it as bad as it looks, Sir?” the question came from a man who had witnessed the first days on ‘The Bulge’, so he had seen chaos recorded on a map before.
“Actually, I don’t think so, Sir Roger. Sure, they have hurt us, and we will be going back some, but we have new formations, experienced men, formed ready to go. They still have a supply problem, and you can bet your hat that the Air force will mess that up some more.”
Dalziel nodded his understanding.
“So, I can give you a few minutes. What brings you here, Sir Roger?”
“This, Sir.”
The Naval Intelligence Officer handed over a report heavy with the symbolism of extreme secrecy, some of which Eisenhower had seen only a handful of times previously.
“What sort of dynamite have you got here, Sir Roger?”
“The extremely useful kind, Sir.”
Opening the folder, Eisenhower’s first impression was one of disorganisation, the Cyrillic text made more meaningless by being clumped in groups of three to five letters.
The next page was better presented, the same Cyrillics overmarked and grouped, with roman text bracketed above each code set.
“Damn. Is this for real, Sir Roger?”
“Absolutely, Sir, the machines made the breakthrough yesterday. We have back-checked, and our decryption works across the board.”
Leaning forward and lowering his voice, the British Admiral’s sense of the dramatic lent weight to the document in Ike’s hands.
“Sir, we now possess the means to read all NKVD radio messages across the range of their departments. Specifically, the reports in that folder cover many of the Railroad protection units in the Ukraine, complete with schedules and provisions for defence.”
No further information was needed; Eisenhower understood perfectly.
“Sir, if I may,” Dalziel fished in the back of the folder and produced a double-sided sheet of paper.
“Sir, this is a message from the Senior NKVD officer in the 2nd Red Banner Army, firstly detailing the assignment of the prisoner Amanin to a penal unit.”
The enthusiastic nodding spurred Dalziel on.
“It then details the security units that will protect the extremely important shipment for 2nd Red Banner Army,” Dalziel paused as Eisenhower’s eyes rose to the situation board, his memory confirmed by the large sign on the map.
“Damn!”
“Anne-Marie!”, the nearby Major moved quickly to her commander’s side.
“Please get Marshal Tedder, Generals Vietinghoff, Bedell-Smith, and Robertson. Tell them I want to see them immediately in my office.”
The Canadian Women’s Army Corps officer saluted and sped away on her mission.
“Can this information be consistently presented in time for us to act on it?”
“Sir, we can set up a radio system at best. Failing that, messages can be on your desk less than two hours from when the Soviets sent it.”
Eisenhower held out a steady hand, directing the Naval officer to somewhere quieter.
“Shall we, Sir Roger?”
The two disappeared into the private office, joined, within four minutes, by the chosen men.
The value of the new intelligence was grasped quickly, and the group broke up, each man understanding that the Allies had been handed an excellent opportunity to hurt the enemy, and how much depended on their ability to use it quickly and effectively.
Chapter 92 – THE EAGLES
Our greatest glory is not in never failing, but in rising up every time we fail.
Around him, the headquarters buzzed with low voices, but the Corps Commander’s attention was elsewhere.
Lieutenant General Matthew Ridgeway examined the situation map, his battered corps reflected in the coloured markings spread across eastern Holland.
The only formation available to plug the gap had been the 18th Airborne Corps, so, though it pained him beyond measure, Eisenhower had sent the Paratroopers into the fight, immersing them in a battle for which they were not designed.
Ridgeway ran his fingers over the maps contours, the rivers, the roads, and the villages, his face steady as his mind worked the problems raised by the Soviet breakthroughs.