Turning the Storm (The After Dunkirk Series Book 3)

by Lee Jackson

  “You think they’ll try to run our blockade?”

  “The Bismarck is useless to the Germans if it doesn’t run it, and it’s a terrible threat to our convoys if it does. But things get worse. We received word from the same sources that two battlecruisers, the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau, had left the Baltic headed our way, and the heavy battlecruiser, Prinz Eugen, had already rounded Iceland.”

  He peered at Claire. “Are you taking this in? It’s a lot.”

  Claire nodded. “I’m with you so far, sir. It’s all so ominous.”

  “Agreed, but I’m told that this haul coming from U110 contains not only an Enigma machine, but also the schedules for changing the settings disks, the courses and positions of current German ships at sea including their submarine wolfpacks, and diagrams showing how the Kriegsmarine sectioned off the Atlantic and assigned fleet and individual ship responsibilities. To have a prayer of keeping our supply lines open across the Atlantic, we must be able to track their ships. We’ve been able to do that to a degree from tracking where their radio transmissions originate, but we’ve not been able to know the content of those transmissions, which in any case are short and infrequent by design. The captured material should allow us to read their position reports to know exactly where they are and where they are going.”

  He caught himself. “Please excuse me. I’m prattling, but if we’re right about Bismarck’s movements and what we’re getting from the Bulldog, the combined value is incalculable. We’ll know where the Bismarck is as well as the position of every ship they put to sea and their planned movements, not to mention the German high command communications, just as we currently do with the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe.

  “If this comes about—the Bulldog haul—we’ll be able to understand key communications as soon as they’re received. Right now, we need access to key information as quickly as possible, particularly pertaining to the Bismarck.

  “So, I’m asking you to come over to Hut 8 and go back to decoding for a spell, until we’ve understood how this Kriegsmarine version of the Enigma machine works and have put our systems in place. I want you here with this team when that material comes in, to bring your combined decoding, linguistic, and analytical skills to bear to help expedite crucial messages forward. It’s an incredible challenge. Are you up to it?”

  Claire’s face expressed both eagerness and concern. “I’m honored that you asked, sir, of course. But that’s a huge responsibility. Are you sure I’m the one for this?”

  “I’m sure, and I’ve already received Director Menzies’ blessing.”

  Claire took a deep breath. “All right, if you’re sure. When would I start?”

  “Now. Your new co-workers will bring you up to speed on details, what’s been done so far, and how they do it. You might recall that before we cracked the Enigma on the non-navy side, we were able to discern troop movements by the frequency, volume, and origin of messages. That’s the level that the Hut 8 group is at now. Once we have in our hands the machine and the data that the Bulldog captured and understand how it works, we can ‘let slip the hounds.’ I’ll want you to concentrate on messages coming to, from, or about the Bismarck and any of its significant support vessels. If you read or deduce anything along those lines, bring it to me immediately. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Can someone put me in the big picture? I’ve focused on enemy ground and air forces in northern France and Berlin, but I know little about what’s going on at sea, aside from what took place at Taranto. I know of the Bismarck, of course, but I don’t understand why it strikes such terror. Isn’t our HMS Hood equal to it?”

  “Excellent question, Miss Littlefield, and one without easy answers. The two ships are of equal length with similar weaponry, but their armaments are quite different. The Hood is a battlecruiser, much lighter, but might not be faster because it’s much older. It’s been our flagship since the last war, and it should have a greater range because of the difference in weight.

  “The Bismarck is incredibly well protected with thick armor, and it’s not agile, but it is fast. Perhaps faster than the Hood, but they’ve never done a footrace.” He smiled wryly at his own humor. “The point is, the Bismarck can take the Hood’s heavy shelling, but is the reverse true? We don’t know the answer to that. Can the Hood maneuver quickly enough in the thick of battle to avoid being pounded by the Bismarck’s huge guns? We don’t know that answer either. So, if the Bismarck breaks out into the Atlantic, the battle that rages will resemble a chess match more than most, moving equivalently weighted pieces strategically to gain an advantage.

  “We must win that battle, or Britain will suffer. The Kriegsmarine has been sinking our supply ships at an abysmal rate. We lost twenty-one merchant vessels in January and fifty-eight in February. That’s against only twelve German U-boats destroyed in all last year. In that same time, we had fifteen million tons of cargo sunk, and thousands of sailors and merchant marines perished.” He took a deep breath. “Mr. Churchill has said that the U-boat threat is the only thing about the war that he’s ever really feared. In February, he came to believe that the nation could face starvation.”

  Claire put her hand to her mouth in astonishment. “I had no idea—"

  Denniston grimaced. “Most people don’t. Despite the Battle of Britain and the blitz, average Britons don’t know how truly precarious our position is. Hitler figures that if he can’t immediately invade, he can lay siege. And think about it, we’re already rationing at one ounce of cheese and a minimal amount of meat per week, eight ounces of jam and margarine per month; and eggs, tomatoes, onions, and oranges have all but disappeared from store shelves.”

  Claire sighed. “I know. Is it possible that the Kriegsmarine is breaking our maritime codes? I mean, if they’re having such success in finding and sinking our ships, that might explain how.”

  Denniston rubbed his chin. “It’s a thought that’s been raised elsewhere, but I don’t think so. Hitler’s got his U-boats out in wolfpacks. They spread across our shipping lanes watching for our convoys. When a submarine captain spots one, he shadows behind it on the surface and calls in the others in his pack. He takes command of the group, positions the other subs, and then they submerge and attack in strength from in front of our ships. We’ve tied up our battleships to protect convoys as a result, and the Germans have figured that out. They’ve learned that by avoiding our warships and attacking our merchant ships, they can starve us, as the führer intends.

  “In the early days of the war, the Kriegsmarine’s surface warships gave us the most problem. Now it’s the submarines; but throw an impregnable Bismarck into the mix with its long-range heavy guns able to target multiple ships at a time and combine it with the ships I mentioned earlier as well as the wolfpacks, and they’ll shut down our shipping. And here’s the worst part—”

  “The worst part, sir?” Claire interjected. “What you’ve just told me is quite bleak.”

  Denniston nodded solemnly. “You can see why capturing this naval Enigma and all the documents is so fortuitous. With them, we’ll be able to steer our convoys around German positions. We must exploit that ability. They’ll find an empty sea where they had expected to destroy another convoy.”

  “You were preparing to tell me the worst part.”

  “Ah, yes. Thanks for reminding me. The worst part.” He leaned close to Claire. “They have a sister ship to the Bismarck, the Tirpitz, nearly set for service. It’s undergoing sea trials now. The pair were bottlenecked in the Baltic to contain the Soviet navy should it attempt to break out of the Baltic, but their strategy might have changed, and the Bismarck might have slipped into the North Sea. That’s bad enough, but if they get those two sister ships out into the Atlantic…” He rolled his eyes, leaving the sentence unfinished. “Our problem has been that we don’t have enough vessels to defend against invasion as well as protect our commercial lanes. Just the Bismarck and the Tirpitz operating together would be a match for the whole of our Home Fleet.”


  His frustration was evident on his face. “All right then,” he said, switching subjects. “I’ll introduce you to Alan Turing and explain your role. He’s a bit eccentric and can sometimes be difficult, but he’s brilliant and completely absorbed in the mathematical and theoretical aspects of codebreaking. He’ll be happy to have the benefit of your experience on his team.”

  Claire chuckled and lifted an eyebrow. “His reputation says otherwise. I hear he’s rather a ‘my way is best’ sort of genius, but I’ll put my best foot forward.” She set a humorously determined expression on her face. “It’s all for the cause, right?”

  Denniston laughed. “You’re a trooper, Miss Littlefield. We’re fortunate to have you on our side.” His demeanor became serious again. “Listen, you’ve proved your worth, and I’ve learned to pay attention to the instincts of good analysts. Last year, Harry Hinsley over in Hut 3 noticed a build-up of radio traffic around Norway. He tried to give warning to the extent of becoming a bother, but no one paid him any attention because he had long hair and was usually disheveled. Had we taken him seriously, we might have been better prepared for Germany’s invasion of Norway and stopped Hitler right then and there. We could have avoided our humiliating evacuation from that country, and Neville Chamberlain might still be the prime minister. Ignoring Hinsley because he was disliked proved ruinous for Great Britain and Chamberlain’s career.”

  He paused in thought. “And by the way, since I mentioned Hinsley, I should tell you that we previously ignored him a year ago when he warned that the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau would sink our aircraft carrier, HMS Glorious. He was right.” He shrugged. “Two points for this twenty-four-year-old upstart to zero for the combined upper echelon of British intelligence.

  “We listen to him closely now, and he proposed a mission into the North Sea off of Iceland that was executed and now appears propitious to our success with this Kriegsmarine version of Enigma. You see, because Germany is farther east, they have a more difficult time in predicting weather, on which every mission counts for success. A while back, we captured a naval trawler with a naval Enigma, but by the time we boarded, the crew had tossed it overboard.

  “That set Hinsley thinking that the Kriegsmarine must be keeping weather-monitoring trawlers off the coast of Iceland and that they must be sending their weather reports via coded messages. And of course, now we know that they were doing exactly that, and that these weather trawlers were manned by civilian crews.

  “Hinsley suggested that if we were to execute a rapid raid against such a craft, the crew might, in their haste, throw the machine and codebooks overboard but forget to throw out the settings disks for the following months. He guessed that the disks might be held separately for safekeeping, probably in a safe, emphasizing that the mission should be conducted to look like an errant boarding, and the scuttling of the boat to look as though it had been done by the crew.

  “It turns out Hinsley was right on all counts, and four days ago, we executed exactly that mission with precisely the result he predicted. We got the disks.”

  Denniston suddenly looked at Claire sharply. “You do understand that the settings in Enigma change periodically, and that is done by putting in new disks. On German naval vessels, that’s once a month. If we have the machine and the settings, we can decode their messages.”

  “That gets to be more technical than I need, but I’m familiar with the concept.”

  “Hmm, yes. Well, I’m not sure if the lesson is that we should be more open to eccentricities or if eccentrics should try harder to be like the rest of us in how they present themselves. Seems like there ought to be some middle ground, but in any event, we must be diligent in digging out intelligence and communicating it. You’ve demonstrated your ability to do both. Let’s put you to work.”

  “Thank you, sir. I hope not to disappoint anyone.”

  “Come along then. I’ll introduce you.”

  “Wait, sir. There’s one other thing I should bring to your attention.”

  Denniston’s brows lifted, and he stared at Claire. “Bad news?”

  “I’d say uncertain news. We don’t have confirmation yet, but messages transmitted indicate that Hitler is shifting his bombing forces east in anticipation of his push into the Soviet Union. If correct, that should mean that nightly bombing of London and the rest of Great Britain is over.”

  The commander held Claire’s steady gaze. “Could that be possible?”

  “I think it might. Hitler is coming up against the grim reality that his resources are not limitless, and his priority for the moment seems to be shifting away from defeating us in our homeland.”

  Denniston raised his eyes heavenward as if sending a prayer. “Let’s hope you’re right, Miss Littlefield. That would be stupendous news.”

  50

  May 15, 1941

  London, England

  Major Crockatt scrutinized Jeremy. “So, you’re ready to come back to the fold?”

  “I am, sir. The nightly bombings have stopped for the most part, the campaign to destroy the RAF ended eight months ago—”

  “The air war goes on in other places.”

  “Yes, sir, but Hitler’s immediate effort to destroy Britain seems to have been frustrated, at least for now, and I promised to return when the Battle of Britain was over. I think it’s over.”

  “Well, Flight Lieutenant, you know the RAF was about to promote you.”

  “I know, sir. I’d still rather be where I can do the most good.”

  Crockatt chuckled. “Don’t you mean that you’d rather be where you can get back to France?”

  Jeremy blushed. “If you want me to confess that I’d welcome the chance to see Amélie, I’ll gladly do it. However, that’s not my guiding reason.” He took a deep breath. “I feel indebted to Ferrand Boulier. I owe him my life.”

  Crockatt crossed his arms, shrugged, and arched his brow. “You went back and saved his. I’d say the balance is equal, and I’m sure he saw things the same way.”

  Jeremy nodded. “He didn’t have to go out into that storm to rescue me, and doing it cost him his home, separation from his daughters, and finally, his life. I have to try to do for France what he can no longer do. The country is still important to winning the war, or we wouldn’t have formed the SOE.”

  “Of course it’s important, and we host the Free French under Charles De Gaulle right here in London. But this is a world war. Some people already call it the second world war, and we’re fighting in Africa and Asia, on the ground and in the air.”

  Jeremy regarded the major with a puzzled look. “Are you saying that you don’t want me to come back to MI-9?”

  Crockatt smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. We’d welcome you back. But let’s be sure you’re using good judgment, limited though your choices might be.”

  “Sir, any choice I make will put me in danger. I doubt whether my skin will stop a bullet any better in North Africa or East Asia than it does in France.”

  “Touché, but you’ve got two personal interests across the Channel—Amélie in Marseille, and your brother in Colditz.”

  “I haven’t let personal interests interfere before, and I’ve given no reason to believe I would start now.”

  “Granted, but you’re asking to come back to MI-9. We have trained teams in France now. Their main objective is to help escaping prisoners evade capture. Quite a bit has developed since you left us nearly a year ago. When was that, last July?”

  Feeling lightly reprimanded, Jeremy pursed his lips and nodded. “Late July.”

  “Then let me give you a sense of the lay of the land, to use a ground soldier’s terminology. If you stay in the RAF, you’ll soon be elevated to flight leader, and my guess is you’d have your pick of several assignments, most probably in North Africa or East Asia.

  “You’ve already been in ground combat and on two covert missions, so I won’t go over what that entails, but you were untrained for either role. We won’t send you back to France witho
ut training, which at this point means three months.”

  Jeremy started to protest, but Crockatt held up his hand. “We have the luxury of more time at present. We didn’t when we sent you out before.”

  “But sir, I’ve gained more experience.”

  “In flying, yes, and you’re an ace and one of Cat’s Eyes mates. We’re all jolly proud of you. But the way that people’s lives will rely on you is different. We know that you can do the job, but what you don’t know could make a difference. We don’t know what that is, and neither do you.”

  When he saw residual stubbornness in Jeremy’s eyes, he added, “I’m sorry to put it to you this way, old boy, but that is our best offer, and I’m sure you’ll find both SOE and MI-6 equally as insistent. I doubt that the RAF would release you to either of those sections anyway. They’re not happy about letting you return to us, but that was the agreement I made with former Air Chief Marshal Dowding, and we put it in writing. As it was, I had to give him a jingle and get him to intervene with a call to his replacement to even consider your request to return.”

  Jeremy inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “Three months, eh?”

  Leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, Crockatt affirmed with a slight nod.

  “All right, then. When do I start?”

  Crockatt smiled. “How about Monday, Captain. Today is Thursday. Take a long weekend to see your sister and little Timmy. I’ll have Vivian get word to you—”

  “Sir, I was a lieutenant when I left here.”

  “You’ll be a captain come Monday morning,” Crockatt said, smiling. “The promotion is well deserved. Congratulations, and welcome back.”

  Jeremy beamed. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”