Viktor is scribbling furiously.
His detective novel cast impatiently to one side, as I hover in the radio room doorway.
I don't know how he knows it, length of message, character groupings, or the morse 'signature' of every sender anywhere.
Everyone high or low, Navy, Army or Luftwaffe, 'leans'on the key in an individual manner. Struggles with one character, booms through with the next set, morse keying to the highly trained listener is like listening in on a highly privileged party line.
They have to be decoded yet, but Viktor has already sorted ot the wheat from the chaff.
"Damned weather report requests!" He exclaimed, as a with a sweep of his arm, various bits of paper were consigned to the far reaches of his tiny working space.
"This one, Sir!"
He waggled a lone finger at me, catching my eye
"U- 469! SOS in Clear!"
(Young Stephan on his first patrol with 7th Flotilla)
I turn to shout for Willi, our Quartermaster and Navigation Officer, to find he is already poking his head over my shoulder.
"Plot for U-469's last position. Tell the Chief to stand by for flank speed. More to follow. Move!"
Willi dashed away.
Now Viktor is writing fast. Ignoring his Kapitan, both phones clamped to his ears, staring at the receiver as if it was speaking to him personally
A few low oaths, and the odd muttering as he pencils down the codes, cursing foully against his damp paper
I wait there powerless until he has finished.
"U213, I'd know Wolfie anywhere......"
(That's Max's boat, Hundmann is their signaller.)
"Well, what!" I yell
Only Viktor in his position, and at a time like this could have got away with it.
"Quiet, Sir! It's a long message. Let me hear it all!...."
Lt de Bunsen, U-46
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