Beginning at the top of page 70 of the book, he looked along the line of print for the letter H. It was the tenth character, discounting every fifth letter. In his code it would therefore be represented by the tenth letter of the alphabet, J. Next he needed an A. In the book, the third letter after the H was an A. The A of HAVE would therefore be represented by the third letter of the alphabet, C. There were special ways of dealing with rare letters, like X.
This type of code was a variation on the one time pad, the only kind of code which was unbreakable in theory and in practice. To decode the message a listener had to have both the book and the key.
When he had encoded his message he looked at his watch. He was to transmit at midnight. He had a couple of hours before he needed to warm up the radio. He poured another glass of champagne and decided to finish the caviar. He found a spoon and picked up the pot. It was empty. Sonja had eaten it all.
The runway was a strip of desert hastily cleared of camel thorn and large rocks. Rommel looked down as the ground came up to meet him. The Storch, a light aircraft used by German commanders for short trips around the battlefield, came down like a fly, its wheels on the ends of long, spindly front legs. The plane stopped and Rommel jumped out.
The heat hit -him first, then the dust. It had been relatively cool, up in the sky; now he felt as if he had stepped into a furnace. He began to perspire immediately. As soon as he breathed in, a thin layer of sand coated his lips and the end of his tongue. A fly settled on his big nose, and he brushed it away.
Von Mellenthin, Rommel's Ic-intelligence officer-ran toward him across the sand, his high boots kicking up dusty clouds. He looked agitated.
'Kesselring's here,' he said.
'Auch, das noch,' said Rommel. 'That's all I need.'
Kesselring, the smiling field marshal, represented everything Rommel disliked in the German armed forces. He was a General Staff officer, and Rommel hated the General Staff; he was a founder of the Luftwaffe, which had let Rommel down so often in the desert war; and he was-worst of all-a snob. One of his acid comments had gotten back to Rommel. Complaining that Rommel was rude to his subordinate officers, Kesselring had said:
'It might be worth speaking to him about it, were it not that he's a Wuerttemberger.' Wuerttemberg was the provincial state where Rommel was born, and the remark epitomized the prejudice Rommel had been fighting all his career.
He stumbled across the sand toward the command vehicle, with von Niellenthin in tow. 'General Cruewell has been captured,' von Mellenthin said. 'I had to ask Kesselring to take over. He's spent the afternoon trying to find out where you were.'
'Worse and worse,' Rommel said sourly.
They entered the back of the command vehicle, a huge truck. The shade was welcome. Kesselring was bent over a map, brushing away flies with his left hand while tracing a line with his right. He looked up and smiled.
'My dear Rommel, thank heaven you're back,' he said silkily.
Rommel took off his cap. 'I've been fighting a battle,' he grunted.
'So I gather. What happened?'
Rommel pointed to the map. 'This is the Gazala Line.' It was a string of fortified 'boxes' linked by minefields which ran from the coast at Gazala due south into the desert for fifty miles. 'We made a dogleg around the southern end of the line and hit them from behind.'
'Good idea. What went wrong?'
'We ran out of gasoline and ammunition.' Rommel sat down heavily, suddenly feeling very tired. 'Again,' he added. Kesselring, as commander in chief (South), was responsible for Rommel's supplies, but the field marshal seemed not to notice the implied criticism.
An orderly came in with mugs of tea on a tray. Rommel sipped his. There was sand in it.
Kesselring spoke in a conversational tone. 'I've had the unusual experience, this afternoon, of taking the role of one of your subordinate commanders.'
Rommel grunted. There was some piece of sarcasm coming, he could tell. He did not want to fence with Kesselring now, he wanted to think about the battle.
Kesselring went on: 'I found it enormously difficult, with my hands tied by subordination to a headquarters that issued no orders and could not be reached.'
'I was at the heart of the battle, giving my orders on the spot.'
'Still, you might have stayed in touch.'
'That's the way the British fight,' Rommel snapped. 'The generals are miles behind the lines, staying in touch. But I'm winning. if rd had my supplies, I'd be in Cairo now.'
'You're not going to Cairo,' Kesselring said sharply. 'You're going to Tobruk. There you'll stay until I've taken Malta. Such are the Fuehrers orders.'
'Of course.' Rommel was not going to reopen that argument; not yet. Tobruk was the immediate objective. Once that fortified port was taken, the convoys from Europe inadequate though they were-could come directly to the front line, cutting out the long journey across the desert which used so much gasoline. 'And to reach Tobruk we have to break the Oazala Line.'
'What's your next step?'
'I'm going to fall back and regroup.' Rommel saw Kesselring raise his eyebrows: the field marshal knew how Rommel hated to retreat
'And what will the enemy do?' Kesselring directed the question to von Mellenthin, who as Ic was responsible for detailed assessment of the enemy position.
'They will chase us, but not immediately.' said von Mellenthin. 'They are always slow to press an advantage, fortunately. But sooner or later they will try a breakout.'
