‘RKB has just asked me to liaise with you,’ Elsie stated.
‘Take a seat.’
Elsie sat beside her on the hard wooden bench—some rejected church pew by the look and feel of it, and Aileen thought for a moment. ‘RKB has just got back from Air Ministry and it looks as though we’re in for a bit of a stint. From information gleaned ‘from a reliable source’ we’ve had word that the Luftwaffe are making a five-night window around the full moon in which to launch a large-scale attack on an English city, code-named Moonlight Sonata. It’s believed that every bomber in the Luftwaffe will be used in the raid, as will the new X-Gerät night navigational beams.’ She glanced up at the large clock on the wall—almost two-thirty in the afternoon. ‘For the last hour, we’ve been picking up radio beam activity but the final direction of the beam seems yet to have been set.’
‘So we don’t know the target?’ Elsie asked.
‘Not yet, no,’ Aileen confirmed, drinking some cocoa before continuing. ‘We’ve launched Operation Cold Water—both offensive and defensive measures against the attack. We’re going to target the airfields in France, Holland and Belgium, attack the X-Gerät stations at Cherbourg and Calais, interfere with the frequency of the navigational beams and have maximum night-fighters and anti-aircraft guns ready for when they reach our coast. But… all of this relies upon getting as much information as possible, fast. So, we need our best operator to oversee proceedings today—you.’
‘Me?’ Elsie parroted.
‘Yes, you,’ Aileen said. She looked perplexed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re surprised. Nothing gets past you. Nothing. And anything that gets past anyone else, you set about it like a dog with a bone.’
Elsie laughed, flattered. Unlike Violet, this had become her life and she couldn’t imagine it any other way. ‘Right, I’d better get on with it, then.’
She left the Unintelligent Office and began a slow meaningful circuit of all dozen wireless operators, taking time to examine their log books for the past few hours. Worryingly, however, there was little to read in each book. She stepped back, taking in the room as a whole. None of the operators were transcribing; all had a hand to their headsets, slowly edging the dials on their receivers, in search of the first signal. This in itself was significant: seldom were the airwaves entirely silent. Tonight’s full moon looked to be bringing with it a night of unprecedented destruction.
‘Doesn’t look good, does it?’ a voice that she recognised as belonging to Jean Conan Doyle whispered from behind her.
Without turning, Elsie shook her head. ‘No, ma’am, it doesn’t.’
‘How are you holding up?’ Jean asked, standing beside Elsie and looking her up and down. ‘You look different.’
Elsie flushed and sucked in her tummy, as she met Jean’s gaze. ‘Just the usual story—tiredness.’
Jean nodded in agreement and went to speak but stopped herself when the telephone sounded from inside the Intelligence Office. Both women spun around to see RKB reach for the phone.
He muttered something, frowned, then nudged the door shut with his foot.
Jean darted into the office and, as she opened the door, Elsie caught a snatch of RKB’s conversation. Just one word from the three or four, that she had heard before the door had once again closed, had plunged a hot spear of fear through her core, searing her heart and flipping her stomach. Coventry.
Her thoughts went into turmoil, leaping from one horror scenario to another. She stared through the pane of glass in the door, trying to catch anything of the conversation taking place between RKB and the caller. But it was impossible. She clenched her fists; the pain of her nails digging into her palm being the only guard against storming into the Intelligence Office and demanding to know what was going on.
Finally, RKB set down the phone receiver. He swept his hair over and perched down on the edge of his desk, informing Jean about whatever he had just learned.
Elsie imagined the X-Gerät beam as a physical entity, shining like a gigantic yellow torch over the city. She pictured her parents cowering under the light of the beam in the backyard of her grandparents’ tiny terraced house. They didn’t even have an Anderson shelter, for goodness’ sake. And the last letter from her mother had said that they rarely went to the public shelters because of her father’s disapproval of their lack of sanitation.
‘Cooee! Elsie!’ It was Jean, waving her hand at her.
‘Sorry,’ Elsie said, trying to draw up a smile.
‘Come in here a moment, would you.’ Jean stepped back, allowed Elsie inside, then closed the door behind her.
RKB swept his hair over again and sighed. His eyes locked with Elsie’s. ‘Listen, Elsie, we’ve just heard from Number Eighty Wing with the probable location for tonight’s raids: I’m afraid it’s Coventry.’
Elsie took the news with a fresh stab to her insides. She nodded, unable to speak. She knew the protocol, knew that she wouldn’t be allowed to warn her parents.
‘Your family are there, aren’t they?’ Jean asked softly, touching Elsie’s arm.
‘Yes,’ Elsie muttered. ‘My mother and father are there, looking after my grandmother. Can I try and get word to them…’
RKB shook his head. ‘You know we can’t allow it,’ he said firmly.
Tears welled in Elsie’s eyes. She knew that it was hopeless. ‘Please—they’re my parents,’ she sobbed. Then an idea came to her. She wiped her tears with her handkerchief. ‘What if I contacted the local ARP warden and told him to get a message to them urgently—I wouldn’t say what—’
‘No, Elsie,’ Jean interrupted. ‘We simply can’t. It would create hysteria and mass panic and we simply cannot allow it to be known by the Luftwaffe that we knew about the—’
‘—But I
