Karl brushed his lips across Millie’s shoulder. Part of him knew he should let her sleep. She’d somehow finagled a last-minute day off, but she had a night shift coming up. Waking her early would make it harder for her to stay alert all night long. But he had to leave soon to catch his train for Devonport. When their time together was measured in minutes, it didn’t seem so wrong to wake her.
Millie’s shoulder moved, and she rolled toward him. “Is it time for you to leave already?” Her soft, sleepy voice was like a caress.
“Soon. I know I shouldn’t wake you, but . . . well, I’m going to miss you.” They’d gone to a dance, tried out the local pubs, ridden bicycles, and spent a great deal of time in each other’s arms, but it hadn’t been enough.
Her fingers ran along his arm. “I might be able to forgive you for waking me if you give me a very thorough kiss.”
“I have time for more than a kiss, so maybe plan the first is I kiss you and let you fall back asleep. And plan the second . . .” he whispered into her ear, inhaling her warmth and the lingering scent of yesterday’s perfume, and then he planted a pair of soft kisses between her ear and jawline.
Millie snuggled into him. “I like plan the second.”
Sometime later, Karl left for the train station, running a little so he wouldn’t miss his train. Showing up to training late would put a black mark on his navy career, and enemy aliens couldn’t afford any black marks. Maybe a lingering goodbye hadn’t been the most prudent of his options, but he had no regrets.
* * *
Millie woke alone in the hotel room she’d shared with Karl and grabbed his pillow, trying to catch every last bit of him, even if all that remained was the slightest hint of shaving soap and toothpaste. Coding school wasn’t as long as his initial training had been, and he might have leave before he was assigned to a warship. She might see him again in four weeks.
Four weeks felt like an eternity. And their time together would evaporate as quickly as a spilled canteen on the African desert. Love plus war equaled pain. But also moments of passion, the comfort of knowing she was loved and understood, and a reason to keep doing her best at trying to crack a seemingly unbreakable cipher.
She arrived early for her shift at Bletchley Park. A year ago, arriving early had given the new shift time to catch up on the progress made by the previous one. The need for that was smaller now because success remained elusive. Yet when she arrived, the atmosphere in Hut Eight seemed different than usual—as busy and rushed as she was accustomed to, but she detected more hope and less despair.
“M-m-mrs. Eckerstorfer, you missed the news.” Mr. Turing handed her a book with pink pages printed in red ink.
“What’s this?”
“The c-c-codebook for German w-weather reports.”
U-boats sent frequent weather reports to their headquarters. If BP could read those transmissions, they’d have a better idea of what the U-boats were saying in all their other messages. “A current one?”
Mr. Turing nodded with a satisfied smile. “I expect you’ll have some c-c-cribs for us soon?”
Millie nodded. Mr. Turing had begun walking away before Millie found her voice again. “Where did it come from?”
Mr. Turing gave a slight shrug. “M-m-maybe a pinch . . . m-maybe the Poles.”
Millie had heard him use that exact phrase before on another curious codebreaker. Wherever the codebook had come from, it was secret, and Millie didn’t need to know that secret in order to do her job, so she would be given no answer. But if it was a current codebook . . . there weren’t many explanations for how it might have arrived in Bletchley Park. Either it had been stolen from U-boat headquarters, or it had been stolen from a U-boat. Pinched by the British or pinched by one of their allies. Each possibility seemed far-fetched, but the proof was in Millie’s hands.
She didn’t forget Karl and go to work. She remembered him and the likelihood that he might soon be tangling with U-boats again, and she put all her efforts into using the codebook as a lever to crack open the German ciphers.
* * *
A few days later, scraps of German weather reports covered Millie’s desk. U-boats condensed their weather reports into a short weather cipher, then ran the messages through their Enigma machines. Then the meteorological stations that received those reports decoded them before using their own codes to send them on. Perhaps someone thought having two codes was more secure than having one, but at Bletchley Park, two codes provided double the opportunities to crack a message. Once the meteorological station’s code was broken, Millie had a good idea of what the original message, encrypted with the Shark Enigma code, would have said, giving the bombe machines a place to start as they ran through all the possible settings in which the suspected text might be the actual text.
When the phone call came, Millie answered and took down the settings given by the bombe operator. A stop on the machine didn’t mean they had broken the code, but it meant they’d found a possibility that encoded the crib without any of the letters encrypting as themselves. Millie used the settings from the bombe’s latest stop to adjust a Typex machine that had been modified to imitate an Enigma, selecting the correct rotors, putting them in the proper order, modifying how they aligned with each other, then choosing the right starting position. Then she typed out the encrypted message. She needed to type but a handful of letters to recognize that only gibberish appeared on the printed tape. Nothing German, in words or abbreviations.
She frowned, but then the phone rang again. Another stop. Another setting to test. And this time, the text that printed across the tape read the wind speed, atmospheric pressure, and temperature at the latest position of Kommandant Baumann’s U-boat. Millie’s breath caught with a surge of gratitude and relief and triumph.
“I think we’re in,” Millie said to the rest of the watch. The information itself might be insignificant, but now that they knew the day’s inner and outer settings for the Enigma machine, the rest of the day’s messages would be relatively simple to decrypt. And those other messages might yield information that would be key in saving a convoy or sinking a U-boat.
Word spread around the hut with an almost tangible elation. Some of the men and women took the information and immediately went to work. Others allowed themselves a few moments of celebration before joining them. February to December, an awfully long time for German U-boat messages to remain unread, but once again, Shark was cracked. She knew what that meant to everyone in Hut Eight who had been working so hard for so long to read the enemy’s transmissions, and she knew what it would mean for Karl and every other Allied sailor on the Atlantic.
The next week flew by as Millie and the others in Hut Eight continued to break open the U-boat cipher. Uncle Silas came. He said very little and smiled a great deal, so Millie assumed the information was being used to route convoys to safety.
Then a week of night watches came. They had never been her favorite shift, but this one left her even more drained than usual. She woke the day after a particularly busy shift and checked the time. Nine. Could that be right? She held her watch up to her ear to make sure it hadn’t stopped working. Then she tugged a small sliver of the blackout curtain free to look outside. Blackness met her eyes. Had she really slept eleven hours? The intensity of her work the last week had been high, but eleven hours? That wasn’t like her, not even when she was tired.
Shirley was in the kitchen when Millie made her way there. “Hungry?”
“Not really, but I suppose I ought to have breakfast. I can’t believe I slept so long.”
Shirley took a sip of tea. The cup covered her mouth, but not before Millie caught what looked an awful lot like a smirk.
“What?”
Shirley put the cup down. “Do you think you’re falling ill?”
“No. Other than being completely exhausted, I feel fine. No congestion. No sore throat. No headache.”
“And your appetite?”
“Nothing sounds appealing at the moment, but you know how it goes when we’re working nights. Supper foods at breakfast time and breakfast foods at supper time and the cafeteria is not at its best in the wee small hours.”
“Mmm hmm.” Shirley poured Millie a cup of tea. “And usually by the week’s end, you’re craving anything salty.”
Millie nodded. Odd meal schedules plus night shifts equaled a desire to eat peanuts or toast with anchovy paste. But that could change depending on whether she was menstruating. She was probably due. She hadn’t given the matter much thought, but she couldn’t remember having a period in November . . . or in October, for that matter.
Oh. Millie chuckled softly because she was fairly certain what a pair of missed periods plus exhaustion plus a reduced appetite added up to. “I wonder if maybe I’m . . .”
Shirley gave her a pointed look when Millie trailed off. “I’ve suspected as much for a few weeks.”
Millie put her fingers on the teacup, feeling the warmth from the liquid inside. “Well, it’s not really unexpected, I suppose. I’ve been married for almost four months, and well . . .” She ran a hand along her neck. “Karl and I are always happy to see each other.”
A baby. The thought made her smile. She was certain it would make Karl smile too. They wanted children. Maybe the middle of a war wasn’t the best time to start a family, but when they’d married, they’d decided the war wouldn’t dictate their lives. “I think I have a letter to write before we ride off to work.”
* * *
18th December 1942
Dearest Karl,
Do you remember when you spoke about setting up train tracks and building doll houses? Well, I think you’ll have a reason to next year sometime. Or maybe not until a few years after because babies don’t really play with toys right away.
This will change everything, won’t it? Life will be a little more complicated, our budget a little more strained. I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch a train at a moment’s notice when you come into port. I’m not even sure if I’ll still be able to work. But even when I worry about how we’ll manage everything, the emotion I most feel is joy. Two people in love plus God’s blessing equals a little one.
I don’t suppose there’s any point wondering if it will be a boy or girl, have your eyes or mine, dark hair or fair. Do you think we’ll have to wait until the baby is born before we’ll be granted clothing rations? I don’t want to be entirely unprepared when the baby comes.
I slept far too much today, and soon, I need to head in for another night shift. This week has left me more tired than usual. I suppose that’s one more thing that has changed.
You’ll write to me soon, won’t you? I’m eager to hear what you have to say.
Love,
Millie