Enigma

he loved. He stood with his feet planted firmly apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He was Nelson before Trafalgar. He was Churchill in the Blitz. 'I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say this could be one of the most decisive nights of the war.' His gaze sought out each of them in turn, corning last of all to Jericho and sliding away with a flicker of distaste. 'A mighty battle—probably the greatest convoy battle of the war—is about to start. Lieutenant Cave?'
    'According to the Admiralty,' said Cave, 'at nineteen hundred hours this evening, convoys HX-229 and SC-122 were both warned they had entered the presumed operational area of the U-boats.'
    'There we are, then. “Out of this nettle, danger, may we pluck this flower, safety.”' Skynner nodded abruptly. 'Go to it.'
    'Haven't I heard that before somewhere?' said Baxter.
    'Henry IV Part One.' Atwood yawned. 'Chamberlain quoted it before he went off to meet Herr Hitler.'
    After Skynner had gone, Logie went round the room handing out copies of the convoy contact section of the Short Signal Code Book. To Jericho, as a mark of recognition, he gave the precious original.
    'We're after convoy contact reports, gentlemen: as many of them as possible in the twenty-four hours between midnight tonight and midnight tomorrow—in other words, the maximum amount of crib covering one day's Enigma settings.'
    The instant an E-bar signal was heard, the duty officer of the receiving station would telephone to alert them. When the contact report arrived by teleprinter a minute later, ten copies would be made and distributed. No fewer than twelve bombes—Logie had the personal guarantee of the Hut 6 bombe controller—would be placed at their disposal the moment they had a worthwhile menu to run.
    As he finished his speech, the blackout shutters began to be fixed to the windows and the hut battened down for the night.
    'So, Tom,' said Puck pleasantly. 'How many contact reports do you think we will need for this scheme of yours to succeed?'
    Jericho was leafing through the Short Signal Code Book. He glanced up. 'I tried to work it out yesterday. I'd say about thirty.'
    'Thirty?' repeated Pinker, his voice rising in horror. 'But that would m-m-mean a mmm-mmm-mmm -'
    'Massacre?'
    'Massacre. Yes.'
    'How many U-boats would be needed to produce thirty signals?' asked Puck.
    Jericho said: 'I don't know. That would depend on the time between the initial sighting and the start of the attack. Eight. Perhaps nine.'
    'Nine,' muttered Kingcome. 'Christ! Your move, Jack.'
    'Will someone tell me, then, please,' said Puck, 'for what I am supposed to be hoping? Am I hoping that the U-boats find these convoys or not?'
    'Not,' said Pinker, looking round the table for support. 'Obviously. We w-w-want the convoys to escape the U-boats. That's what this is all about.'
    Kingcome and Proudfoot nodded but Baxter shook his head violently. His cigarette disintegrated, sprinkling shreds of tobacco down the front of his cardigan. 'Damn it,' he said.
    'You'd really s-s-sacrifice a c-c-convoy?' asked Pinker.
    'Of course.' Baxter carefully brushed the loose tobacco into his palm. 'For the greater good. How many men has Stalin had to sacrifice so far? Five million? Ten million? The only reason we're still in the war is the butcher's bill on the eastern front. What's a convoy in comparison, if it gets us back into Shark?'
    'What do you say, Tom?'
    'I don't have an answer. I'm a mathematician, not a moral philosopher.'
    'Bloody typical,' said Baxter.
    'No, no, in terms of moral logic, Tom's is actually the only rational reply,' said Atwood. He had laid aside his Greek. This was the sort of discussion he liked. 'Consider. A madman seizes both your children at knife-point and says to you: “One must die, make your choice.” Towards whom do you direct your reproaches? Towards yourself, for having to make a decision? No. Towards the madman, surely?'
    Jericho said, staring at Puck: 'But that analogy doesn't answer Puck's point about what one should hope for.'
    'Oh, but I would argue that that is precisely what it does answer, in that it rejects the premise of his question: the presumption that the onus is on us to make a moral choice. Quod erat demonstrandum.'
    'Nobody can split a hair f-finer than F-Frank,' said Pinker, admiringly.
    '“The presumption that the onus is on us to make a moral choice,”' repeated Puck. He smiled across the table at Jericho. 'How very Cambridge. Excuse me. I think I must