James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“ A Midsummer Night’s Dream ,” Kaz said. “It is difficult to escape the Bard, it seems.”

“I didn’t know that,” Kay replied. “I thought it was just one of those things people said. I’m off, loads of work to do.” She gave us a wave and departed, a smile on her lips. Kay was a beautiful woman and had the virtue of always being happy and upbeat, or so it seemed. She could light up a room and coax a laugh out of the grumpiest of brass hats. I could see why the general liked having her around. I did.

“Have a seat, boys,” Uncle Ike said, taking one of the armchairs. Kaz and I sat on the couch opposite Harding and the general. The aroma of coffee filled the room, and after the long, mysterious morning, it smelled like salvation. I waited until Uncle Ike lifted his cup, then went for mine. He nodded to Harding, who managed to take one sip before he launched into his speech.

“As you can imagine, planning for the invasion of Europe is a huge undertaking; one that requires that hundreds of people know where and when the landings will take place. Some know both, others know pieces of the picture, based on the work they need to do. Everyone with any need to know these details has gone through security clearances and been assigned to the BIGOT list. If you’re a BIGOT, you know some or all of the secrets of D-Day.”

“Why are they called ‘bigots’?” Kaz asked.

“It’s a term the British used, even before we were in the war,” Uncle Ike said. “Stands for British Invasion of German Occupied Territory. A bit outdated at this point, but it stuck.” He lit another cigarette and looked to Harding to continue.

“You two are now on the BIGOT list,” Harding said. “Not because we’re going to tell you any secrets, but because they may come up in the course of your investigation.”

“That’s fine, Colonel,” I said, “but what are we investigating?”

“You saw how badly LST 289 was hit. Unfortunately, two other LSTs, the 507 and the 531, got it worse. Both were sunk in the Channel out in Lyme Bay as they were headed to Slapton Sands. German E-boats caught the tail end of the Operation Tiger convoy and chewed them up.”

“The guy on the 289 was a BIGOT,” I said, the truth finally dawning on me.

“Yes,” Harding said. “There were a total of ten BIGOTs on the boats that were attacked. We need to be certain none of them have fallen into German hands.”

“It would change everything,” Uncle Ike said. “It’s no secret that spring is invasion season. If the Germans got hold of a BIGOT and made him talk, it would endanger the entire invasion, or force its postponement. Either would be a catastrophe.”

“Why were so many BIGOTs on those three LSTs?” I said. “What about the other ships that weren’t hit?”

“There were eight LSTs in all,” Harding said. “The last three had a preponderance of engineer units like the First Engineer Special Brigade and Amphibious Truck companies. These units are responsible for clearing beaches of obstacles and bringing men ashore. They have to know the exact local conditions of the landings. The forward LSTs had mostly combat infantry units from the Fourth Division. The men in those had less of a need to know.”

“Why wasn’t the convoy better protected?” I asked. “It’s well-known that there are German E-boats stationed all along the French coastline.”

“Confusion all around,” Harding said. “There was to have been another destroyer escort, but it was damaged in a collision yesterday. Naval command did not deal with it properly, and there was no replacement. On top of that, radio frequencies weren’t coordinated. Although a warning of the attack was radioed to the lone destroyer escort, the LSTs weren’t operating on the same frequency. But everyone thought they’d been warned, including the destroyer escort. As a result, they steamed in a nice straight line, perfect targets for a night attack.”

“Large Slow Target,” I said. “That’s what the GIs say LST really means.”

“They nailed it,” Uncle Ike said. “Too many men died needlessly out there.” He gestured with his hand, cigarette ash flying to the carpet. “We need the two of you to check the bodies as they are brought in and confirm all BIGOTs are accounted for. It’s gruesome work, I know, but necessary. I hope some of them survived and were picked up by our ships, but we simply have to know none of them are in German hands.”

“Big Mike is coming down from London to join you,” Harding said. “He should be on the next train. And Constable Quick has been assigned to you for the duration of this investigation. Seems like he has a good head on his shoulders.”

“He does, Colonel,” I said, trying to think through the implications of what Harding was asking. “How many do you think were killed?”

“We don’t know yet. I’d guess five hundred to a thousand. LST 515 disobeyed orders and turned back to pick up survivors out of the water. Until we get them sorted out, we won’t have an exact count.”

“What do you mean, Colonel?” Kaz asked. “What were their orders?”

“To proceed to their destination,” Harding said. “Navy protocol is for transports not to linger where there are enemy vessels, until the escorts have dealt with them.”

“But there was only one escort,” I said. “It couldn’t leave the convoy, right?”

“Right,” Harding said. “I don’t want to criticize the navy, but this is a mess. And one we have to keep as quiet as possible.”

“That’s going to be difficult,” I said. “From the little we learned about tides in the Channel, those bodies are going to wash up all along the coast.”

“What about France?” Uncle Ike asked.

“Probably not; the tides don’t run that way. In and out of the Channel, but not north or south.”

“That’s something,” Harding said. “There’s little chance of a man surviving in the cold water this time of year, but if he was on a raft or piece of wreckage, it might be possible.”

“You’ve got ships out searching, don’t you?” I said.

“Yes, they’re collecting bodies right now,” Harding said. “Word is no survivors have been found since LST 515 went back. We know bodies will end up on the coast. Hopefully most will drift into Slapton Sands and the restricted area. For those that don’t, we are saying that one ship was lost to enemy action. That should explain any bodies outside the restricted zone.”

“General, I understand how important this is, but why does it have to be so hush-hush? The Germans know they hit our ships,” I said. “The locals will know there were casualties when bodies start washing ashore. There has to be something else to it.”

“There is, William,” Uncle Ike said. “This is your real initiation into the BIGOT list. Tell them, Colonel.”

“Without revealing the location of the invasion, I can tell you that the beach at Slapton Sands is a close double of one of the invasion beaches. If the Germans even suspected we were practicing full-scale attacks against that beach, they might deduce the actual location. Even if they don’t end up with a captured BIGOT, they could do great harm with that information. If they get both, we’re in for real trouble.”

“It could mean the invasion is thrown back into the sea,” Uncle Ike said. “So I don’t want you to think this is a meaningless detail. This disaster has to be kept quiet to protect the secret of the actual invasion area. And we must know those nine other BIGOTs are accounted for, dead or alive.”

“Here,” Harding said, handing me a file containing sheets of names, ranks, and brief physical descriptions. “As soon as Big Mike gets here, you can head out. Graves Registration is setting up collection points along the coast. Work your way through them. The Royal Navy has patrol boats out picking up bodies. Report back to me immediately when you find a BIGOT. I’ll be at Greenway House.”