Bob Carruthers - Into the Gates of Hell - Stug Command '41

That was it! Wendorff didn’t need a capacitor! He only needed a glass jar and some metal foil! Why hadn’t he thought of that before! That was it! He still had his Morse key secreted away in the pocket of his battledress. He was halfway there! Now he only needed some copper wire which he could use for an inductive coil◦— and an antenna!

While the rest of the crew saw to rearming and refuelling the gun before turning in for a well-earned rest, Otto Wohl despondently made his way over to where SS-Obersturmführer Sanger waited with the latest instalment of radio revision torture. Wohl craved rest with every sinew of his tired body, but orders were orders and he had no option but to obey.

“Ah, Wohl, take a seat. Today, we will turn our attention to Morse.”

Wohl felt his heart sink into his boots.

“Now, why, in this day and age, would we consider using Morse code, SS-Kannonier?”

Sanger knew he should have expected nothing more than a blank stare. Drawing a deep breath and feeling his patience run thinner, he chose to provide the answer himself, rather than waiting for Wohl to provide some ludicrous approximation. “Not only does a signal sent in Morse code require less power, but, for the same power , a signal can be sent further and with more clarity. What do I mean by clarity ?” Sanger was now fully committed to the practice of only asking rhetorical questions of Otto Wohl. “When I say clarity , I mean in a situation where there is a lot ofpre-existing signal noise, or when jamming is in use. Do I make myself clear, SS-Kannonier?”

“Yes, SS-Obersturmführer,” nodded Wohl.

“One dash equals… how many dots, SS-Kannonier?” enquired Obersturmführer Sanger.

“Err… three?” replied Otto Wohl hesitantly.

“Well done, SS-Kannonier. Now, the space between letters equals how many dots?”

“Err… is it… four?”

“No, Wohl! In action, your life may depend on you knowing this! For God’s sake, man!”

After a prolonged pause, Otto Wohl was forced to give up. Better to admit he didn’t know, he thought, than to guess again. “I am sorry, SS-Obersturmführer.”

“Well then, let’s try a different approach. Was the dichotomic search tree any more helpful?”

Otto Wohl stared at his instructor blankly.

“This resource, here,” replied von Sanger sternly, pointing to a sheet of paper. “From the start position we go left and right to the only two letters with one dot and one dash and then move to I and M, the next two letters, which have only two dots and two dashes. Now, which letters have only one dot and one dash?”

The interview was clearly going nowhere. Wohl was getting more and more frustrated, and Sanger’s patience more and more worn.

“The two letters at the top of the tree are the letter E, with one dot, and the letter T, with one dash. Will you ever grasp this? It’s the very basis of your craft!”

Unlike the hapless Otto Wohl, the principles of radio communication came very easily to Karl Wendorff. He was now determined to get a message back to von Schroif and his team. Slipping away from the corporal had been easy. He now kept his head low and tried to make it look as if he was following some urgent order. As he wandered the tunnels beneath the casemate in the unlikely hope of finding exactly what he was looking for he could still feel the tremors of exploding shells. As he stumbled along he tortured his brain as to where he could find some copper wire. “Old radio equipment? Shell casings?”

He came to a staircase leading to the building above and hesitated. In an ideal world, he would have been able to wander around the fortress cannibalising every burnt-out hulk for the precious metal he needed, but to stand close to a window or stepping through a room could mean certain death. Despite the danger, he would have to explore the building above. Wendorff quickly ascended the staircase. It was to prove a fortuitous decision.

He slowly advanced along the first floor corridor. To his left were the rooms which faced over the courtyard. He avoided these, flashing past the empty doorframes to make sure he presented only the briefest target to any lurking sniper. On his right, on the inside of the building, were occasional storerooms and cupboards. All had been ransacked, either by the defenders or attackers, he couldn’t be sure. He glanced at the contents as he passed. There was nothing of any use. It was then that he discovered the last of the ransacked stores. The door was slightly open, but it was worth a try. Another huge barrage shook the building to its very foundations, forcing him to cower in the dust for what seemed like an eternity. With the barrage over, he felt ready to move again. Almost blinded by the clouds of red dust and with his parched throat clogged with dirt, he slowly made his way across the corridor to the storeroom door.

He slowly pushed the door open, alert for any sound of movement. He listened intently but heard nothing beyond the sound of distant small arms. He pushed the door a little more and squeezed his head through the gap. The storeroom was empty. Looking over his shoulder, he reassured himself that no one was following him and slipped through the door, pulling it quietly closed behind him.

Taking a minute to calm his breathing, he let his eyes adjust to the low light as he squinted through the dusty gloom. By the dim light of his flickering hand lamp he made out a wooden floor strewn with rubbish and old crates. Then he noticed some crude shelving. Walking slowly, careful to avoid stepping on any broken glass, he made his way over to the shelving. The store seemed to have been recently ransacked. Empty boxes, presumably once used to hold food, drink and perishables, had been thrown against one of the walls. Looking down, he noticed that the floor was strewn with tin cans and bottles, all empty. Stepping gingerly around them he approached the wall and quickly scanned the shelving for anything resembling copper wire or a glass jar. He noticed some tins of paint, what looked like a pair of gardening shears, some hand brushes, a fishing rod and an old lamp. There was nothing of any value.

He then got to his knees and started searching along the bottom shelf. It really looked like the place had been stripped of everything of any value. Then he noticed a large glass jar, lying on its side, empty. Perfect! Running his finger along the edge and then smelling it and tasting it, Wendorff was able to identify it as having once contained formaldehyde. Now all he needed was some tinfoil for the Leyden Jar and then he could concentrate on finding the copper wire. It was then that he noticed an empty box with some foil in it. Sniffing it, he determined that it had obviously contained tea. Stuffing the foil in his pocket and emptying the remaining formaldehyde out of the glass jar, Wendorff now resumed his hunt for copper wire.

Looking further afield he found nothing. Surely any mechanical parts would be in a workshop, not on the first floor of a building? “I need to find a workshop,” he thought to himself. “Which objects might contain copper wire?” He ran his eyes back over the shelves and then his attention was drawn to the fishing rod. Perhaps, just perhaps… He then walked quickly over to the fishing rod and picked it up. To his intense delight, he discovered a reel of copper fishing line. He couldn’t believe his luck! He felt like letting out a little whoop of joy.

There was no time to loose. He undid his fly and, through great force of will, was able to force his protesting body to produce half a litre of dehydrated urine which he passed into the jar which was then covered in foil.