“Should I forward any recommendations to Colonel Donovan?” she asked.
Vance peered back at the cap. “Not at this time,” he replied. “This situation calls for a bit more investigation on our part before we make any concrete recommendations.”
“General Eisenhower can’t wait,” Jackson noted. “They’re deliberating even now whether to launch Overlord in the next few days.”
Simple strategy for invading the continent dictated an amphibious landing with the shortest crossing from England to France at Calais, not a longer, riskier crossing to Normandy. All intelligence from agents behind the lines pointed to Hitler expecting an invasion at Calais given the deployment of his armies. German army wireless traffic intercepted and deciphered by the British code breakers at Station X confirmed the field reports. But even they could only provide a small view of the overall picture.
“They have more intelligence to corroborate than we can provide,” Vance countered. “At this point, with British and American forces poised to strike after months of planning, Hitler’s armies deployed somewhere along the Atlantic wall, and Eisenhower watching the weather reports, Eisenhower’s taking as low a risk as he can get.”
“I don’t think SHAEF would quite see it that way,” Jackson countered.
“Well, we have nothing conclusive to give them until we uncover more about that cap.” Vance walked over to stare out the window over the carefully manicured English gardens outside.
Jackson closed her notebook and collected Kelly’s file. “Do you want me to lock that up in the vault?” she asked, nodding at the cap.
Vance didn’t interrupt his examination of the light rain falling on the gardens and a few visible portions of the great old manor house. “Just leave it there,” Vance said. “I’ll take a closer look at it in a few moments, thank you, Lieutenant.”
Jackson sauntered out of the dining room, her heels clicking severely on the ornately patterned parquet floor. Vance stole a glance at her as she slipped out the tall double doors and closed them behind her.
Vance stood at the windows a few more minutes taking in the scenery outside. He found such peaceful contemplation of the natural world or mundane matters necessary in steeling himself for encountering the unnatural. He inhaled the lingering scent of candle wax and perfume that haunted the room, heard the patter of raindrops against the windowpane merge with clattering typists in a nearby room, felt the muggy air close about him in his woolen uniform.
Vance casually walked to the table and picked up the cap. It electrified the goose bumps on his arm and sent shivers up his spine. Though he slicked back his wavy hair, it seemed to stand up on end and tingle as if covered with excited bees. His ability to detect items or people with otherworldly qualities had brought him to the attention of the OSS, which appointed him head of its Bureau of Special Investigations (derisively named “BS Investigations” by those ignorant of its true purposes). By now Vance knew Kelly wasn’t a German spy; he was more interested in the cap, what it did to those who wore it, and what it might do to help the Allies win the war.
Vance ran his fingers over the cap, ran his thumb over the Nazi eagle patch on the front. He felt granules of warm sand, leather-padded headband and earphones, sticky sweet blood. Vance inhaled its scents: dust, sweat, cordite, and fear. Then he put the cap on his head.
Information, sensations, and emotions flooded every corner of Vance’s mind. He reached out to steady himself against the dining table. His vision narrowed into distant tunnels; he breathed more rapidly to delay the unconsciousness racing up to meet him. He fought to focus on the ancient family portraits and ornate candle sconces on the far wall to keep his eyes from rolling up into the back of his head.
The burst of paranormal energy dropped him to the floor. A maelstrom of dots and dashes, clicking, blinking, typing, spinning metal rotors, clumps of four-letter groups, and finally cohesive German words rushed through his mind, a tempest of sensations not simply of the man who had fought and died wearing that Afrika Korps cap, but of all those past and present involved in the wireless telegraphy, codes, and ciphers the Nazis used to coordinate their vast war machine. For a fleeting second Vance realized no ordinary soldier like Private Kelly could possibly comprehend, let alone maintain mental and emotional control over this overwhelming storm of information. But Vance fought, shaking his head and body in apoplectic convulsions in an effort to physically and mentally discern the sensations flooding his mind.
Once he managed to isolate and understand streams of seemingly dissonant information, Vance tried arranging them in a logical order, much like conducting an interrogation or sifting through a file, starting with the basic information and working deeper. The originating signals pounded through his head, overlapping drumbeats of dots and dashes of multiple transmitters broadcasting messages in Morse code. These rapidly passed through stages of clicking typewriter keys, smooth electrical current passing through advancing metal rotors, and finally blinking letter lights. The letters gathered into groups of four, then transformed into comprehensible abbreviations and even entire words.
Vance realized this cap somehow channeled and deciphered all German radio communication within Western Europe through its wearer.
He doubted anyone intentionally designed the cap that way-the Nazis would be fools to allow such a fantastic weapon to fall into Allied hands-but surmised the emotional heat of combat and anguish of death imbued it with the knowledge and expertise of its wearer, who must have served with a wireless communications company in North Africa.
Vance’s body twitched as he focused on the nearest messages, those most clear that translated into lucid intelligence about Nazi units guarding northern France. Orders to march, divisions held in reserve, units reforming after combat elsewhere. He started forming a vast strategic picture of towns and units between Normandy and Calais. One static and one active attack infantry division sat directly along the coast where the Allied amphibious forces hoped to establish a beachhead. Three smaller infantry groups stood in reserve south of the operational theater. Rommel had deployed his much-feared German panzer divisions far from the invasion point, with the 21st Panzers moved ten miles southeast of Caen and the infamous 12th SS Panzer Division more than fifty miles away, just west of Dreux, and the messages coming through the cap indicated they were stationed in the rear for rest and recuperation. Vance knew Eisenhower would like to know exactly what kind of opposition he was facing once American, British, and Canadian troops took the beaches of Normandy.
But the way he deployed his divisions confirmed that Hitler fully expected an Allied assault at Calais. Although a handful of divisions stood ready to repel any invaders at Normandy, Hitler had ordered at least nine infantry and four panzer divisions into the vicinity of Calais. The Lehr Panzer Division sat in reserve just west of Chartres to counter any Allied attack on either target. Clearly the Nazis expected an attack at Calais.
Vance could not comprehend how long he’d been unconscious exploring the mysteries of the cap. He heard the dining room door swing open and Lieutenant Jackson’s shoes clicking evenly on the parquet floor, then halt abruptly.
“Call a medic!” Jackson screamed.
Vance opened his eyes wide, shook the cap off his head, composed his expression, and smiled calmly at Jackson. “No, everything’s all right,” he said, trying to sound confident despite the enduring tremors coursing through his body. He pulled himself up to his elbows, used the table to help him rise unsteadily to his feet, and then found coordination enough to make a show of dusting off his uniform jacket sleeves. Vance addressed the cautious yet curious crowd of sentries and typists who had gathered at the gaping double doors. “No need for alarm,” he said. “I’m fine.” The others reluctantly dispersed.