ENCLOSURE 1: Transcript of Field Report by Squadron Leader [REDACTED] // ORANGE, RAF, No. 45 Atlantic Ferry (under assignment to MI5), dated 1 April 1944

S/L ORANGE: “Oh, for God’s sake, Red, learn to bloody-well knock, won’t you? We’re all a little jumpy here, might have ended up with a bullet hole spoiling that slicker. And it’s my slicker, so that’s bordering on negligence there.” [CEA RED entered the cabin, described as dilapidated structure barely suitable for sheep, and wholly unsuitable for any man or beast not infected by generations of coarsening of sentiment by residence in the Orkneys or possibly the outer circles of Purgatory. There were two men in civilian dress sitting at a tall desk in the middle of the room, with a third tied to a straight-backed chair in front of the desk. A table with a few chairs and a tarp-covered shape the size of a mantle clock was visible in the kitchen, and there were half-wall bookshelves filled with a few dozen solitary books each in a different row lining the outside walls. Desks and chairs were stacked haphazardly where the shelves weren’t.] “Grab yourself a chair, and don’t worry about picking a comfortable one, there aren’t any. Bloody island was settled by masochists, I’ve found. Where’s the Yank? That was the point of going, wasn’t it?”

CEA RED: ““Tak. He is still outside, looking at antenna. Talkative, enjoy peace now, Capta-”.

S/L ORANGE: “Orange. Just Orange, we’re code names only. You remember them, right? Your American friend is Blue, when he demonstrates the sense to come in out of the rain.”

CEA RED: “And he?” [gesture towards the prisoner]

S/L ORANGE: “Him? He’s the German, Red, that’s why he’s tied up. Or were you imagining we were having a go at a magic trick?”

CEA RED: “Yes, but what do I call him?”

CEA ORANGE: “Oh. Damn. Give him his German code-name, I suppose. What was it, Gartner, Gardener, something like that? Don’t suppose it matters any if he overhears his own name, he’s heard it before, like as not.”

[Sound like rattling of the door as though a bear was trying to get in, with soft knocking a moment later and a tentative voice calling out something indistinct after.]

S/L ORANGE: “Green, get the door. I’m assuming that’s your American there, lost in the rain. That or the sheep are getting more polite about asking.”

[Sound of equipment being set down heavily, and a coat being shaken off. Steps, and an American soldier in uniform enters the room, rifle over his shoulder, helmet held in his two hands like presenting a pie.]

T/4 BLUE: “Hello? 55th Infantry come-a-calling, anyone home?” [Shuffling of steps, muttered curse]. “That him, Roman?”

CEA RED: “Red. You are Blue, all code-names. Yes, he is German shortwave operator, spymaster. Call him Gardener. We have to get our own chairs, they are stacked in corner.”

T/4 BLUE: “And our bedrolls? Ain’t jack in here for gear, not to mention it’s colder than my Mama when I was caught naked with the neighbor girl.”

S/L ORANGE: “There’s a loft above the kitchen. Take off your wets and string ‘em up over the stove, get your boots up there, too. We’ll be here for a while. Unfortunately the out-house is out-side, but there’s a bit of covered walk to it, if it lets up storming. Blue, I’m Orange, commander of the crew as brought you here. Pleasure. I understand you’re here to do German broadcasts?” T/4 BLUE: “German? You mean like Kraut? Shoot, thought I was here for playing some mariachi tunes, that’s all as I brought. Got an accordion or two in it, though.” [Significant pause here, with an uncomfortable cough heard in the background.] “I’m just joshing, Captain. I mean, uh, Orange. Yessir, I speak German, even do accents, my folks left Vienna after the war. Little Hungarian, too, if you need it, or Spanish. Russians not great, but I can understand. Come up from Camp Ritchie, representing FUSAG. Got some stuff here to amplify the signal and help us fix the radio. Looks like it took a whack in the capture? They’re finicky beasts, these things.”

CEA GREEN: “Yes. A little bit. I looked, repaired where I could, but I will not know if we are being heard. Do you have a second transceiver?”

T/4 BLUE: “Left it with Orange’s boys. We’ll send a runner to the coast when we broadcast, so they’re listening. And Violet will be listening when we get on schedule, from down south somewhere. If we get on schedule. When’s the next time they’re expecting to hear from our buddy here?” [Sound of clothes and equipment moving, furniture being scraped along floor, packs set down and bedrolls unrolled.]

S/L ORANGE: “Tomorrow evening. For whatever reason this charmer does a radio play every third night, an hour and a half straight starting at ten. He’s been doing… What was it? Something classical, wasn’t it? Goethe or some at?”

CEA INDIGO: “Faust. Halfway through part one, now. The script is on the middle shelf there. It’s awful, by the way. No sound effects, all the characters sound alike, bad microphone… Plus his diction is muddy and he speaks too fast. Even Goethe can’t save that one, it’s absolute rubbish. Can’t imagine the poor fellow listening to it.”

S/L ORANGE: “He-- or she, I suppose, had at least one to date-- he’s not listening for edification, Indigo. I’m sorry your artistic soul isn’t moved by the selection. There are instructions in there, coded. We think. Our quarry, the one called ‘Die Lilie’, hears the frequency and time for response in the broadcast in a code we understand, same as the others, at the thirty-five-minute mark. That’s right, Red?”

[No sound, but Red nodded here. One of his more eloquent expositions, actually, one he frequently went back to when addressed, supplemented by shaking his head no, grimacing, narrowing eyes, and occasionally spitting or growling when there was the mention of Germans or he is offered tea sweetened with milk, which he appears to regard with somewhat the same regard the Devil has for Holy Water. Most of these speeches he practices each morning in the mirror, a useful habit, as otherwise he would be entirely uncommunicative.]

CEA RED: “He will relay Lilly’s reports the midnight after the next with our reports. It requires some time to collect them all, so long broadcast. I will do the Morse, my fist is good for that, but accent distinct for radio. So study the play and be ready, but not too ready. We will say in show that you are replacing the usual, but they will not expect dramatic quality.”

S/L ORANGE: “Wait there… You can’t use Faust again, you understand.”

T/4 BLUE: “What? Why not?”

S/L ORANGE: “Could be code. I’ve been burned before, near killed. And Red there can tell you of one that was, not to mention what the Krauts do inside their camps. No, there’s too much room for a code that we don’t understand if we use the same play, a duress code that comes from not changing a word or phrase that should be. We have to use a new play. What do we have, Indigo? You looked at all the books?”

CEA INDIGO: “We do not have much. And if we are worried about codes, shouldn’t we use something not found here, something the German didn’t bring with him?”

S/L ORANGE: “Erm. Good point. I think I have some poems in my personal kit, but they’re all English. Really English, at that. Hate to see them butchered into Kraut translation, and it would seem off to be broadcasting patriotic British work. My Agatha Christie isn’t really set up for a script, so much. What do the rest of you have?”

T/4 BLUE, speaking hesitantly: “I have a copy of the King in Yellow I been translating from French. I can put that into German, given some time.”

CEA INDIGO: “King in Yellow? Wasn’t that the banned one, from before the war? One as sparked those murders in Paris?” [CEA INDIGO approached T/4 Blue at this point, wringing his hands like he was himself murdering a chicken in his heart. Which, considering what happened, may not be entirely not germane to the discussion, come to that.]

T/4 BLUE: “Murder, singular. The others were suicides. And yeah, the banned one. Banned over here and back home, only had a chance to find a bootleg once I got across the water. Been working on it for a while now, got it mostly right. It’s hard going after the first act, I’ll admit. Brutal, but… It sticks with you, I guess. One of those things… You know It when you see It, I guess.”

S/L ORANGE: “But isn’t that banned in Germany as well? That won’t seem right, either.”

CEA RED: “No. Not banned. Matthilde… She spoke of it. Much.” [Pause of 5 seconds, while CEA RED determined if we had all gone to sleep simultaneously and he had been saved from the conversation. Upon learning that we weren’t all finding Morpheus in the loft, he continued, in the absence of anything less communicative to say.] “She had seen it in theater when it… first time, in Paris. When the Nazis allowed it, she was upset. Said it was a mistake, that it was another example of Germans poisoning French minds, warping. Turning culture against free minds.” [Sound of voices buzzing, interrupted by sound of a body hitting the floor without a chair, and an indrawn gasp.]

CEA RED: “So. We do play. Poison German spy mind like they poison us. Blue, you translate. Can you write first part for tomorrow? In German?” [Sound of splashing, as CEA RED poured water into the washbasin and cleaned his face.]

[The next day, after I left the prisoners in the care of the Allied, well, ally, T/4 BLUE while I conducted some needed repairs on the house, prepared what pretended to be a meal, and enjoyed what didn’t even pretend to be a pleasant sleep. My dreams, such as they are, are unsuitable for any report not under censure by the crown.]

CEA RED: “So what of the German?” [Sound of my pipe lit and his cigarette smoked, in a manner I would call collegially were it not for the fact that only CEA RED was present to share the moment.]

S/L ORANGE: “What of him? He’s older than I expected, I’ll say that. But hasn’t said much of anything since we captured him.”

CEA RED: “No, not about him. What will we do to him, after?”

S/L ORANGE: “Oh, that.” [Another breath taken off my pipe, and another year off my life and sanity.] “I’ll kill him. After. Have the writ right here, it was in the letter the boys gave you for me. Treachery Act, you know.”

CEA RED: [Sound of nodding, which doesn’t normally sound like anything, but with CEA RED, you take what you are given. Finding my gloom impossible to reinforce without at least two words, he found within him the bare human minimum of soul, presumably not his own.] “Treachery Act?”

S/L ORANGE, in a voice that betrayed the exact same nervousness I bring to this artistic reproduction of some of my favorite moments in a life full of mistakes, thank you, my most august regimental advocate general, for the opportunity: “Yes, the Treachery Act. You remember, that legal gibberish they barked at you when you turned yourself in as a German spy? The papers they had you sign? They convicted the Gardener. Had a judge come out here while you were fetching the American, over from a neighboring island. Dead of night, no warning, sworn to secrecy after and all that, Official Secrets, very hush-hush. My executive officer was the defense, I prosecuted. And now, I suppose, I’ll be his executioner, too. Not very proper, I don’t imagine, but the exigencies of wartime, I suppose.”

[CEA RED nodded. His face betrayed all the emotion you’d expect of him upon being told that he had nearly been executed a few months prior and would soon witness the death of another inclined to be loyal to his disgraced and disgraceful Fatherland by roughly the same degree that CEA RED himself exhibited for Poland. Which is all to say—no emotion at all. I am almost sure he was still listening, though.]

S/L ORANGE: “Hell, now you’ve gone and spoiled the whole mood. Doesn’t taste quite so fine, now, the smoke. Do you suppose they’re done rehearsing? I don’t really want to hear any more of the play than I must. Dreadful thing, really. As bad as murdering the Gardener there.” [CEA RED finished his own cigarette as I cleaned my pipe. When we entered, Objective GARDENER had his blindfold removed and one hand freed. Someone had moved his chair up to the desk where he, T/4 BLUE, and CEA INDIGO were deep in intense discussion. CEA GREEN was idly sketching something in a notebook, and T/4 BLUE’s rifle was in a corner where it was equally distant from him and the Gardener, had he been fully untied. CEA RED, for his part, almost evinced anger, before it died in the embers of his romantic soul.]

S/L ORANGE: “What in the name of hell is going on here? Why’s he free, and where’s your weapon, soldier?” [I came through and stepped immediately up to the knot of them, whirling the chair away from the desk, forcing Gardener away from both the script they’d been poring over and the rifle in the corner. The chair skittered dangerously for a moment, CEA RED moving forward to help me keep it upright, and the German’s eyes were wide, eyebrows raised. His jowls, unshaven and still with some of last night’s porridge on his cheek, flapped as he opened his mouth either to protest or just in surprise. After a moment he shut his mouth again in a stubborn line, having said nothing. He screwed his face up proudly, like a child refusing to go potty when asked, and puffed out a breath as though he’d been offended. T/4 BLUE, for his part, looked hangdog and guilty, and slunk over to his rifle without standing fully upright. CEA INDIGO just looked bewildered, while CEA GREEN looked almost happy-- anything to relieve the boredom.]

T/4 BLUE: “We was just fixing the script a bit. Soon as Indy and me started to rehearse, our friend here started to get all fired up and making suggestions for better translations. Guess he speaks French pretty good, didn’t realize as we was translating a play. Reckon he did some translating before, sounds like. Or maybe just radio plays or something.”

S/L ORANGE: “Why now? Did you ask yourself that? Did it occur to you that he might be sneaking codes into the play as suggestions, duress codes or special instructions for sabotage or the like? And he’s seen your face, all of our faces at this point. With you wearing a nametag on your chest, at that. This is…” [A pause of several moments as I composed myself, and my compatriots gamely gave to me the time and grace to do so before sabotaging our efforts any further.]

T/4 BLUE: “Reckon he don’t speak no English. Not enough to understand all our jawing back and forth. Once we started auf Deutsche he got animated enough, but before that… He was asking questions and what not, seemed like he hadn’t really overheard us.”

S/L ORANGE: “He doesn’t… You know, come to think of it… I’m not entirely sure he said much of anything in English during the trial. Thought he was just being belligerent, exercising his rights and forcing us to translate and the like. But it… Would they have done that? Truly? Sent someone who doesn’t speak a word of English to go spy in England?” [Several moments of conceptualization and consideration occurred here, long enough for even CEA RED to feel uncomfortable, had he felt anything at all.] “Well, to the Orkneys, I suppose. To be fair, not entirely sure the locals speak much more English than he. As I recall, their particular dialect seemed more to be composed of grunts, glowers, and the occasional contemptuous spit on the floor than words, and our guest seems to be fully proficient in all of those.” [I pulled a chair around and straddled it commandingly, in the manner befitting a RAF pilot who can never again fly and longs to forget it.]

CEA RED: “They would do such. Have done. Sent us, before. The Nazis, they do not understand why people do things. They do not all believe like they say, think the same for us. They are lying, saying anything to keep from jail or money, so think for us same. Matthilde… They killed her in front of me. Execute her, after they tortured to get names. Brought me to see they shoot her, gave me chair to watch her eyes. Then they recruit me, with her blood… It was warm. Still warm. They tell me they will send me to England, let me spy for them, after they give me every cause to hate them. Warn me that English will kill me for spy if they catch, offer me money after war. They would take deal, so they think I will, like them. They would send a man like him to spy. On radio. They know he will not turn, and loyalty more important than… Than competence. Competent ones, they already sent. Die Lilie… That is last competent spy in Scotland. The rest are here in this room. Or dead.” [Many moments of silence, while we all contemplated if we were dead and gone to conversational paradise, to hear so many words from CEA RED at once. But eventually CEA RED determined that sometimes the only way to bury words is more words.] “We all turn against Germans. Because they do not understand people, cannot understand. So they send spies that will turn. Now there is one left, one that was as they believe, like them. Die Lilie. We draw her out, tell her where to be, what to observe. And then we catch, and there will be no German spy in Scotland. And Quicksilver will begin, Fortitude North will work, we will tell them we see troop gathered, plan for invade Norway. And then somehow we will fight them back, free France, free Poland, free Norway, free all of us. So… So this German cannot understand what I say, tak? So when I say there is fly in hair, going for ear…” [CEA RED watched Objective GARDENER here for several moments.]

CEA INDIGO, always ready for a bit of theater, even in the dark: “No, Captain, you can’t hit him! That’s brutalizing a prisoner, it’s illegal! Put that stick away, now!” [The German didn’t move except his eyes. He glanced from Red to Indigo and back, then glanced over at Green for a clue. The others he couldn’t see.] “Do you see now?”

S/L ORANGE: “Still though. He can’t be trusted. Even if he didn’t know what we were doing before, what if he changes the translation to make a code? It’s dangerous, change anything he wrote back. Or ignore it, we only have ten minutes left until you broadcast.”

[Blue went into the over room, pulled the tarp off the radio in the kitchen. He checked it over, positioning the microphone.]

T/4 BLUE: “We’re ready. And we all speak German. Maybe accents, maybe not quite so eloquent as the Gardener here, but there ain’t nothing he said that ain’t right and justified by the script. Indy, let’s get in there. Got your lines marked? Remember, at the twenty-minute mark, whichever of us is speaking, we break in with KLEINE-SONNTAG-DORTMUND-KAPELLE. That gives the code for Lily’s return broadcast and observing… Observing where? Rosneath, is that right? Where’s that?”

S/L ORANGE: “It’s the agreed code. Dortmund. Out on the west coast, north of Glasgow. Little base with some Americans, and it’s out on a peninsula, one way in and one way out. We’ll be waiting for her there. Or him. And your boys, they’ll handle the return for Red, plus Green and Indigo? Can’t return it from here, the overlap is too distinct.”

T/4 BLUE: “We got it. They’re hooked in with you folks, Crayton’s got a little motorbike and his key and he’s running all over Scotland making ‘observations’ to report. Morse, ain’t no voice for accent, it’s all Fist. That’s what you call how you key, how long you pause and your speed and all that. Crayton’s got a knack for imitating folks’ Fist, and he’s heard the two. Yours and… I don’t know whether it was you or Green that did your radioing, Indy, but whichever he says he can make like you so your own mother couldn’t tell it apart. If your mamma does Morse, I reckon.”

CEA INDIGO: “It’s Green, I can’t hardly keep those codes straight. And us? Red is at thirty-five after, and we’re at ten till one. Do we have our codes, to message what we’re supposed to be being told to look at?”

T/4 BLUE: “Shit. Orange? Hey, you got that code book? He’s right, we need ours, too. Thanks…”

[I fetched the book from my inside coat pocket, helped Blue put the codes down in the margins. I was still dubious about the German’s assistance, but there really wasn’t time to discuss it further. Or CEA RED was rubbing off on me, possibly. CEA INDIGO and T/4 BLUE went off to the other room, turned the radio on, arranged their seats so they could both comfortably speak into the transmitting microphone. Objective GARDENER, for his part, strained his neck forward, then craned around to look at me beseechingly. Or at least with more courtesy than he’d show to date. Which was a low bar for any of us, in truth.]

Objective GARDENER: “Kann ich näher sitzen? Ich möchte besser hören. Wenn sie mich ersetzen sollen, sollte ich wissen, dass mein Doppelgänger mich nicht beschämt.” [Can I sit closer? I’d like to hear better. If you are replacing me, I should know that my double isn’t shaming me. Or words to that effect, I’m no T/4 BLUE, no Ritchie Boy, though I do remember my lessons.]

[CEA RED nudged me, here, an uncharacteristically warm gesture I attribute to the cold of the night.]

CEA RED: “He is tied. Let him hear. One last show. He can hear in this room, why make uncomfortable?” [Between CEA RED and myself, we carried Objective GARDENER into the broadcast room; chair, bindings, and disgust all. The Nazi sat and listened silently, but with great animation, waves of emotion crossing his face and his eyebrows fluttering at the dramatic moments. Perhaps he was simply an artist. I, for my part, watched more than listened, arm’s length of the dead man, ready to silence him if he tried anything. CEA GREEN watched from the doorway, encouraging CEA INDIGO with his presence. CEA RED, after a moment, left the kitchen, and moments later stepped back outside beneath the icy stars. Perhaps the warm togetherness was melting his resolve, and he needed the distant stars to cool him back to hoarfrost. Of which there was plenty on that island, often on my bedroll. The play was broadcast, then, of which the less said, the better. I had to hear those foul words once, I’ll not repeat them for anyone’s benefit, not even you, old man. You can but kill me once for the King’s justice, and I’m not entirely sure that is the case for the Yellow King, not convinced of that at all.]

[Editor’s Note: several pages are removed here, transcripts of day 2 and day 3. The transcripts show a greater degree of animosity on the part of S/L ORANGE and increasing interpersonal conflict within Objective FERAL SHEEP, but nothing of direct relevance to the after-action report. They remain under judicial seal by the Lord Advocate, and not released pursuant to the Admiralty’s order on information sharing among Allied elements for Operation SKYE.]

S/L ORANGE: “No signal at all? They confirmed? This is the third she’s missed. If she misses tomorrow, we’re done. Go forward as best we can. Hope she caught cold and died, and that’s why she hasn’t reported.”

CEA RED: “Nothing. Bletchley confirms. No sign of Lily. Blue, you Americans have no idea where she was when they saw?”

T/4 BLUE: “Nah, they didn’t have jack to go on. Just a couple of lobs, is all. We caught Lily from a site way south, and it was just two intercepts, not even simultaneous. Could have been anywhere on the lob, anywhere along the azimuth. Could have been on this damn island, for all we could tell, margin of error wasn’t great. North, though. North of Edinburgh, east of Inverness. That’s about all we can tell. But probably south… Gardener didn’t relay it himself, must have been confident his boys in der Heimat could hear.”

[Soft cursing and hard gestures.]

CEA RED: “We will have to kill him anyways. If we do not see Lily. It is time to start Quicksilver, we need Green and I broadcast. We did what could be done. This is war, you did what you could.”

S/L ORANGE: “I did what I could to find Lily, you mean. And we gave him a trial, fair enough. But what kind of trial? A judge brought in by armed Dragoons on a fishing boat, sworn to secrecy under the Official Secrets Act, made to accept a defense and prosecutor that are military officers in the same unit, the one that captured him… All for a defendant that, we now know, can’t even understand a word of what we were accusing him. Or the evidence presented, at any rate. It was worse than Comrade Stalin’s show trials. Just a mask, a pallid mask at that. Nothing beneath it but bone.” [Sound of drinking, and passing a flask of strong brandy.]

T/4 BLUE: “Yeah, but was the evidence wrong? He is a German spy, and you and me, we’re soldiers. If it were the reverse…”

CEA RED: “If it were reverse, they might kill, they might put in camp. They did put me in a camp. Once. They will not again. It is better to kill.”

[At this moment there is a muffled crash, the sound of equipment falling, bodies flailing, and trouble looming. CEA RED reached for the door handle, raised his eyebrows, caught both their eyes. T/4 BLUE looked surprised, apparently just realizing both soldiers and both weapons were outside at the same time. I suspect I simply looked grim. I took my pistol in both hands, and with my left waved T/4 BLUE back to a cover position. T/4 BLUE unslung his rifle and stepped back, took a bead on the door, chambered a round, and then lowered his aim. He nodded. CEA RED, the only one outside without a weapon, and correspondingly at the intersection of both fields of fire, held still and waited for us to be ready. He caught our eyes, nodded. Then he opened the latch, carefully, pushed the door inwards and stepped out of the way, clear of both weapons. I yelled something that I can only remember in my dreams, then stepped through the door and to the left, pistol trained on the room center. As soon as I was clear, T/4 BLUE raised his rifle and started moving forward himself, keeping his rifle on the target, whatever it was. CEA RED cursed, balled his hands into fists, the best weapon he had other than his bloody-mindedness, and stepped in behind us. The scene clarified for us all. Two forms on the floor, CEA INDIGO pulling at the one above the other. The top form was striking the one on the floor over and over again, sounds of wet flesh signaling a fist that wouldn’t be grasping anything very strongly for weeks afterwards. And what that fist was punching, well… As CEA RED came beside T/4 BLUE, shoulder to shoulder with the grim American, he confirmed what I had anticipated. CEA GREEN was punching Objective GARDENER again and again, blood spatter in a crown about his head rolling loose on his shoulders. The chair was broken, both front legs shattered off the seat, and CEA GREEN had Objective GARDENER pinned. The German was conscious, and laughing, or at least trying to laugh through his own spittle and blood. CEA RED stepped past T/4 BLUE, pushed the ineffectual CEA INDIGO away, and lifted CEA GREEN off bodily, tossed him aside. As CEA GREEN tried to rise to his feet, Red sank into a fighter’s stance.]

CEA RED: “You fight, you fight me. And I am not tied in the chair. Is done.” [There was a firmness in his voice that made me momentarily envious. Rare has it been there was someone so protective of my own welfare, perhaps not since before I could shave, or at least the last R&R before the RAF took me off flight duty. Then it occurred to me what CEA RED intended for Objective GARDENER, and I wondered if this was why God was so protective of even the lilies of the field, that there is a punishment we must not escape prematurely. Or perhaps that was simply a trick of the echoes in that sad room.]

[I set my pistol in the holster, caught T/4 BLUE’s eyes, and moved forward. With a handkerchief, I rubbed clean some spots, enough to know he was still alive, if no less mad than ever. He was ready and healthy enough for me to kill.]

S/L ORANGE: “He’s… He’s banged up, alright, but he’ll live. We need to get him another chair, though. Nothing broken, I don’t think. Won’t be glowering out of his left eye, I shouldn’t wonder. What happened? Indigo?” [There is the sound of laughter here, and an altogether too spritely a cry as Objective GARDENER nipped at the pad of my hand as I tended to his wounds. Which, I suppose, was fair, given what I had in mind for him.]

CEA INDIGO: “He… He said things. Insulted me. Called me a little girl, said things about me playing Cassilda. Nothing… Well, it wasn’t nice. But it got personal, and… Well… We told him to be quiet, and he wouldn’t, and it kept going, and then…”

[There is the sound of a heavy body moving forward sullenly, as CEA GREEN stood, cooler now. He glared at the German, then walked to the kitchen. Tried to operate the pump, switching to his left hand after a sharp wince. CEA INDIGO went to help him.]

[The sound of a sigh, my heart leaving me as fast as the fear and excitement had.]

S/L ORANGE: “Let’s get another chair, shall we? Blue, you have him? [Pause, then scraping and sawing of bonds.] How long do we have until the last broadcast? An hour? It will be over soon enough, I suppose. Won’t be the worst thing to happen to him tonight, I shouldn’t wonder.”

T/4 BLUE: “Do we have to broadcast again? Ain’t nothing to change. Today, three days from now, this station goes dark one way or the other. Don’t really want to finish the play, be frank with you. Just as soon it stopped here.”

[I thought for a moment, considered it, and made the decision I most regret of all on that nightmare sheepfold of an island.]

S/L ORANGE: “No. We stick to the plan. One last broadcast, full play, gives us an extra few days to get the next broadcast sites up. We need Quicksilver to look real, we can’t be too close to the coast, and it will take at least a day to break camp. One last broadcast, Blue. Lilly might respond, her window is directly after ours today, isn’t it? Finish the play. Do the job.”

[There is an expanse of time here that even my nightmares dare not speak of, though we did no more than sit rapt and regretful beside our reluctant radiomen. I will not speak of it, and pray that Objective GARDENER was right about no one else hearing it. The rest is after the broadcast was complete.]

S/L ORANGE: “So that’s the end of it? The window is closed?”

T/4 BLUE: “Nothing at all. Not even a squelch, nada. If Lily’s still out there, she knows better. She knows what we’re doing, knows better than to respond. Didn’t work. So how do we keep her from telling Hamburg?”

S/L ORANGE: “Try to catch her first. Nothing else for it. All the troops are on alert, watching. And you’ll stay here, listening, after we go back to shore. I’ll have a couple of men stay with you, keep watch with you. You relay everything we broadcast in case they can’t get there from here, and respond if Hamburg sends any instructions. But no more plays. You send out the danger/wait code if Hamburg asks why you went dark. I’m sorry, Blue. We tried.”

[At this the voice of Objective GARDENER is heard again, echoing over the silence of the wireless.]

Objective GARDENER: “Und die Lilie muss noch blühen? All deine Kritzeleien, all deine Lügen und trotzdem verbirgt die Lilly ihr Gesicht, ja?” The Lilly still has yet to bloom? All your scribblings and lies and the Lilly still hides her face?

[CEA RED raised his eyebrows at me. I wouldn’t look him in the eye, but nodded. CEA RED untied the Gardener, brought him out through the kitchen door, to the latrine. No use dying with a full bladder, for the comfort of those as bury you if nothing else. I followed, as did CEA GREEN. T/4 BLUE sat watching from the radio on the kitchen table, through the open door. When he was done, CEA RED forced the German to his knees, held his shoulders firm.]

Objective GARDENER: “Ihr Idioten. Ich bin Lily, nur ich. Du hast mir das ganze Spektakel, das ganze Drehbuch gegeben und nichts und niemand außer deinen eigenen Spionen hat zugehört. Sie versuchen, unseren Geist zu vergiften, aber Sie haben zugehört, alle Ihre Amerikaner und Briten und Ihre verräterischen Polen und Norweger haben zugehört. Sie alle spielen Ihre Rolle, Publikum und Schauspieler. Die Maske ist ab und es ist nichts darunter! Das ist niemals passiert! Es war immer du, dein Gesicht starrte von unten! Erschießt mich jetzt, aber bald werdet ihr alle mit mir zur Hölle fahren!” You idiots. I’m the Lily, just me. You have done the whole show and script and no one but your spies heard it! You tried to poison us, but only you heard it, your Americans and your British and your traitorous Poles and Norwegians, you played all the roles, audience and actors alike! The mask is off now, and there is nothing beneath it, your own face stares back at you! Shoot me now, but you will all join me in Hell soon enough!

[I raised my pistol and fired. Objective GARDENER slumped forward, silenced just that much too late. CEA RED shook his head, trying to get back his hearing. I can’t speak for him, for we never spoke of it. But the ringing in my ears continued long past where it should have, droning on and on. I realized it would never end, and wondered how long before it drove me mad. Drove us all mad.]

[Editor’s note: The time period before it drove them all mad was five months, according to military records. More for some, less for others. But madness is a big country, and some entrances are darker than others. This wasn’t a bad one, considering. End of transcript.]