Dogger, Forties, German Bight
by Lee McAulay
Text Copyright © 2012 Lee McAulay
All Rights Reserved
Book Design by Lee McAulay
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.
DOGGER, FORTIES, GERMAN BIGHT
A telephone call after midnight is never good news. Two rings on the party line, a pause; two rings, pause.
Harry Donaldson sat back from his cat’s-whisker radio set and listened to his wife’s footsteps in the hall as she went to answer the machine, his hands poised over the dining-table with pliers and a screwdriver.
Phyllis picked up the handset and responded with typical efficiency - informative yet cautious, suspicion hiding behind her Geordie accent, the way she’d been taught at Bletchley Park. There was a pause. Outside in the night, loose roof slates rattled. The chimney rumbled and sucked the heat out of the coal fire, and the lights flickered as if somewhere a set of wires were touching together, briefly, or some radio telegrapher was tapping out a message on the National Grid.