“ ‘He nothing common did or mean,
Upon that memorable scene.’ ”
The Prime Minister stopped at the window. “… We must not forget that from the moment when we declared war on the 3rd September it was always possible for Germany to turn all her Air Force upon this country, together with any other devices of invasion she might conceive, and that France could have done little or nothing to prevent her doing so. We have, therefore, lived under this danger, in principle and in a slightly modified form, during all these months. In the meanwhile, however, we have enormously improved our methods of defense, and we have learned what we had no right to assume at the beginning, namely, that the individual aircraft and the individual British pilot have a sure and definite superiority.
“Therefore, in casting up this dread balance sheet and contemplating our dangers with a disillusioned eye, I see great reason for intense vigilance and exertion, but none whatever for panic or despair.”
At that, Maggie looked up. Did he really believe that? Or was truth just another casualty of war—the war of rhetoric he was waging for the British spirit?
And at this point, did it even matter?
“… What General Weygand called the Battle of France is over. I expect that the Battle of Britain is about to begin. Upon this battle depends the survival of Christian civilisation. Upon it depends our own British life, and the long continuity of our institutions and our Empire. The whole fury and might of the enemy must very soon be turned on us.
“Hitler knows that he will have to break us in this Island or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States, including all that we have known and cared for, will sink into the abyss of a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science.”
He turned back to face the room and stabbed each word with his cigar for emphasis. “ ‘This was their finest hour.’ ”
After these words, he slumped down at his desk, head in hand.
“Go and type for your life,” he said, without glancing in her direction.
“Yes, sir.” Tears stinging her eyes, she ran to get copies of the speech ready.
Later, much later, Maggie looked up from the papers and folders covering her wooden desk as Nelson wound his way around her ankles. “Your calculations are off,” she said to John as he dropped off a memo in the underground typists’ office. It was not without satisfaction. It helped her forget all of the thoughts she’d been having. Thoughts about bombs. About war. About her parents.
John had been working in the War Rooms for days without respite. His dark suit was looking rumpled and wrinkled, as though he’d slept in it—which he probably had. His face was pale, and his thick, curly hair stood out at odd angles from his head. His eyes were sunken and haunted.
“I beg your pardon?” He sat down and rubbed his temples, his face beginning to turn crimson. In his opinion, Maggie was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. And she was different—so very different—from any other woman he’d known. She was smart—brilliant, really—and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. Especially to him. From the moment he’d met her, she had unknowingly broken down most of the defenses he’d long held in place, and when she was present, no one else seemed to matter.
John didn’t think war was the time for romance, and the office was certainly not the place. And then there was the fact that he knew more about Maggie and her place in the scheme of things than he was allowed to let on.
So all he could do was watch in mute appreciation as Maggie slowly made herself at home at No. 10 and the War Rooms over the summer, her red hair glinting gold in the fluorescent light, leaving a trail of violet perfume everywhere she went.
But Maggie had other things on her mind. She’d noted and studied all the mentions of Radio Direction Finding in Mr. Churchill’s memos intently. From what she could glean, RDF—radio direction finder—was a warning system, using radio waves to detect enemy aircraft, also known as radar. This way the RAF knew exactly when the German fighters would arrive and exactly where they would be.
The mathematician in Maggie was drawn to the descriptions of how the device worked. Using the transmission of radio waves, it was possible to measure the length of the interval between the emission of a radio pulse and the return of its “echo,” as charted by an oscillograph. When aircraft were in the sky, the radio emissions would bounce off them, showing their positions. RAF planes had special identifying signals on them, allowing air force commanders to differentiate between friendly and enemy aircraft.