It’s a clear cold night, and he was shivering despite his Home Guard Great coat. Somehow a cold night on the Channel seemed to go right through your clothes no matter how many layers you put on. He had dressed light tonight because he expected to have to move fast. He was going to make his rounds a little faster in the beginning using the excuse that he dressed too light for the weather. In realty he was counting on spending more time transmitting this latest message. He had been told it was crucial. Something about another raid on the Soviet air fields across the way. He was to send it twice at two different locations. Neither of which he had transmitted from before.
Transmitted was a big word for just using his flashlight. It must be working, or he would have heard about it. There were checks and balances in place he was told, and so far he was doing well above average for a commie spy.
Yes, that’s what he was, a commie spy and that was okay. If it meant that the relative slavery in the coal mines would stop, then that’s what it would take. He never imagined that the Soviet Army would ever set foot on the British Isles, but he did think that losing the air war would bring about a fall of the government and a British version of communism would take hold and put an end to the worse degradation's of British capitalism. He had to believe that, or there was no hope. In his mind he was a true Englishman.
Buggers, he was 2 minutes later than planned. Still plenty of time for the first transmission. It was clear as can be tonight. He would have no possible bounce back from low lying fog or waves. It should be a perfect night for it. He had stopped trying to figure out the code for the string of numbers he transmitted. Seemed pretty short to be of any consequences which suited him just fine. The less time it took the better.
He missed the fog horn and beam that used to emanate from the lighthouse. War had a way of taking away the familiar and replacing it with horror.