James Phelps - Australian Code Breakers: Our top-secret war with the Kaisers Reich

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Codes, cyphers, keys and cryptologists it can all be quite confusing. So, to spare you headaches and trips to textbooks, I have simplified both the codes and the code-cracking process where the technicalities stopped the story. The original coded messages have been used if suitable, but where they were too complex or confusing, they have also been simplified. All the original codes and messages can be found in the National Archives of Australia, and some of the documents are reproduced in this books appendix.

Most of the letters, telegrams and reports included in the story are presented exactly as they appear in the original documents. The dialogue, on the other hand, though often taken directly from letters, texts and reports, has occasionally been adapted to help this adventure flow. While Ive done my best to keep the period detail authentic, a few present-day words and phrases have been introduced to give the story a modern spin.

While some of the dialogue has been modified or reimagined, the story hasnt. This is the true, remarkable and, until now, untold tale of what could be Australias greatest unknown contribution to World War I.

Welcome to Australian Code Breakers...

Measurements

All measurements are given in the units commonly used in the World War I era. Readers unfamiliar with imperial measurements may find the following conversion chart helpful:

Contents

Potts Point, Sydney, 2 July 1934

In fading light, he struggled to see the number six. There it is, he mumbled, pushing his frail finger, arthritic and spotted with age, into the metal hole. He dialled the last digit.

Yes, he said. My name is Dr Frederick Wheatley... Yes, Wheatley. Thats right. Can you put me through to the editor, please?

He pushed the receiver hard against his ear. Sorry, can you speak up, love? he asked. My hearing is not what it used to be. He squinted, as if it would help, as she repeated herself.

A story? he said. Oh yes. I have a hell of a story indeed. He looked at the book on his lap, the title in German, the leather cover worn thin, as the receptionist patched him through to the editor.

Is that Mr Hadfield? Wheatley asked. The editor of the RSL magazine Reveille? He listened hard for the response.

Good, he replied. I have a story I would like you to print. Its the most remarkable untold tale. A story of spies, codes and battleships. Of how Australia was behind the greatest naval victory of World War I.

The old man took a deep breath. Shall I start? he asked.

Victoria Dock, Melbourne, 4 August 1914, 7 am

Captain Montgomery Robinson walked over to the German ships commander. Whats going on? he asked. We are supposed to be launching. We are going to miss our window. Get your men into gear.

Captain Wilhelm Kuhlken shook his head. Nein, he huffed. We depart tomorrow.

What do you mean? Robinson demanded. You will never get out.

The Australian sea pilot was scheduled to guide Captain Kuhlken and his 6,500-ton merchant ship, SS Pfalz, to the safety of open water at 8 am, from Port Victoria to the Pacific Ocean. He knew every inch of the often treacherous Port Phillip Bay the rips, the reefs and the fast-rising tides. He also knew Australia was on the verge of declaring war on Germany.

Your funeral, Robinson shrugged.

The grisly German turned his back and marched towards his crew. Hurry! he shouted as he gestured at his men. Work faster!

Robinson was stunned. Whats he thinking? Doesnt he know that we could be at war tomorrow? That he could be taken, become a prisoner of war?

That was exactly what Kuhlken was trying to avoid. We cant go to Sydney as scheduled, hed told his chief mate the night before. War will be upon us by the time we arrive and we will be detained. We are sailing straight to prison. We must set a new course.

But we only have enough fuel to make it to Sydney, said the chief mate.

And that was why SS Pfalz was still berthed at the number-two dock in Melbourne. Why the veteran seaman was barking at his men to hurry up as they shovelled coal. And why he wouldnt sleep a wink that night.

Observatory Point, Victoria, 5 August 1914, 5 am

Its happening, shouted the navy reserve. Blimey, its really happening. Take a look at this!

Stanley Veale snatched the telegram from his mate. Here, give me a look, he said, scanning the typed words.

SECRET

5 August 1914

Director of Naval Reserves,

I am directed by the Naval Board to inform you that you are to take immediate steps for putting in force the Examination Service at all defended ports.

Such of the Naval Reserve Forces as may be required for this purpose are to be ready for duty pending issue of proclamation.

By direction of the Naval Board.

W.R.S.

For Naval Secretary

Pfft, Veale scoffed as he handed back the telegram. Business as usual. Thats just another alert. Were not at war.

But the volunteer feared it was only a matter of time, and he wasnt sure he was ready for war. Now part of a Royal Australian Naval Reserve Examination Service fleet a crew of part-timers given the job of inspecting incoming and outgoing vessels during war the twenty-year-old thought back to his one and only test run in December 1913. To the time hed spewed on the deck and shot his captain in the foot.

Oh, my boy, one of the sailors had said when he found Veale curled up in a corner as the examination vessel Alvina cruised towards its target, Countess of Hopetoun, a Royal Australian Navy torpedo gunboat playing the part of enemy runaway. They had orders to stop the pretend enemy ship.

Are you sick?

Not just sick, Veale had replied. I think I am going to die.

The crewmate had laughed. Yeah, its a bit rough out here, he said. She is kicking up a fuss, isnt she? But Ive got just the thing to fix you up.

The burly veteran grabbed a rope with a bucket attached to the end. He heaved it into the rolling deep and scooped up a bucket of blue.

Here, get a gulp of this, he said after bringing the bucket back onto the ship. It will taste like shit, but it will get you back on your feet.

Veale had summoned all his strength to shake his head. Nah, he said. Might as well drink poison.

Trust me, lad, the crewmate replied. Go on. Just pinch your nose and get it down.

Ah, blimey, Veale said. It couldnt make me feel any worse.

He had placed both hands around the bucket and lifted it to his face, pale white with a tinge of green, holding his breath as he skolled a mouthful.

Bleuh! Hed gagged and coughed. Baaaaaaggghhhhh! Then hed spewed. Veale became Vesuvius, a volcanic force shooting the slush from his stomach into the air. The vile mess splattered the freshly polished deck.

The rookie had cursed the veteran. Arsehole he said. Thought this was supposed to make me feel better!

But he was soon thanking him. You know what? hed said as he climbed to his feet. I think that worked.

And it had: twenty minutes later he was well enough to shoot his captain in the leg.

Alvina had been fast closing in on the enemy ship they had been ordered to stop.

Rig up the rocket tube, ordered Captain John Tracy Richardson. We need to fire a warning shot.