Read Online THE LAST GOOD WAR: A Novel by Paul Wonnacott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Wonnacott
Tags: Fiction / War & Military
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Steckerboard. It comes to us, compliments of Army intelligence.
“Its purpose is just what Jerzy suggested—a second encoding. It's an integral part of the machine, and that makes it easy to use. Each of the short cables can be plugged into two sockets connecting any two letters—say C and K; then C and K are steckered together. When a key is pushed, and C comes out of the three-wheeled scrambler, the current is routed through the steckerboard, changing the C to a K; the K appears in the lighted board at the top. As the connections run both ways, the steckerboard will also switch every K to the letter C. So the machine works like the original: at any initial setting, it can be used either to code or decode a message.”
Jerzy was leaning over the machine, obviously fascinated—like an eight-year old preparing to take a watch apart.
“Yes, Jerzy, you may play with it; the present settings don't mean anything in particular.”
Jerzy began to unplug the cables, resetting them in a different order. Each time, he set the wheels to AAA and pushed one of the keys, scribbling the results on a pad.
“The steckerboard seems like a very simple second coding,” Henryk continued, “and it is. C always becomes K, and K always becomes C, as long as the cable settings remain unchanged. If that were the only coding, it would be child's play to decipher it. But it's not. We have two codings in tandem: first the scrambling from the three wheels, with the results then passed through the steckerboard.
“Unfortunately, this simple system has spectacular results. Consider. The first letter, A, may be steckered to any of the other 25 letters, obviously giving 25 possibilities.”
Marian squirmed in his seat; he had been suffering most acutely from the frustration of preceding months. His mind was now racing ahead; he interrupted Henryk.
“Once A is steckered, there are 24 remaining unsteckered letters. The next one, B, can be steckered to any of the other 23 open plugs, and so on. Thus, the number of possible combinations is 25 x 23 x 21.... That comes to a total of...”
Henryk paused to let Marian demonstrate his impressive ability to do calculations in his head. He waited expectantly, head slightly forward, brows raised, his ten long fingers pressed against the table.
“What? Almost 10 trillion?” Marian reported after a few seconds.
“Actually, only 8 trillion.” Henryk paused to let the number sink in. “For each of these possibilities, there are the 100,000-plus combinations coming through the three-wheeled scrambler. In very rough terms, that makes almost a quintillion possibilities—or, if you like it straight and simple, a billion billion.”
Without realizing it, Anna sighed.
“I think,” Henryk said in a record understatement, “that this will require the best from both our gorillas and idiots. Indeed, the next round goes to the idiots. Brute force, by itself, simply won't work any more. We're to the end of the line with that approach. We expect a lot from Marian's brute of a machine, but not magic.”
The responses of his small audience varied. Marian smiled slightly; it was the first time that Henryk had allowed himself to use the terms gorillas and idiots. Jerzy and Anna, as the chief idiots, were now on the spot; they looked decidedly glum at the huge odds against them. In the past two years, the possible encodings had escalated from a “mere” 17 thousand to a billion billion. To read a message by brute force would take many trillion times as long. They should live so long.
“I also think,” concluded Henryk, “that we might all turn the problem over in our minds before meeting again—next Wednesday morning, I would suggest.”
They didn't get anywhere the next Wednesday. Nor the following Wednesday, nor the next, nor any of the Wednesdays until mid November.
Then they collectively found the key that would be used, not only by the Poles, but also by the French and especially the British all
“Its purpose is just what Jerzy suggested—a second encoding. It's an integral part of the machine, and that makes it easy to use. Each of the short cables can be plugged into two sockets connecting any two letters—say C and K; then C and K are steckered together. When a key is pushed, and C comes out of the three-wheeled scrambler, the current is routed through the steckerboard, changing the C to a K; the K appears in the lighted board at the top. As the connections run both ways, the steckerboard will also switch every K to the letter C. So the machine works like the original: at any initial setting, it can be used either to code or decode a message.”
Jerzy was leaning over the machine, obviously fascinated—like an eight-year old preparing to take a watch apart.
“Yes, Jerzy, you may play with it; the present settings don't mean anything in particular.”
Jerzy began to unplug the cables, resetting them in a different order. Each time, he set the wheels to AAA and pushed one of the keys, scribbling the results on a pad.
“The steckerboard seems like a very simple second coding,” Henryk continued, “and it is. C always becomes K, and K always becomes C, as long as the cable settings remain unchanged. If that were the only coding, it would be child's play to decipher it. But it's not. We have two codings in tandem: first the scrambling from the three wheels, with the results then passed through the steckerboard.
“Unfortunately, this simple system has spectacular results. Consider. The first letter, A, may be steckered to any of the other 25 letters, obviously giving 25 possibilities.”
Marian squirmed in his seat; he had been suffering most acutely from the frustration of preceding months. His mind was now racing ahead; he interrupted Henryk.
“Once A is steckered, there are 24 remaining unsteckered letters. The next one, B, can be steckered to any of the other 23 open plugs, and so on. Thus, the number of possible combinations is 25 x 23 x 21.... That comes to a total of...”
Henryk paused to let Marian demonstrate his impressive ability to do calculations in his head. He waited expectantly, head slightly forward, brows raised, his ten long fingers pressed against the table.
“What? Almost 10 trillion?” Marian reported after a few seconds.
“Actually, only 8 trillion.” Henryk paused to let the number sink in. “For each of these possibilities, there are the 100,000-plus combinations coming through the three-wheeled scrambler. In very rough terms, that makes almost a quintillion possibilities—or, if you like it straight and simple, a billion billion.”
Without realizing it, Anna sighed.
“I think,” Henryk said in a record understatement, “that this will require the best from both our gorillas and idiots. Indeed, the next round goes to the idiots. Brute force, by itself, simply won't work any more. We're to the end of the line with that approach. We expect a lot from Marian's brute of a machine, but not magic.”
The responses of his small audience varied. Marian smiled slightly; it was the first time that Henryk had allowed himself to use the terms gorillas and idiots. Jerzy and Anna, as the chief idiots, were now on the spot; they looked decidedly glum at the huge odds against them. In the past two years, the possible encodings had escalated from a “mere” 17 thousand to a billion billion. To read a message by brute force would take many trillion times as long. They should live so long.
“I also think,” concluded Henryk, “that we might all turn the problem over in our minds before meeting again—next Wednesday morning, I would suggest.”
They didn't get anywhere the next Wednesday. Nor the following Wednesday, nor the next, nor any of the Wednesdays until mid November.
Then they collectively found the key that would be used, not only by the Poles, but also by the French and especially the British all
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