[OKDXA] Good Yule!

[Kim Elmore]

Christmas, Yuletide, Kalends... These all mark our celebrations of 
Renewal, something I daresay we all need.

Many years ago, I wrote a Christmas-themed short story that CQ Magazine 
published in their 2007 December edition. Our reflector doesn't allow 
attachments so here's the text of the story for your Christmas Eve 
amusement. It is *pure* fiction. I've no evidence whatsoever that 
anything like this ever happened. But, it's a traditionally sappy 
Christmas story with a ham radio/DX slant. Here it is:

Christmas Cheer
Kimberly L. Elmore, N5OP

      Cold.

      Cold, windy, snowy, tired, and far, far from home. That's all Lt. 
Gene Nielson could
think of that Christmas Eve in 1944. How he hated this crummy war and 
the crummy Germans.
Oh! For some hot chocolate, the glow of his family's Christmas tree back 
in Oklahoma, and his
cat, Peter, in his lap.
      Medium height and bordering on skinny, Gene found the relentless 
cold bone-chilling. As
he took his comms shift, he thought one of the best things about being a 
signalman is that the
equipment always keeps the room warm in winter. He'd just finished the 
last exchange with
"MX" when, as if on cue, the door flew open and with it, a blast of cold 
and snow.
      "Criminy! Close the door! Ya born in a barn, ya stupid sonofa..." 
He turned to glare angrily
at the intruder. "Oh. Sorry, Reverend." Chaplain Skaggs was older than 
even the CO, gentle, fit,
and gray around the temples. The men loved him because he listened.
      "That's alright. And, as a matter of fact, I was born in a barn." 
The chaplain's eyes sparkeld
with mischief. "Well, it's a barn *now*, anyway... Stayin' warm, 
Lieutenant?"
      "Barely. More equipment would help. What brings you by, Reverend?"
      "Oh, well, I came by because you've got about the only warm place 
in camp." The chaplain
smiled again. Gene pulled his coat closer, and resettled the earphones 
so one ear was uncov-
ered.
      "If I'm bothering you..."
      "No, no. I can talk with you and copy at the same time. I'll catch 
anything for us. I was just
thinkin' about radio and Christmas Eve..."
      "Do you really like these radios, or is this your way of staying 
warm?"
      "Both! I'm from Oklahoma, so I hate the cold. But, I've loved 
radios ever since I can
remember. Call it a passion."
      "A passion! Really?" Skaggs chided.
      "Oh, yeah. When the war broke out, I was the chief engineer at 
KOME, in Tulsa, Okla-
homa. I filled a 'necessary' role at home and had a draft deferment. The 
station manager offered
to extend it, but I refused and volunteered."
      "A job like that must have been tough to give up."
      "You bet! My family was pretty bad off during the Depression, so a 
good job is a treasure.
Times were hard, so I went off to the NYA when I was 16 and..."
      "NYA?"
      "Yeah; National Youth Administration, part of the WPA. They 
offered to teach me radio,
and I jumped at it. Earned my ham radio license and became W5JHJ. After 
I studied some
more, Dad drove me to the FCC office in Dallas where I passed the First 
Class Radiotelephone
and Second Class Radiotelegraph exams and... Say, do you really want to 
hear this?"
      "Sure! Go on," urged Skaggs.
      "Well, when I volunteered for the Signal Corps, I was commissioned 
as a 2nd 'louie right
off 'cause of my experience. I skipped basic radio training, and went 
straight to the final test:
tuning one of these babies," he patted the huge BC-610 cabinet to his 
left, "at 18 mc, the top of
its frequency range, into a light bulb. It's not easy 'cause the load is 
reactive. Most guys fumble
with it, but I'd done it before." Gene chuckled at the memory. "Anyway, 
the light bulb was too
small and it lit up almost blue-white. The sergeant watching me wasn't 
ready. I can still hear him
yell: "OK! OK! Knock it off, already!" Must've been the only bulb they 
had. Anyway, I shipped out
in Spring '43."
      Chaplain Skaggs thought. "And you were assigned here?"
      "I'm lucky; it beats stringin' wire on a battlefield. I'm good at 
Morse code -- CW -- and fast,
so they assigned me to company command."
      "Hmmm. So, what is it about radio and Christmas Eve?"
      "I was just thinking that on Christmas Eve, I'd wish everyone 
Merry Christmas, 'MX' in CW.
Haven't managed that for awhile..." Gene sighed and trailed off.
      Chaplain Skaggs regarded the young man carefully. "Well, it's 
Christmas Eve again. You'll
find gifts in the unlikeliest places." Skaggs got up and stretched his 
legs. "I'm warm enough now.
Guess I'd better turn in. Good night, Gene. And, Merry Christmas."
      "Thanks, Reverend. Merry Christmas to you, too." He readjusted his 
headphones and
thought briefly about the Allied forces desperately fighting to close 
'the Bulge' in a Belgian
forest called the Ardennes. He'd heard enough to be grateful he wasn't 
there.
      Around 2300 local time, Gene finished copying General Eisenhower's 
Christmas greeting
to the troops. Gene knew the operator at division HQ, another ham, so 
they both chatted very briefly
about home and family, ending the exchange with a sincere "MX OM." It 
wasn't quite the same,
but it lifted their spirits. As Gene opened the latest available issue 
of 'Stars and Stripes,' dated
November 12, 1944, for the third complete read-through, he heard a 
faint, slightly chirpy signal a
bit off frequency.
      Hmmm... It was a fast, crisp fist, but the signal was weak. He 
closed the TRANSMIT
switch and sent a quick "?".
      It sounded like "FWMK," or perhaps "FWOK." That was no Allied ID 
he knew. Again: "?"
      The QSB worked in his favor this time because he copied, quite 
clearly: "FW OM K"
      His mind raced. What's this? The signal characteristics sounded... 
German. FW OM? If it
was a German operator harassing him (a common occurrence) he wouldn't 
bother with such
decorum. His curiosity was peaked. "Let's find out," he thought.
      "QRZ?" Might as well; he sent "OM" after all.
      "DE D4BVI FW OM K"
      Call letters! German ham call letters... Ham radio had become 
legal in Germany sometime
in the 1930's and, to his delight, he'd worked a couple of Germans early 
one morning on 20 m.
Sadly, the war soon broke out and all European DX vanished. Shortly 
after, all DX was
prohibited; then came Pearl Harbor and ham radio was silenced "for the 
duration."
      What about the "FW OM" business? His high-school German came dimly 
back to him: FW
could mean Frohliche Weihnachten, German for "Merry Christmas." But, why 
would a German
wish an American Merry Christmas"
      "D4BVI DE W5JHJ FB OM -- QTH" K" Why not? Might as well use my own 
call.
      "GERMANY," was the appropriately useless reply. But, there was 
more: "NAME HR THEO
-- QTH? K"
      "TNX -- OP GENE -- QTH FRANCE," equally useless information to 
humor the guy. For no
good reason, Gene added "WX HR COLD K"
      "WX HR COLD -- AGE 26 -- THGS GO BDLY K"
      What kind of ruse is this? But then again, maybe it wasn't a ruse 
at all. Maybe it's simply
another homesick soldier. Or rather... Ham. A cold, scared, lonely ham 
who wants to be home for
Christmas.
      "HW BDLY? K" was all he could think of.
      "DEFEAT IS ONLY A MTTR OF TIME K"
      Gene was mystified. While this could still be a con game, Gene had 
serious doubts. Nevertheless,
he couldn't continue the QSO as he had to change frequency.
      "KEEP UR HEAD DOWN ES GL -- MX THEO SK"
      "TNX -- ONE DAY WE WILL BE FRIENDS -- FW DR GENE SK"
      That was it, over in a couple of minutes. This brief exchange ... 
A Christmas Eve QSO? This both
disturbed and touched him deeply. For the briefest moment, the enemy 
wasn't a faceless
monstrosity: the enemy was a ham, just like him. He decided that strange 
things happen in war.
Maybe this was his gift ... his Christmas Eve QSO. It was a busy night 
and he had little time to
dwell on it. As the Battle of the Bulge and the Rhineland campaign 
ground on, the event was
pushed from Gene's mind.
      VE Day came and went and Gene volunteered to be part of the 
occupation force stationed
near Stuttgart, or at least what was left of it. As they progressed 
across Germany, he was
amazed at the destruction. If I were on the receiving end of this, I'd 
sure take any help I could
get. Now a Captain, he was in charge of division HQ communications. With 
the war over, his
division was in relatively permanent digs, so most traffic was on 
land-line and radio became
secondary. As a Signalman, he had to handle all of it and as a Captain, 
he had to administer all
of it.
      Many Germans, some ex-military, volunteered as civilians to assist 
in the rebuilding.
Americans and Germans weren't supposed to fraternize, but they had to 
work together and
naturally became acquainted. Gene was asked one day in early June to 
help assess some
surrendered German communications equipment with the help of a German 
ex-signalman.
      Relaxed and cordial, the German was heavier and taller than Gene, 
with sandy hair and
brown eyes. To Gene's surprise, he spoke impeccable English. The 
surrendered equipment had
unusually intricate design, making it hard to repair in the field, but 
was otherwise routine.
      "I'm sorry; no one introduced us. I'm Captain Gene Nielson."
      The German signalman paused and seemed oddly attentive. "Gene? 
Excuse me for ask-
ing, but are you, by any chance, a radio amateur?"
      "Yes...," said Gene slowly, "I am. Why?"
      "Are your call letters W5JHJ?"
      "Yes. How did you...?"
      "I am Theo! D4BVI! I was Leutnant Theo Blaufeld, a signal officer 
with my command staff.
The Christmas Eve QSO!" said Theo, nodding excitedly. "You are Gene!"
      "Well, I'll be...!" They shook hands as old friends might. After a 
pause, Gene admitted "You
know, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for that QSO."
      "Good! I'm pleased!"
      "Really? Well...," Gene stumbled for the words. "I know it sounds 
corny, but all of a sud-
den, I knew that there were people, like me, on your side. I guess maybe 
I thought that I could
help undo some of the war somehow if I stayed around a bit."
      Theo thought a moment. "And I am truly grateful."
      "Yeah, well... Here we are." After another awkward silence, Gene 
couldn't restrain his
curiosity. "But, why did you contact me and then wish me a Merry Christmas?"
      "A personal ritual," said Theo, eyes twinkling. "Before the war, I 
used to make contacts
every Christmas Eve and wish everyone Frohliche Weihnachten. This was 
one of my favorite
things to do. I even did it before amateur radio was legal in Germany."
      "That's amazing! I used to do the same thing! In fact, I'd been 
thinking about it when I
heard you. Still, why did you tell me that things were going badly?"
      "Well," chuckled Theo, "they were!" Then, more seriously "We are 
not all Nazis, you see"
Strangely, I began to see in my country's defeat its only hope for a 
future. It was the only way
we could be rid of the Nazis. They were... Terrible. I know this 
especially because..." He
stopped short, and winced. "I handled the messages. Even so, I did my 
job and served my
comrades and my country.
      "Besides," and Theo smiled, "I was taught that whenever I 
transmit, I represent Germany
because radio has no boundaries. Even in war, I must consider appearances."
      Gene was quiet for a moment. "It's funny you say that, because I 
was taught the same
thing. But, I have to admit that I, um... Expected a trick. I've 
certainly been taunted and jammed
by you guys."
      "Yes, and I may have done some of it," laughed Theo. "To be 
honest, I was nervous, too.
You are the only American I've done that with. But it was Christmas Eve, 
a special time. I heard
you and the other American send each other MX and well..." Theo trailed 
off. "Did you know that
once, during the Great War, on Christmas the fighting stopped and there 
were no enemies, only
soccer teams! The men even exchanged gifts across the trenches. If we 
cannot set aside our
differences for a single day, we are truly doomed."
      Through pleasant small talk, Gene learned Theo's family was 
northeast of the small village
of Fellbach, famous for its winemaking, and that Theo's parents owned a 
small vinyard and
winery there. Theo finished with "And then I volunteered for the 
Wehermacht. It was the safest
thing to do."
      "What?! How could volunteering to fight be safe?"
      "Well... Another time, perhaps." Theo abruptly changed the 
subject: "Some day, I would
like to be on the air again, but it will be difficult because the Nazis 
took all the equipment when
the war started."
      "Most of ours went to the war effort, too. We got paid a little 
for it, but I'll have to rebuild my
station. There will probably be tons of war surplus equipment that 
should work, though. A lot of
the stuff the Army uses is patterned after ham gear."
      Theo smiled ruefully, looking at the ruined German equipment. "I 
think there will be little
surplus German equipment. But, I will manage." The small talk continued, 
forging their
friendship.
      August brought VJ Day, and with the war now completely over, Gene 
learned that the
amateur 2 1/2 m band had already reopened. In November, Gene quietly 
learned that some of
the HF ham bands might be open by Christmas. It's not even Thanksgiving 
and 10 m is already
open, he thought. He missed ham radio and so began working on a way to 
get back on the air.
There were no guarantees, but it looked like 20 m would be available 
before Christmas. With a
little effort, Gene was granted authority to operate with his own call, 
signed with a /D at the end.
He got a five-day pass centered on Christmas and put his plans into motion.
      Already, time was short. On the 18th, over a beer with Theo, he 
idly said "Y'know, I can"t
go home for Christmas. I know that times are hard, but do you think 
maybe I could visit the
Blaufeld estate instead? I could help out with anything that needed to 
be done."
      "Times truly are difficult, but the little region around my 
parent's estate seems to have escaped
the worst of it. We are not on any main roads and so anyone wanting to 
find the area must look
for it. We, and a few of the neighboring estates, refused to use any of 
the Nazi's slave labor, we
helped a few as much as was safe, and so suffered little from 
retribution when Germany
collapsed. I'm sure my parents would happily welcome you," replied Theo, 
smiling.  Plans were
made on the spot.
      Gene's mind was now racing: all the equipment had too fit in a 
jeep, and it had to be manageable
by only two men. The receiver was easy: the Army's BC-312 was heavy, but 
a fine
piece of gear that also tuned to 18 MHz. The transmitter was a problem. 
While wonderfully
tough and reliable, at over 500 lbs the BC-610 was too big and bulky. 
The Army had little of
equivalent quality that tuned above 13 MHz. Digging through equipment 
listings, he came
across a new transmitter: an ART-13, used by the Army Air Force. A small 
100 W transmitter
tuning 2-18 mc powered by a 12 V dynamotor, it had but one drawback: it 
was used on B-29s,
and there were none in Europe nor would there be in the near future. Now 
what?
      "Yeah, I got ten of 'em back in, ah," Sgt. Roy Inman, a gruff 
Boston 'southie,' paused
chomping his trade-mark un-lit cigar to check a fat clipboard, "Yeah. 
Octobah. Outta the blue.
Never ordered 'em." Then he brightened: "OK, here's the deal: you take 
whatever you want of this stuff. And
keep it. I know nuttin' about it, see? I already got enough surplus to 
supply another war." As the
cigar wandered to the other side of his mouth, he added "But that don't 
go for the jeep!"
      One last check verified that everything worked flawlessly. On 
Saturday the 22nd, he
carefully loaded the equipment into the back of a jeep, covering it with 
a tarp. In the passenger
seat, he cushioned a J-44 straight key and a J-36 "bug" in a towel. He 
barely slept that night: he
was a kid at Christmas again!
      Greeted warmly at the modest Blaufeld estate, Gene was served a 
meal as he hadn't had
in... Well, he couldn't remember. The Blaufelds obviously dug deep for 
such a lavish feast. The
wine and Christmas decorations were right out of a fairy tale, along 
with the marzipan and
chocolate dessert. To show he was truly welcome, their spoiled cat, 
Rudy, curled up in Gene's
lap as they sat before the fire, sipping an estate-bottled Eiswein.
      Unfolding with the evening was the Blaufeld story. Theo's Great 
Grandmother was from a
well-to-do Jewish family, while his Great-Grandfather was from landed 
nobility. The two met and
fell desperately in love. But, as she was forbidden to marry outside her 
faith, and he to marry
outside his class, they eloped to the tiny town of Fellbach. While 
penniless, their love was
sincere and so they were married by the local priest.
      Lightning ignited the town hall a few nights later, destroying all 
official records. Reconstructing
what they could, neither the priest nor the burgemeister saw fit to 
replace all the details
of the Blaufeld's marriage. They put in a few good words with a kind, 
old vintner, childless and
long-since a widower. He took them in to help with his small estate and 
came to love them as
his own children. Upon his death, all was bequeathed to them thus 
founding the Blaufeld Estate.
      When the Nazis rose to power, Theo's family hid all evidence of 
their past in the cellar, yet
lived in constant fear of discovery. Now Gene understood why Theo 
considered volunteering for
the Wehrmacht safer than remaining with his family: as a patriotic 
German soldier with no
officially-traceable Jewish ties, no one would question his, or his 
family's, heritage.
      After dinner had settled, Gene was certain he'd made the proper 
choice. "Theo, I need
your help with something out here."
      The night was clear and cold. Snow sparkled on the ground and in 
tree branches like
diamonds in the moonlight. Gene pulled back the canvas tarp, stiff with 
cold, and turned a
flashlight on the contents.
      "What...?"
      "Well, Theo, you remember all that surplus radio gear I said I'd 
get? I got some. Ham radio
is legal again in the US, and I have permission to operate in Germany 
using my call with a /D at
the end. Twenty meters officially opened a couple of weeks ago and I 
thought you might like to
try it with me. It should be no problem to get all this set up tomorrow, 
in time for Christmas Eve.
We can power it from the jeep until something better is worked out.
      "But, there's one other thing," he said, reaching inside the jeep, 
unwrapping the keys and
handing them to Theo. "I've been told, in no uncertain terms, not to 
bring any of this stuff back.
Since I don't want to get in trouble with my supply sergeant, I guess 
it'll have to stay with you, if
that's OK. Frohliche Weihnachten, Theo."

73 & MX,

Kim N5OP

-- 
Kim Elmore, Ph

Kim Elmore, Ph.D. (Adj. Assoc. Prof., OU School of Meteorology, CCM, PP 
SEL/MEL/Glider, UAS, N5OP, 2nd Class Radiotelegraph, GROL)

/“I occasionally play works by contemporary composers and for two 
reasons. First to discourage the composer from writing any more and 
secondly to remind myself how much I appreciate Beethoven." – Jascha 
Heifetz/