1.

A hard October wind cut across the bay. Down on the docks below, men in sailors uniforms and thick wool coats herded themselves up a gangplank onto the deck of the USS Eldridge. At the observation deck above an old man watched them, his gnarled, rooty hands clenched tightly around the guard rail. An old well chewed cob pipe trailing thick streamers of smoke stuck out between the bristles of a short gray beard. To his left stood a much younger man, side parted hair and slight smile holding fast against the wind.

"This is madness, you know", said the old man.

To which the other replied in a terse Bristish accent: "Perhaps, but the whole world has gone mad. We're simply playing our part".

The old man pushed himself back from the rail, pointing below, "Do they know that? Do those boys down there, do they know the line you're trying to cross?"

The younger man sighed, leaning forward, not meeting his elder's eyes, "They know the world must be put back in order. Do they know how, of course not. Do they know why, I doubt that either". He turned his head, facing the old man's deep scowl, "We cross this line, or we cross another - but lines will be crossed, sir, one way or another."

"And you'd rather cross the line you see than the one you don't.", He said.

"No, Oppenheimer will cross his line too." he said flatly, "that genie will not be put back in the bottle, we can only fight to decide who does the wishing."

The old man puffed deeply on the pipe, looking for the words to express the anxiety, no, the feat curling deep inside of him, "Do you believe in God?"

A small laugh almost escaped, turning into an awkward smile as his propriety stifled it, "I fear God has little use for me".

The old man's eyes hardened, "I don't care that you're a sodomite. I'm asking you a serious question son. You are meddling with the laws of nature. This is not fire. This is not electricity. This isn't even Oppenheimer's insane plan to split atoms." He placed his hand on the younger man's arm, "I want to know if the man who is violating the very laws of nature with my boys, believes there in good. . .and evil".

"I don't know", he said softly, "To be honest with you, I fear that if there was a God, he died along time ago".

The old man nodded, hand still on arm, "I believe he did as well. I also believe he came back. I hope, for the sake of us all, that's something you can believe in yourself".

The older man looked back to the docks, his sailors nearly finished winding their way to the decks. He had never lied to them before, even when sending them into dangerous waters or the churning seas of battle. He knew, this time, he was. This was not a simple experiment. This would determine the course of the war, of all war - even humanity its self. Or they would die. Some part, deep within, the part that demanded that there be some greater power than man secretly prayed for the later, and for it, he hated himself.

"I must be going", the younger man said, as their eyes both looked out over the vast cold Atlantic ocean. As if compelled by opposite poles as not to meet, the raw nature of their conversation exposing nerves neither men could face.

"Yes, I suppose you should, they'll need you at the observation tower".

"No, not the tower", the younger man said, "the ship".

"The ship?", he asked the cold waters of the Atlantic, still unable to meet the younger man's eyes.

The younger man turned to leave, saying as he did, Yes. The bridge. I'll be conducting my experiments there".

"Mr. Turing", the old man said to his back, "good luck son".

"I don't believe in luck."

"You don't believe in God either, but I hope you find both", the old man said as the young scientist walked toward the ramp to the docks.