[color=0072bc][b]Liverpool, NW England, United Kingdom[/b][/color]

Colonel Jonathan Cartwright of the Royal East Kent Regiment slouched despairingly in his chair. Stuck in Liverpool for a whole week, with nothing to show for it. Some rot about 'monitoring', 'inspecting' and 'reporting back', and off he'd been sent. 

Glumly, he stared down at his Morse code set, hastily thrust into his hands on his first day by an overworked secretary. Around him, people wrote down, reported, replied to or forwarded messages to various people of authority. He knew no one, did nothing with any of them. The only thing they'd shared was that dizzy spell about an hour ago. 

It had been odd - a wave of disorientation sweeping through the room, as if some strange gas had wafted in. They must have used up all their air or something, Cartwright supposed.

'Bleep, bleep-bleep-bleep, bleeeeep!' went his machine, startling him. Snatching up his pencil, he used his (limited) knowledge of Morse code to translate the message. It read:

[pre]FROM: USS Tulsa, ZRCV 1
TO: Liverpool

Unable to contact convoy HX-161 or escort ships. Convoy and escort position unknown. No enemy action to report. Please advise.[/pre]

'USS Tulsa?' wondered the Colonel. The only USS Tulsa he know was an American gunboat in the Pacific. Perhaps it had been transferred, to help with the convoys - though Cartwright had no idea how it could have got to the North Atlantic so quickly. Also, what was ZRCV 1? Shrugging, he tapped out a reply, not deeming it important enough to report. He had authority anyhow.

[@Queen Raidne][pre]FROM: Liverpool
TO: USS Tulsa, ZRCV 1

Set course for Glasgow. Continue to report on convoy status and enemy action. Be prepared for further orders.[/pre]