GC1KTGC OPERATION CROSSBOW (Unknown Cache) in Tennessee, United States created by KNOW FUTURE

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A cache by KNOW FUTURE Message this owner

Hidden : 7/23/2009

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Size: Size: small (small)

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CONGRATS TO ODYSSEY POSSE FIRST TO SOLVE & 6LINDSEYS FIRST TO FIND!

12 Downing Street, London
16 June 1944 1430 hr

“Bloody stomping boots! Not again!”

Sirens wail, for the third time this afternoon, warning of the imminent attack. The leader of OPERATION CROSSBOW again dashes to the window and throws up the sash. I sit quietly as my host Duncan Sandys strains to catch a glimpse of the V-1 flying bomb – or at least to hear the distinctive drone of its pulse-jet engine.

“Shall we adjourn to the cellar?” I ask, referring to the bomb shelter deep beneath street level.

“No need, Biff,” Sandys (pronounced ‘sands’) replies. “This one is miles away. The far western suburbs, I would imagine.”

We hear a dull thud. The distant explosion proves him right.

“We’ve got to put an end to this outrage!” Sandys cries.

He hovers before the wall map of London, studies it for a moment then adds a red pin, uncomfortably close to my apartment in Norcott Close, Dunstable.

“Just a guess, of course.” Then he turns and drills me with his bright blue eyes.

“The damage that Hitler is doing us with his Vergeltungswaffe (vengeance weapons) might well become cataclysmic,” Sandys returns to his desk. “Psychological, primarily, but real nonetheless.”

“I understand,” I respond, feeling the pain. “Just trying to hold this meeting has become a nerve-wracking ordeal.”

“That’s it exactly, Biff.” Sandys agrees. “If these senseless, random bombings continue day after day, Britons will lose the intestinal fortitude that has held us together against overwhelming military strength. Unabated, these nasty little buzz bombs could mean the difference between victory and defeat!”

“And that’s why I’m here?”

“Correct.” Sandys nods as he opens a brown folder stamped ‘ULTRA TOP SECRET’ in red ink.

“Gubbins and I agree that you are just the man for this job.” He pauses and looks at me. “I can tell you now that this will be a dangerous mission, but I’m sure you’ve already guessed as much.”

“Danger’s my middle name, M’lord,” I counter, trying to gin up a bit of bluster.

“Really?” He reaches for my personnel file.

“No, not really,” I admit. “But you know what I mean.”

“Oh… Yes, of course.” Sandys hands me the mission folder. “In any case, I’m here to provide you with the scientific background you’ll need to understand the assignment. Later Gubbins will brief you on our plan to destroy Hitler’s V-2 program.”

“V-2? I haven’t heard of that one.”

“Oh, you will Biff. You will.”

V-2 Missile Research Center, Peenemünde, Germany
16 June 1944 1710 hr

“So, the liquid rocket fuel is too difficult to produce?” asks SS-Brigadeführer Walther Schellenberg, jotting notes in his field journal.

“Actually it’s simple to produce but very difficult to control,” explains Dr. Wernher von Braun, head of the V-2 rocket program. “We’ve had little success overcoming the airburst problem.”

“You mean the rockets exploding in mid-flight?”

“Exploding on reentry to the atmosphere to be specific,” von Braun replies as he escorts his guest into the research laboratory. “The liquid oxygen heats and expands, it becomes unstable, then… kaboom!

“Am I correct in deducing that burning solid fuel eliminates this problem?” Schellenberg, recently appointed as the chief of intelligence, has always been fascinated with chemistry and physics.

“Jah,” von Braun hands the Nazi spymaster a shiny black pellet. “It’s very stable but not so simple to manufacture.”

“And hematite is the solid fuel of choice?”

“No.” von Braun clears his throat. “It is not the ideal oxidizer,” he continues, “but there is plenty of hematite ore to be had from a mine near our new processing plant. That makes it the most practical alternative in these difficult times.”

“I’m looking forward to visiting your new facility, Professor.”

“You will be amazed,” von Braun promises. “It’s truly state of the art technology.”

U.S. Embassy, Bern, Switzerland
23 June 1944 0930 hr

“Awfully good of you to drop in on such short notice, Mynx.” Allen Dulles, OSS Bern station Chief, smiles knowing that Mynx d’Meanor, the brilliant cryptanalyst from Special Ops, had literally parachuted into Switzerland at two o’clock this morning.

“My pleasure, Mr. Dulles!” Though exhausted, Mynx still looks fresh as the morning dew. “Such a magnificent, beautiful country – especially viewed from the air on a moonlit night!”

He gazes at her thoughtfully for a moment. Mynx exudes a sexual magnetism that both attracts and repels, depending upon a man’s appetite for danger. The old spymaster finds her particularly alluring. He sighs quietly. If only he were twenty years younger…

“I’ve asked you here,” Dulles recaptures his train of thought, “to help us crack a new Nazi cipher.” He hands her a large manila folder.

Mynx opens the packet and extracts several photos.

“You are looking at the top secret Vogel cipher machine,” Dulles explains. “Used only by scientists and engineers doing research on advanced weapon systems for the Third Reich.”

She studies them closely as Dulles relates how the device came into his possession.

“We stumbled upon this little gadget by accident,” he begins. “A German diplomatic courier left his pouch at our embassy by mistake. It fell open, revealing the Vogel.”

“Wow!” Mynx grins. “What a fortuitous accident!”

“Exactly,” Dulles chuckles. “Of course, we gathered up the contents of the pouch and recalled the courier.”

“I’ll bet he was relieved.”

“Panicked, actually. He could face the firing squad for such a breach in security!”

“So, what happened?”

“By the time he returned we had resealed the pouch.” Dulles strikes a match and relights his pipe. “There was no evidence that we had tampered with it. The courier begged me not to breath a word of this to anyone. You should have seen the look of relief on his face when I agreed.”

“With strings attached, I hope?”

“We have an understanding,” he nods. “This gives us an advantage in that the Germans don’t realize that we are even aware of their Vogel cipher.”

Dulles pulls a folder from the safe behind his desk.

“A series of wireless intercepts,” he hands the folder to Mynx. “ Huff-duff tells us that some of these Vogel ciphers were transmitted from high in the Austrian Alps. The others originate from the Baltic coast, probably their rocket research center at Peenemünde.”

“No one at Bletchley Park can decipher them,” he continues, “but then, they haven’t seen these photos.”

“Shall I take them back to BP with me?” Mynx asks.

“No time!” Dulles shakes his head emphatically. “With this new information I’m sure you can do the job much quicker right here.”

“I can construct a replica of the machine,” she studies the photos. “It looks simple enough.”

“That’s the spirit!” He slaps the desktop. “There’s an empty office just down the hall. Take all this with you and get cracking…” He pauses. “Ha! A pun!”

“You’re so clever!” But her mind has already left the room – until Dulles utters the following.

“We’ll need your solution by the time St. Clair arrives.” Mynx stops dead in her tracks. “He’s scheduled to drop in at 0230 hours tomorrow morning.”

“Yes Sir!” Her heart is pounding, her knees weak. “I’ll have it for you by then!”

SOE Headquarters, London
23 June 1944 1540 hr

“So you see, Biff, the Germans have an ample supply of raw hematite ore, but the process of converting it to solid rocket fuel is complex and time consuming.” General Colin Gubbins hands him a photo of shiny black pellets about the size of almonds.

“The finished product?” I study the photo.

“Sandys estimates that just twenty of these ‘super-concentrated’ hematite fuel pellets can propel the 14-ton V-2 rocket a distance of 200 miles.”

“How is that possible?!”

“I don’t understand it myself,” Gubbins admits, “but Duncan must have information to support his premise.”

“So we pinpoint their rocket fuel factory,” I propose, “then we bring in the RAF and bomb it to smithereens!”

“I’m afraid we can’t muster the firepower to do that,” the General replies. “The good news is that they can only produce a handful of these pellets per day. If we can steal or destroy their fuel supply it will delay the V-2 program for months!”

“That makes sense,” I admit. “Where do we go to pinch these pretty pellets?”

“That’s the first part of your mission,” Gubbins pulls a map out of his desk drawer.

“We have only the vaguest idea of where their processing plant is located.” He sweeps his hand across a map of the Alps. “We believe it’s hidden in tunnels deep beneath the mountains, somewhere near the Austrian border.”

I look at his map and scratch my head, thinking ‘I’m a secret agent, dammit! Not an Alpine explorer!’

“It’s four o’clock.” Gubbins looks at his watch. “Let’s have a spot of tea, shall we? Then we’ll discuss the mission in detail.”

U.S. Embassy, Bern, Switzerland
23 June 1944 1600 hr

Her bones ache with fatigue, but Mynx knows she must stay alert and concentrate on cracking the Vogel cipher. Dulles’ secretary brings her a pot of strong coffee and a plate of sugary Swiss pastries. She is ravenous and the effect of the sugar and caffeine is like rocket fuel for her brain. She knows, of course, that she’ll feel even worse when it wears off. In the meantime, she begins to tackle the problem.

First, Mynx constructs a working model of the cipher machine. In less than an hour, using some simple drafting tools and a sheet of stiff paper, she’s spinning the rotors on her very own Vogel device. She uses one of her pearl stud earrings to hold it all together.

Now she has to figure out how the machine works. Mynx lets her mind slip into ‘neutral,’ a state of passive, relaxed concentration as she manipulates the rotors. She watches parts of words form as the disks slide past each other. By simply observing the apparatus in motion she soon works out the basic encryption procedure.

To test her solution she composes a trial message, one that she uses often when cracking a new cipher:

ENEMY WILL ATTACK AT DAWN

Mynx turns the rotors until the letters E-N-E-M-Y line up under the red pointer (Step 1). Now she has 25 different letter groups that can be used to encipher this word. She selects group 6, which gives her J-X-M-D-B. She lines up the next five letters in her message: W-I-L-L-A (Step 2). Then she selects letter group 23 as the cipher text: H-V-X-J-C.

She continues in this mode (Steps 3 and 4) and when finished she has created the following table:

“For this exercise I picked random letter groups,” Mynx says to herself. “Which works fine, but I know the Prussian mind craves order. They probably use the numbers on the base plate to establish a systematic progression… Now what could it be?”

She selects one of the intercepted radio messages, the most recent in the stack. Something about the ‘Message Number’ catches her eye: 012331475167. She rewrites the number:

01-23-31-47-51-67

“These are the numbers on each disk!” Mynx had noticed that earlier, thinking they must be numbered for a reason – probably because there are other disks that can be used to alter the cipher. Now she’s sure of it.

“Luckily we have the same disks they were using.” She checks the other messages. All the message numbers match.

“Dumb-a**es!” Mynx thinks to herself.

Then she begins to work through the series of wireless intercepts with her homemade Vogel device, a legal pad and a pencil. She discovers that in Message 1 the cipher starts at letter group 18 then proceeds clockwise. In Message 2 it starts at group 19. In Messages 3, group 20 and in Message 4, group 21. In other words the starting point on the rotors is keyed to the date. Soon she extracts the precise location of the hematite factory and the pellet storage area.

"Wait a minute!" She's thinking. "That's today!"

"Hmm. A change in plans."

"This looks important..."

"Bingo!" She finally hits paydirt.

“Biff will be so proud of me,” Mynx beams. She’s beginning to feel drowsy. Her blood sugar level must be bottoming out. She folds her arms on the table and lays her head down. “A five-minute catnap and I’ll be as good as new…”

SOE Headquarters, London
23 June 1944 1630 hr

General Gubbins and I enjoy a large plate of scones, clotted cream and fresh strawberries. Eventually Duncan Sandys joins us and finally Sir Stewart Menzies, Chief of MI6, enters the room and takes a seat. At this point Gubbins pulls an easel from behind the curtain. On it a flip-chart with bulleted lists breaks the mission into its individual components. The first review meeting for operation CROSSBOW comes to order.

“Gentlemen,” the General begins. “As we all know, the CROSSBOW situation is fluid and changing rapidly.”

“Mynx d’Meanor is in Bern, as we speak,” He taps the flip-chart with his pointer. “Hopefully she’s having some luck in cracking this new Vogel cipher.”

“Done!” Sandys interjects. “Dulles reports just moments ago that she has succeeded.” Then he smiles. “Professor von Braun has provided us with the exact location of his secret underground hematite factory!”

“Good Show, old girl!” Menzies slaps his thigh. “She’s the best!”

I'm proud for my partner’s success. Gubbins checks the completed tasks on his chart with a red marking pen.

“Right!” Gubbins turns to his audience. “This means we are ready to initiate Phase II of our Plan!”

“St. Clair,” Sandys nods at me as he speaks, “is key to the success of this phase.”

“Security at the rocket fuel plant will, no doubt, be at maximum strength,” Menzies comments. “You’ll need all your stealth and cunning to overcome it.”

“Now that we know the location,” Gubbins specializes in guerrilla field tactics, “we can air drop you in. There you will establish an observation and communications post.”

“We’ll need a portable radio transceiver,” I start a mental list. “And a pair of binoculars.”

“Most importantly,” Menzies adds, “you’ll need a German SS officer’s uniform – and one for Mynx as well.”

“What,” That one catches me off guard. “exactly is the plan here?”

“You’ll be impersonating Walther Schellenberg,” Menzies explains, “Miss d’Meanor will be posing as your private secretary.”

Somewhere over the Austrian Alps
25 June 1944 0240 hr

The AW-38 Whitley bomber hugs the rugged topography, flying at 300 ft above ground to avoid Luftwaffe radar. A full moon and a clear sky are the only conditions in which even the most experienced pilot can hope to complete such a mission.

“Approaching drop target,” the navigator announces over the intercom. “Prepare to jump!”

Ahead of us a small bonfire burns in a high alpine meadow. A team of Austrian resistance fighters is waiting for them below.

I brace myself in the open doorway. “I’m going to be sick!”

“Shut up and jump, you Wuss!” Mynx kicks me hard in the small of my back then dives out after me.

The pilot circles to confirms the drop – two black parachutes collapse as we hit the ground. He swings around and heads back toward Davos. He tips his wing as they pass over the meadow one final time. “Good luck, kids!” The navigator says a little prayer.

Bomb Shelter Beneath SOE Headquarters, London
25 June 1944 0930 hr

“We have confirmed that agents ARROW (Biff) and QUIVER (Mynx) have landed and established their base camp,” Gubbins must speak loudly to be heard on the battery powered field phone. “Received their first transmission at 0520 hours.”

“From here on, it’s all a matter of guts and luck. I can guarantee the first item. We can only hope for the last.” It’s Duncan Sandys on the other end, speaking from the bomb shelter beneath his own office.

“Indeed, Sir. I’ll contact you as soon as I learn anything new,” Gubbins promises then hangs up the phone. He pulls a rabbit’s foot from his pocket. “Godspeed ye, Biff St. Clair,” he says quietly.

Railroad Station, Paris
25 June 1944 0930 hr

It’s uncomfortably warm, even at this early hour. Schellenberg locates his private cabin, stows his bag then hangs up his coat and hat. He opens the window, but there is no breeze. The porter brings coffee and takes the colonel’s order for poached eggs and toast.

Schellenberg opens his briefcase and begins reading his mail. It’s a nine-hour trip to Weissehausen with train changes at Munich and Traunstein. He’ll be lucky to reach von Braun’s hematite factory by 1800 hours. No matter. He’ll nap after lunch and stay up all night if need be. He’s not afraid of working long hours. It’s how he clawed his way to the top of the Nazi intelligence labyrinth at the tender age of 34.

Austrian Alps above Weissehausen
25 June 1944 1150 hr

“There it is,” I hand the binoculars over to Mynx.

“The tunnel entrance to the hematite factory.” She checks the coordinates in her notebook. “Right where von Braun said it would be.”

“This uniform feels like a potato sack!” I stand and adjust the crease in my grey woolen slacks.

“It will fill out,” Mynx straightens my tie, “when you’re loaded down with fuel pellets.”

I’m wearing a specially tailored SS uniform with various hidden pockets that will hold about 30 pounds of hematite.

“Let’s go!” Mynx scrambles down to the trail with me close behind. We walk around a long curve and the tunnel entrance comes into view, guarded by a Wehrmacht sentry.

“Good morning, soldier.” I hand him my fake identification card, as does Mynx. The sentry examines them closely then snaps to attention.

“Good morning, Herr Schellenberg!” He stabs at the sky with a Nazi salute. “We were expecting you late this afternoon, sir.”

“We took the midnight express,” I explain. “Actually managed to get some sleep during the trip.”

“Professor von Braun will not be here for several hours,” The sentry opens the heavy steel door. “May I summon an escort for your tour of the factory?”

“No need, soldier,” I reply. “Just call the centrifuge room and tell them we are on our way.”

“Very good, Sir!” The sentry closes the door behind them with a loud clang.

“There’s only one way to go,” Mynx looks down the long straight passage ahead of them. “At least for now.”

The tunnel is well lit with a smooth asphalt floor. The walls are cleverly painted to resemble trees and meadows with blue sky overhead. We hear water running somewhere ahead of us. Soon we cross a bridge built over a subterranean stream. Off to our right we hear the whine of big electric motors.

“Must be the centrifuges,” I guess. “Come on.” I veer toward a tunnel forking to the right.

“No!” Mynx pulls out her notes. “We want the fuel storage area. I think we stay on the main path.”

Mynx is right. We cross another bridge.

We walk beside the stream for quite a distance. Mynx counts her paces and checks her compass periodically. Finally we come to a rock wall with a deep crevice near the floor.

“This is it!” she announces and reaches back into the gap.

She digs around in the crevice then pulls out a small container. They open it and find tiny bags of hematite fuel. Each bag is tagged with a date.

“Are you telling me they can only make two or three pellets a day?” I am incredulous.

“If we can steal these,” Mynx observes, “it will delay their missile launch by at least six months!”

We empty the fuel packets into the hidden pockets in my uniform. Then we place a few ordinary stones into each emptied bag and replace the container in the crevice. Perhaps the Germans will not detect our theft for a while – at least long enough for us to get out of here.

“Let’s skee-daddle, Baby!” I turn to leave.

“We have to stop by the centrifuges,” Mynx reminds me.

“Oh that’s right. We told the sentry to call ahead for us.”

We make a brief visit to the centrifuge room, ask a few questions, take some notes. Then we hurry back to the tunnel entrance.

“That was a quick visit,” the sentry observes as he marks their departure time on the visitors log.

“We’ll come back later with Professor von Braun,” I explain. “We are to meet him at the train station this evening.”

“Is there a good rathaus in Weissehausen?” Mynx asks. “We'd like to have a leisurely dinner while we wait for the professor.”

“Das Krackertübben is very good,” the sentry replies. “Also das Waffenhaus if you love greasy sausages, as I do!”

“Yum!” I pat my belly. “Greasy sausages sound great!”

“Thank you, soldier.” Mynx makes a half-hearted Nazi salute. “You are very helpful.”

“Heil H*tler!” The guard returns her salute.

We stroll casually down the path, back toward Weissehausen, stopping once to examine the delicate edelweiss growing amongst the rocks. Once out of the sentry’s site we sprint back to our field camp and dive into the pup tent. Mynx composes a quick message in the SOE field cipher and transmits it back to London.

“Now what?” I ask.

“Now we sit tight until dark,” Mynx turns off the radio. “Then we head back to the landing strip and wait for the SOE aeroplane to pick us up later tonight.”

“It won’t be dark for about six hours,” I glance at my watch. “What shall we do until then?”

“I’ve got an idea,” she pulls me to her and gives me a long passionate smooch. “How about a friendly game of verstecken die gurke?”

“W-what’s that?” I’m gasping for air.

“Drop trou, soldier and I’ll show you!”

Conclusion

After dark Mynx and Biff sneak back to the makeshift landing strip. Late that night an SOE Lysander drops out of the sky and picks them up for an uneventful return flight to Switzerland. At Davos they immediately board a waiting plane that shuttles them in a roundabout route to London.

The next morning they arrive just in time for an extended debriefing session with Sandys, Menzies and Gubbins. All are pleased with their successful handling of this sensitive assignment. It is especially heartening to learn that the German production of hematite fuel is such a slow, difficult process and that CROSSBOW has delayed their V-2 program by many months. After a sumptuous luncheon at SOE headquarters, the exhausted duo is free to head for Biff’s apartment for some well-deserved rest.

Your Mission

Should you choose to accept it, is simple but dangerous and far from easy. Essentially you will retrace Mynx’s steps. That is:

1.    Crack the Vogel cipher
2.    Locate the hematite fuel storage area
3.    Remove one of the fuel packets
4.    Report your successful completion of the mission to headquarters

Step 1 is by far the most difficult part of the mission. You’ve been thoroughly briefed on how the Vogel device works and how to crack the cipher. We are confident that your cryptological expertise will guide you to the solution. The danger lurks in steps 2 and 3. You’ll be climbing mountains, exploring tunnels and most important – avoiding the enraged Nazis who by now will be swarming about the fuel factory like hornets.

As always, the mission is voluntary. At this point you are free to decline it and resume your normal duties. Once committed, however, we must stress that we expect you to complete the assignment, even at the risk of your life. When you reach the tunnel entrance there will be no turning back, that is until you recover a fuel packet. Good luck and Godspeed, my friend.

Notes

The OPERATION CROSSBOW geocache is an historical fiction. That is, it’s a fictional story set in the context of real historical events. OPERATION CROSSBOW was real, as were the German V-1 and V-2 rockets. On the other hand, my protagonists, Biff St. Clair and Mynx d’Meanor*, are fictional as are the events described herein. The supporting characters (Sandys, von Braun, Schellenberg, et al) were real and all played a role in CROSSBOW. For the record, allow me to briefly discuss some of the important topics described in this adventure.

Hematite rocket fuel – Fiction. Hematite is a naturally occurring mineral of iron oxide. In reality it is practically inert with no value as an energy source. Pretty though, isn’t it?

V-1 – Real. This was the prototype for today’s modern cruise missile. The Germans launched 10,000 V-1s at England between the summer of 1944 and the spring of 1945. Nearly 25,000 Londoners were injured or killed in these attacks.

V-2 – Real. This was the first guided ballistic missile. Partly due to the success of OPERATION CROSSBOW the V-2s came online too late to have any real impact on the outcome of the war. Wernher von Braun later came to the United States, joined NASA and played a critical role in the development of the rockets that carried our astronauts into space and to the moon.

Vogel cipher – Real. This disk cipher is an obscure device described by William Friedman in his legendary Riverbank publications. You’ll find a somewhat similar apparatus in The Lost Treasure of Thomas Beale geocache.

* Mynx d’Meanor – Real. Mynx is a special case, in that she is both a fictional character in my geocaching adventures and also a real contemporary actress and entertainer. I use her name and likeness here with permission. Learn more about Mynx here.

Biff’s apartment, London
27 June 1944 0940 hr

It’s a cool, rainy morning. Mynx and I are curled up like a couple of kittens, my cheek resting against her dark fragrant hair. I live for moments like this. I’ve been awake for a few minutes, enjoying the peace and quiet. Mynx begins to wiggle her perfect little bottom, suggesting that she’s awake and maybe wants to play that cucumber game again. Hey, I’m up for it.

Just as we are getting down to business, I hear the latch click on the front door to the building. We freeze as the stair creaks under the weight of someone, sneaking up to my rooms. I reach for my Walther P8, lying on the nightstand and release the safety. Whoever it is stops just in front of my door. My pistol is aimed at that door, where an average man’s chest would be right now. We hear a faint scraping sound then our mysterious visitor slowly retreats, down the stairs and out the door. I dash to the open window, but can see or hear nothing unusual on the deserted street.

“It’s a message from HQ,” Mynx picks up the heavy brown envelope that the messenger just slid under the door. “I recognize Gubbins’ old typewriter.”

“I wish he wouldn’t do that!” I exclaim, putting down my pistol. “Why can’t he just call on the phone like everyone else?”

Mynx has slipped into my bathrobe and is sitting at the kitchen table with pencil in hand. She has already translated most of the message, encrypted with the rather archaic SOE field cipher.

“Isn’t that sweet!” Mynx coos.

“Crusty old curmudgeon,” I’m thinking.

CRYPTANALYSTS' HALL OF FAME.

Solve this mystery/adventure geocache from the comfort of your own home. Don't have time to parachute into the Austrian Alps to steal the secret hematite fuel pellets? No matter! Send me your soloution and I'll enter your name into the roll of the esteemed CRYPTANALYSTS' HALL OF FAME. Imagine the pride you'll feel as your family and friends admire this prestigious accomplishment! You'll earn the respect (and I daresay the envy!) of your peers with this official acknowledgment of your cryptological prowess.

So you don't forget -- do it today!

Fig 16: The Cryptanalysts' Hall of Fame

Additional Hints (Decrypt)

OKQAF UHMKN NNMTR XSZUJ SGPZE SIWUZ VEVGX SFKXZ HKPQO

Decryption Key

A|B|C|D|E|F|G|H|I|J|K|L|M
-------------------------
N|O|P|Q|R|S|T|U|V|W|X|Y|Z

(letter above equals below, and vice versa)

OPERATION CROSSBOW Mystery Cache

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