No Ordinary Summer

The spot where Karl and Thomas had come ashore was a lovely strip of white sand known as Crane's Beach. Stretching nearly four miles along Ipswich Bay on Boston’s North Shore, Crane's Beach owed its existence to the great continental ice sheets that scoured New England for their final time about 30,000 years ago. The ice sheets had moved southeastward and as they had inched their way towards the sea they pushed massive quantities of rock and soil before them like gigantic bulldozers. Later, these materials were redistributed across the landscape by the melt waters from the retreating glaciers, while along the ocean’s edge they were reworked by tidal forces and prevailing winds to create a fascinating mix of geomorphologic features including sandy spits, bars and beaches. Crane's Beach was one of the most spectacular of these features.

            The beach, however, had not been selected as a drop-off point either for its beauty or its fascinating geological history, but rather because it possessed attributes deemed critical to Berlin. Chief among these was the beach’s location at the approximate center of a string of shipyards that stretched from Bath, Maine, in the north to New London, Connecticut, in the south. But, then, there was also the nature of the beach itself. Unlike most such sites along the East Coast, there were no summer homes lining the beachfront here. With the exception of the summer residence of the Crane family for which the beach was named, the only other dwelling belonged to the lighthouse keeper. The Crane residence, situated on a high bluff, possessed a commanding view of the beach, so commanding, in fact, it was once used by local Indian tribes as a lookout to guard against a surprise attack by their enemies. But, as the planners of the mission had been informed, the Crane family never arrived there before July Fourth, America’s Independence Day.  As for the lighthouse keeper’s residence, it had been vacant ever since the lighthouse had been moved to Martha’s Vineyard two years earlier.

            The information about the landing site at Crane's Beach that had been transmitted to Berlin by a Nazi sympathizer in Boston was essentially correct save for one small detail. The former lighthouse keeper’s residence was no longer vacant. Since early May it had become the property of the U.S. Coast Guard. This seemingly minor oversight would not be without consequence for the men attempting to slip ashore that night.

Leaving Karl to bury the chests they had brought ashore, Thomas had headed back in the direction of the dinghy. After his confinement aboard the stuffy U-boat he was relishing the taste of the fresh, salty air now filling his lungs. But, suddenly, he was snapped out of his reverie by a strange sound just to his left. Before he could even turn to face it he was struck and knocked to the sand by a snarling apparition that quickly proved only too real by clamping its powerful jaws over his forearm. Screaming for help Thomas tried desperately to protect himself from the animal’s vicious teeth but he found it impossible. Occupied as he was, neither did he notice a US Coastguardsman racing towards him with his Enfield rifle at ready. Fortunately for Thomas the crewman from the dinghy did see him. A burst of gunfire from their submachine guns caught the surprised Coastguardsman in the chest and stomach causing him to pitch over backwards; he never saw the men who killed him. Strangely, his helmet, which had flown off on impact, continued to spin crazily for several seconds before it too finally to rest.

            As one crewman cautiously approached the now lifeless body of Coastguardsman, prodding him with his gun just to make certain, the other rushed towards Thomas, who was still wrestling with the attacking animal. There really wasn’t much the crewman could do. Waiting for just the right moment so as not to hit Thomas, he fired a short burst at the dog, striking him several times, in the head, the body and shattering one of his front legs. To the crewman’s amazement, the animal, a handsome German shepherd, not only refused to die quietly it struggled gamely to get to its feet in an effort to continue the fight. In spite of his admiration for the animal’s fighting spirit he had no choice but to deliver the coup de grace.

            Before either of the crewmen had even a chance to examine the clearly injured and bleeding Thomas, Karl suddenly appeared out of the gloom.

            “What in hell is going on around here,” he snapped. “You were to quietly drop us off and instead you’ve turned the beach into a battlefield.”

            “Sorry, sir,” answered one of the crewmen, though without the slightest hint of apology in his voice.

            “Thomas here was surprised by a patrol and we handled it as we were ordered--kill anybody and everybody.”

            Karl knelt down to examine his wounds.

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