Bear stood, and his six-foot-five-inch frame towered over the powerboat’s short windshield. He pointed toward land. “See for yourself.”
“Wait. That’s SGI. There’s the Cut.” SGI was an abbreviation for Saint George Island. The Cut was the nickname for the narrow pass between Dog Island and Saint George Island leading to Apalachicola.
“Sure enough. I was gonna surprise you and stop by Pop’s, but it turns out he went to an Air Force convention in Utah.”
“Yeah, it would’ve been good to see him. He’s on the go. You know, my mom loved slot machines. She would’ve enjoyed something like the Victory cruise. Well, not this one, anyway.”
“I wish I could’ve met her,” said Bear. “Pop told me she had a huge impact on your life.”
“She did.” Gunner smiled and nodded before changing the subject. He actually was relieved that he didn’t have to return to Dog Island right away. He’d felt guilty the moment the decision was made for him to move out of the house he’d built with Heather. Somehow, he felt she’d given him approval. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to return. Not yet, anyway.
“Sooo, I was thinkin’,” Bear began as he glanced down at his watch. He turned to Cam. “Why don’t we throw down some oysters at the Tap Room. Whadya think?”
“Hell yeah! I’m in!”
Gunner smiled at his best friend. She was drinking on an empty stomach, and that led her to being tipsy on the verge of drunk. She needed oysters and a burger to soak up the alcohol.
“Let’s do it. I miss Sammy. He was kinda down when I broke the news that we were moving. I promised I’d come by to see him, but you know how that goes.”
Bear agreed. “I was thinkin’ the same thing. While we’re in Apalach, I’ll talk to that boat-moving company you used. They can bring this baby to Virginia for me.”
Gunner looked at Bear. “Okay, all kidding aside. Are you gonna clear it with Ghost?”
“Nope. What the man doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”
“That’s not how the saying goes, idiot,” said Cam with a laugh. She’d been eavesdropping on the guys. “But you’re right.”
Twenty minutes later, Bear had pulled the Baja up to the City Dock just two blocks from the Tap Room. They locked their gear and weapons in the hull of the boat and walked toward the restaurant Gunner had frequented so often over the years.
The locals and tourists alike stared at the trio. Gunner and Cam were still dressed in their sleek, skintight black dive suits, and Bear was wearing an all-black combination of cargo pants and a tee shirt that revealed every ripped muscle above his waist. A couple of tourists rounded the corner and immediately turned and walked swiftly in the other direction, drawing laughs from the Gray Fox team.
Buoyant excitement over seeing Sammy Hart in their old stomping grounds was dashed when they walked into the bar and saw that a young woman was serving beer to the handful of patrons. Their spirits were totally destroyed when they learned Sammy had quit without telling anyone his plans. The bartender explained there had been a run-in with his ex-wife’s husband or something to that effect. Sammy had said goodbye and nobody had seen him since.
Morose and tired from the exhausting two days of action, they split a couple of dozen raw on the half shell and switched to sweet tea. As Bear paid the tab, Gunner looked around the Tap Room, wondering if he’d ever return. Without Sammy, it wouldn’t be the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two
September 30, 1944
11th U-boat Flotilla
Bunker Bruno
Bergen, Norway
Himmler’s mood was dour by the time he arrived at Bunker Bruno just after the break of dawn. He’d accepted that the last few nights with the Jorgenson sisters would probably be his last. He’d done everything possible to set them up for a life away from the war and the crumbling Reich. His opportunity to see them again rested solely on the success of Project Tabun, the second phase of which was set to begin.
The 11th U-boat flotilla and much of the city of Bruno had come under attack by Royal Air Force Spitfires overnight. It would be the first of many air raids conducted on coastal military facilities the Reich had built along the Atlantic Wall.
Himmler paused to take in the view as the sun brightened the landscape. Buildings were reduced to rubble. Homes occupied by Norwegians were still ablaze. A windowless, roofless church lay open to the elements as its insides smoldered. The Allied bomb blasts had cruelly upended the tall, mature Norway spruce trees that filled the slopes leading to the fjord where Bunker Bruno was nestled. They’d burned, leaving charred trunks resembling matchsticks.
He shook his head in disappointment. It would’ve been disingenuous for Himmler to chastise the Brits for attacking the civilian neighborhoods surrounding Bunker Bruno. One of the reasons he’d chosen the location in 1940 was to use the small city as protective cover against air attacks.
As the sun rose further, it cast a grayish light across Bunker Bruno. The cloud cover obscured the sun, in part. So did the thick black smoke drifting across the ruins of several destroyed buildings and pen number six, which had just been emptied as another U-boat was sent on patrol.
Himmler led his small group of officers closer to the U-boat pens. He glanced to the top of the concrete structures, where Luftwaffe 88-millimeter anti-aircraft guns, their impressive telephone-pole-sized barrels, were pointed skyward in search of another bomber raid. As he approached, he got a closer look at the soldiers who operated the defensive weapons. They appeared to be teenagers wearing secondhand uniforms far too large for their undernourished bodies.
Himmler rubbed his temples and repositioned his hat. The madness of the war was truly approaching its final days. He’d thought he had a year or more to implement Project Tabun. To change the course of the war. He knew he was wrong.
Marching up a steep incline leading to the water,
