Island of Saints by Andy Andrews Page B

the arrogant Nazi moved away immediately after speaking to me in that manner . He was already beginning to rethink Chief Quartermaster Wille’s suggestion.
    Josef was still on watch in the Wintergarten and noticed the course change at once. Holding the rear lookout, he saw the wake trail created by the sub’s massive diesels bending behind them and was alarmed at first. Was this a mistake? Had an accident occurred on the bridge? A problem with the rudders? But as the U-166 straightened her line and steadied on it, Josef was convinced that their course was intentional. That realization did not lessen his confusion, however.
    As the miles droned by, Josef unconsciously created a pattern of search with his eyes. Wake trail, then scan to the horizon’s right for 100 degrees . . . back to the wake trail . . . scan to the horizon’s left for 100 degrees. Now survey the sky in the same manner. He knew better than to relax this close to America’s coast. An airplane, navy destroyer, or Coast Guard cutter—not to mention a merchant target—might appear at any time. It was well known that victory and defeat, survival and death, were, in most cases, determined by who saw the enemy first.
    Surely the Americans are not so unsuspecting as we have been led to believe, Josef thought. Are they so naïve as to presume that war is fought only in other parts of the world? Certainly not! After all, their newspapers must be full of the sinkings by now.
    Josef shielded his eyes from the sun and studied the strange creature that had taken up station high above him. He had never seen a frigate bird until this trip. One or two of the huge predatory waterfowl seemed always to escort the vessel. Josef marveled at the bird’s wingspan—more than eight feet, Hans had told him—and its ability to ride the air currents for hours without flapping its wings. The frigate bird looked like an angel to Josef, giving the impression of calm, motionless flight, without effort, above everything, always watching.
    With his back to the conning tower hatch, and knowing himself to be shielded from anyone ascending the stairs, Josef slipped his sub pack from his pocket. Opening it carefully, he ignored the two new additions and removed the photograph of Tatiana and Rosa. He studied the image and smiled at the memory of that day, of Rosa and the wagon. She had been thrilled as he pulled her for almost an hour, bumping endlessly up and down over the tree roots that protruded from the bare ground in the farmhouse’s front yard. Josef had placed the child inside the wagon without any thought to the beautiful white day gown his wife had just made for their baby. The wagon, naturally, was filthy, and Tatiana had fussed at Josef for being oblivious . That was the word she used before crying, upset that she’d been cross with him on their last day together.
    Josef blinked back tears as, with shaking hands, he tenderly slid the small photograph back into the sub pack. He looked up at the frigate bird again. Oh, God, how he missed Tatiana and Rosa. If he could only be with them now. He longed to feel his wife’s tender kisses, to watch her sleep, to hear her soft breathing next to him in the dark. In Josef’s mind, the sea breeze carried the scent of his child’s skin. He closed his eyes and could feel Rosa exploring his face with her tiny fingers. He had not known this capacity for love had existed in him . . . this love that carried with it so much pain.
    For the rest of the afternoon, Josef’s mind wandered as his eyes, for the most part, remained true to his duty. Beyond the frigate bird and several curious dolphins who rode in the warship’s wake for a time, Josef Bartels Landermann, recently demoted Kriegsmarine cadet, saw nothing.
    Earlier than he’d expected, Josef was ordered from the tower. Not for a watch change, but to ready the submarine for diving. Within minutes, all crew had assumed station,