a.m.—Oroville, California
As the assistant manager, Carlene was training a new waitress on the fine art of waitress shorthand when she was interrupted.
“Hey, Carlene,” called one of the regular morning customers.
“What do you want Ralph?” asked Carlene irritably. “Don’t you see that I’m busy?”
“Have you seen the paper? It is about Ed. You know, Ed Hegel.” Ralph was insistent and pushed the paper toward Carlene. She picked it up and put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as she collapsed to the floor. The local newspaper headline read:
COIN DEALER MURDERED AND ROBBED
Local coin dealer Ed Hegel was found murdered at his home late last night. A neighbor’s dog was barking for an unusual length of time, and the neighbor went to investigate. He found Mr. Hegel’s body lying outside around 11:00 p.m. It is believed that he was killed during a robbery attempt at his home, which had been burglarized. The killer or killers used Mr. Hegel’s keys to enter and rob his coin store. The store was unlocked, and the keys were left in the alarm in the off position. The sheriff’s department will not comment, but inside sources report that they have no leads at this time.
On page 2 the following story was reported:
Local Homeowner Falls Downstairs
Stan Larson, local real estate agent and landlord, died yesterday. Mr. Larson apparently fell down his basement staircase and broke his neck. He was found by a friend. Funeral arrangements are pending.
On page 8, the obituary column listed:
Heidi Miller, born in Germany in 1920, was discovered dead at her home yesterday afternoon by Stan Larson, her landlord. She had no known relatives. Ms. Miller escaped from a Nazi concentration camp in 1938 before fleeing to the United States. She had lived in Oroville since 1946. Cause of death is unknown but is presumed to be heart failure.
Chapter 7
Shield Bearer—issued March 3, 1937
German Shield Bearers were formed to train civilians for protection from air raids.
March 17, 1945, at 2:45 a.m.—off the coast of Santa Barbara, California
The U-Boat broke the gentle, rolling surface of the sea in the moonless night with only a slight offshore breeze. The swells made a rhythmic slapping sound against the U-Boat’s low silhouette. It would be difficult to distinguish the boat from either sea or shore, even if there were a moon out. Before the seawater had drained off the hull, men silently began to emerge from the interior of the vessel. Each man moved quickly to his assigned station without the need for spoken orders. Lookouts scanned the black sky and dark horizon for the sight of any enemy who might have noticed their metal sea monster. Should they give the alarm, the men would go scurrying back into the hatches and slip quickly and silently back into the depths of the sea from which they had come.
After a few minutes, the only sound that could be heard was that of the waves breaking on the distant shoreline. They had surfaced close enough to the beach to hear the surf breaking on the sand and rocks of the Santa Barbara coastline. As they slowly moved toward the land, the sound grew perceptibly louder. With no moon in the cloudless sky to give away their position, the men sat confidently, as though the war was theirs to win.
The kapitän climbed up the ladder to the top of the con and drew a long, deep breath of fresh Pacific Ocean air, enjoying the refreshing bite of the breeze in the early hours of the morning. No matter how often or how long at sea, he never grew tired of the smell of the ocean and its refreshing bite of air in the early morning hours. With a keen eye, he scanned the deck, inspecting his crew. Then he leaned forward on the gray metal railing and allowed his thoughts to wander, satisfied that everything was in order, as always. His thoughts wondered over the events of the past few weeks and the momentous journey they had just completed. Would this change the outcome of the war?
Chapter 8
Wehrmacht Series: U-boot Type VII—issued March 21, 1943
February 12, 1945, at dusk—near Kiel, Germany
Kapitän Reinhold von Holstein stood on the concrete platform looking at the dark clouds, which partially obscured the setting sun on the horizon. The wind made an already chilly day even colder. A North Sea wind in February was always brisk and icy, and it promised to be a cold night too. The kapitän adjusted his leather jacket, turning up the collar and pulling it together over the Iron Cross, first class, which hung at his neck. The sound of approaching voices caused him to turn.
A small group was approaching, and he only knew one of the four people winding their way down the iron stairway to the concrete platform. It was his first officer, Helmut Dorfmann. Behind them was the partially concealed concrete-reinforced submarine bunkers, which formerly held the pride of the German Navy’s submarine fleet. Now many of them were bombed-out ruins, and none had escaped damage. Times had definitely changed for the worse.
When Kapitän von Holstein had been attached to the German Naval High Command in late 1938, he had participated in a study, which recommended that Germany would need at least three hundred undersea boats if they were to contest the sea lanes and defeat the English Navy in war.
However, at that time, before that the war had started, Germany had only 22 ocean-going U-Boats ready for sea duty. Yet that early optimistic assessment of 300 U-Boats had been surpassed, and just this month U-Boat production had hit 1,170. Unfortunately, of these, 784 had already been sunk, along with their crews.
“Hello, Kapitän!” Helmut enthusiastically called out as he motioned his three companions toward the platform where von Holstein awaited. Von Holstein could not help but smile at his first officer, whose good nature was always a point of pleasure for the entire crew during long tours at sea. Even now, before the dangerous and risky venture, Helmut was still in good spirits.
The kapitän waved back. Helmut was a rather short and stocky man, in stark contrast to the kapitän, who was tall and lean. The three other individuals, two men and a woman, were all of medium height with light-colored hair. The men wore black SS uniforms of the Leibenstardte Division, and the woman wore a uniform of the Death Heads SS Unit of the camps.
But what really struck von Holstein about the young men were their eyes. They had not seen the real terror of war and its effects, yet their eyes told a different story, as though they had seen a great deal of death and destruction. Of this, the kapitän was sure. The woman, on the other hand, looked at him with empty eyes, as though she felt nothing.
“Kapitän, I would like to introduce you to Sturmbannführer’s Steiner, Rossmann, and Muller,” said Helmut as each man clicked his heels, bowed slightly, and raised his arm in the party salute as his name was mentioned. The woman seemed remote and mechanical in her salute. Strange, thought von Holstein, how a woman so beautiful was so completely devoid of emotion and the knowledge of her effect on men.
Kapitän von Holstein saluted as a naval officer rather than return the party salute. If the three noticed this omission, they did not indicate it. Helmut preferred diplomacy and seemed slightly amused at the kapitän’s choice. The two men had begun the war full of optimism, as staunch advocates of the sanctity and honor of the cause. However, that was long ago, and now their thoughts were often filled with disillusionment of leadership and war. But they would do their duty to the end. However, these two new men on the other hand were a rarity these days. They were true believers fighting for a cause. Whatever that cause was.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kapitän,” said the one introduced as Steiner. “We have read your dossier, and it is quite impressive.”
“You are too kind,” replied von Holstein.
“No, you are truly