Free Island of Saints by Andy Andrews Page A

shedding their jackets and raincoats. The deputy paused by the stove to thank Billy, then stopped at the counter with Margaret. “Want some coffee to go?” she asked. “It’ll keep you warm ’til the sun comes out . . . supposed to rain for a while, you know.” Wan nodded and held out his personal cup, but Margaret noticed his eyes were on Helen as she took an order at the front table. The older woman poured the steaming black liquid and said softly, “Give her time, Wan.”
    â€œShe seems kind of mean sometimes,” he said, never moving his gaze from the beautiful waitress.
    Margaret chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s all of us now and then, don’t you expect? And . . . well, you know what’s happened. Helen’s been through more than most.”
    The deputy slowly nodded his head, thanked Margaret for the coffee, and left.

CHAPTER 6
    July 19, 1942
    UP OR DOWN. IT WAS A TRADE-OFF FOR THE MEN OF THE U-166. On the one hand, a sailor might endure the relentless bucking and pounding of the waves on the surface while enjoying the fresh air that came with an open hatch. On the other, he could appreciate the relative calm of undersea navigation, but would most assuredly suffer the headaches caused by the smell of diesel and sewage.
    Occasionally, however, the stars aligned. For three days and nights, the best of both worlds had come together, and the U-166 cruised flat, calm seas. The constant supply of clean air and a steady, even, forward motion had allowed the men a much-needed rest. Moving in an uninterrupted line on a north-northwesterly course, the submarine stalked deeper into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. With all of his officers present as they changed the early-morning watch, Kuhlmann finally revealed their mission.
    â€œGentlemen, gather ’round, please.” The commander stood on the forward section of the conning tower as the last colors of sunrise melted away. The boat had not crossed paths with a target of any sort since the sinking of the Gertrude. This did not disappoint or surprise Kuhlmann, for they were not hugging the coastline or prowling shipping lanes as they might normally have done. The U-166 was headed for a specific destination.
    â€œFischer . . . Klein . . . Landermann . . .” The commander called each of his officers by name as they circled him closely. The men wanted to hear every word Kuhlmann spoke and knew they would struggle to do so over the chugging of the surface diesels. “. . . Oppel . . . Wille . . . Traun.” The Nazi observer, Schneider, was present as well, but Kuhlmann had failed to acknowledge him. The slight was purposeful and afforded the officers a small degree of smug satisfaction. They didn’t like or trust the man any more than did their leader.
    â€œYou are the finest officers assembled on the greatest, most modern attack vessel that has ever been produced in the history of warfare. Admiral Doenitz, in his wisdom, has seen fit to use us in a way that will bring glory to your families and your homeland. We are taking the fight to the enemy in his own backyard. We will be joining a wolf pack already patrolling the coastline of the northern Gulf of Mexico. There, the U-166 will seek petroleum tankers and merchant freighters bearing east from Texas ports as well as those leaving New Orleans and the Mississippi River. The other U-boats are already experiencing success beyond imagination. The Americans are off-guard and unprepared. Gentlemen . . . Operation Paukenschlag—Drumbeat—has begun.”
    The officers listened to their commander with excitement. They had seen this part of the world only on maps, and the opportunity to spring upon the enemy in a completely unexpected location was a fighting man’s dream come true. Josef, for his part, barely heard the words his commander and friend was speaking. His gaze was fixed on Schneider . . . who stared back at him with a thinly