The Hatteras Affair

By Timothy G. Rees

THE HATTERAS AFFAIR presents a fictionalized account of a German plot to infiltrate the coastal defenses of America early in World War II. In the Spring of 1942, isolationist America was suffering heavy losses at the hands of marauding U-boat fleets operating with virtual impunity off the Eastern Seaboard near Cape Hatteras. Eager to combat the U-boat menace, the Department of the Navy turns to Great Britain who agrees to supply a flotilla of converted trawlers equipped with the latest in anti-submarine detection gear.

Germany's premier intelligence service, the SS Gestapo, learns of the Allied scheme by extorting top secret information from a Jewish-American civilian naval worker whose sister is imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp in Poland. The German Navy High Command, directed by the Fuhrer, dispatches their finest U-boat crew and commander with a Gestapo team, to Virginia on a secret mission to sink the trawlers at their docks.

THE HATTERAS AFFAIR culminates off the coast of North Carolina's Outer Banks, where the main character, a battle reluctant Coast Guard Commander turned trawler captain, confronts the German U-boat and it's decorated commander while on patrol near Hatteras Island. The sea battle produces a surprising outcome as both commanders lose their ships and are forced together in an epic struggle for survival in treacherous seas off Cape Hatteras.

THE HATTERAS AFFAIR contains several intriguing sub-plots that involve the compromised Jewish family, the trawler commander and crew, the Gestapo and U-boat teams, and residents of the Outer Banks. Each of the sub-plots add an interesting dimension that supports and enriches the novel's story line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 13, 2001
• ISBN: 9781465320636

Timothy G. Rees

Timothy G. Rees was born in 1952 and was reared in eastern Tennessee in the city of Bristol. An aspiring writer at a young age, Tim received recognition from the Daughters of the American Revolution for an award-winning essay during his senior year of high school. Tim earned a Bachelor of Science degree in 1974 and has worked 26 years in the utility, water treatment and oil industries in the United States and overseas. At present, he is employed by a major international oil company where he utilizes his writing talents producing technical reports. In addition, Tim has written articles for internal corporate publications. The Hatteras Affair is the first of what Tim’s hopes to be many novels. Tim is married and is the proud father of a daughter and a son.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

SEPTEMBER 1853

ATLANTIC OCEAN—OFF CAPE HATTERAS, NORTH CAROLINA

For days the distant beacon had guided the aging schooner westward to the coast of the Promised Land. Now its illuminating path appeared only for a fleeting second as the defenseless eighty-foot vessel careened downward between the monstrous sea waves. Its rudder destroyed and sails in tatters, the damaged craft moaned as the churning green sea twisted every fiber within the oak-hewn keel. Cargo once rope secured shifted across the undulating deck launching barrels of comestibles and seeds overboard.

Above the disintegrating deck the English Captain, a veteran of thirty-one years at sea, knew he had gambled and lost. None of the bonus he had been paid would matter now. He winced as the farm animals wailed in horror as the cold seawater filled the crushed hold below. The Captain grasped the ship’s wheel and pulled himself over to the starboard side of the listing vessel. He closed his eyes to visualize the events of the preceding two hours. The collision had been so forceful that the main mast snapped in two like a twig. His experienced hands felt the rudder rip loose as the twenty-ton ship smashed into the ocean bottom. The seasoned mariner had with diligence selected the safest passage to the mainland paying meticulous attention to the fathom readings printed on his year old chart. Is it my fault? He wondered as the ship listed another ten degrees to starboard. It was then he saw it.

The massive sandbar stretched several hundred feet to the north and was more than twenty yards wide. The apex of the treacherous shoal seemed to be less than a foot beneath the surface. It was fate. Yes, he knew that now.

Above in the ship’s cramped living quarters, a Dutch family of five plus one huddled together praying with all their faculties for deliverance. Tears of fear streamed down the faces of the three young children while their father shouted to be heard above the seventy-five mile per hour wind. The mother draped in the traditional black garb of the Quakers clutched her well worn copy of the New Testament close to her breast and wrapped her protective arms around her progeny.

They had risked everything for their voyage to the New World. All of their worldly belongings were aboard the rented schooner. The family had borrowed the three hundred dollars to purchase five hundred acres of prime Virginia farmland. Her brother had immigrated to Virginia in 1820 agreeing to work as an indentured servant on a tobacco plantation. Ten years later, the enterprising Dutchman owned his own farm. He longed for the day when his sister and family would arrive in America. The additional passenger accompanying the terrified family was his bride to be.

A mere five miles from land, the leaky craft foundered an unwitting victim to what would be known as the Diamond Shoals. There were no options. The Captain ordered the crew and the passengers to secure themselves to anything that would float. That task completed, he retreated to his quarters and swallowed the better part of a cask of Barbados rum.

Row men row. Row men row. Row men row.

The rhythmic cadence was a faint whisper against the crashing seas and howling wind. The reinforced bow of the twenty-foot rowboat plowed into onrushing waves powered by the sinewy muscles of the four occupants. Clothed in identical shirts, the bearded crew rowed in perfect harmony into the tempest as they had done so many times before. Each synchronized pull on the long oak paddles shoved the rescue craft forward toward their target now six hundred yards away.

It had been two hours since the Keeper had ordered the boat off its carriage at the Life Saving Station at Hatteras Island. With single-minded determination and total disregard for their own safety, the inhabitants of the surf boat no longer felt the cramping pain in their exhausted shoulders and arms. The cry of children from the foundering vessel drove them onward at an increased pace.

Ahoy there! Here on the port side. Ahoy there!

The Station Keeper balanced himself on the keel beam of the oak rowboat and shouted once again.

Can you hear me? Abandon ship!

It was no use. The Keeper did not hesitate. With an expert hand, he adjusted the rowboat’s rudder and continued to row without missing a stroke. The final yards seemed like eternity. Without warning the foundering ship stabilized for a moment and shifted forward as the hold filled with water. The Keeper stood again and selected a grappling hook, which was attached to fifty yards of thick rope. He swung the hook and rope over his head in a circular motion gaining momentum with each rotation. He flung the assembly at the schooner catching the hook on the base of the stairs leading up to the forecastle. One of his crew joined him and pulled on the rope bringing their rowboat along side of their target.

With time tested precision, the four rescuers sprung into action. One secured the lifeboat to the schooner. Another prepared precious rescue materials including blankets and rope. The remaining crewman cleared space in the broad rowboat for those rescued, dead or alive. The Keeper pulled himself up onto the listing deck and in an instant began a frantic search for the crew and passengers.

His instincts, culled from dozens of rescue attempts, led him to the quarterdeck door to the hold below. He thrust open the door revealing a scene of total chaos. Dead cows and horses were floating among crates of household goods. More than half of the expansive hold had filled with seawater. With haste, the Keeper’s eyes scanned the churning water below. His training intact, he turned to his crew who had secured a rescue rope to the main mast. He tied the cable to his waist and lowered himself slowly into swirling mass beneath him. Before he reached the water line he had spotted a body lying in face up in the corner of the hold.

With three powerful strokes, the Keeper reached the crewman’s drenched torso. Blood oozed from an ugly gash in the seaman’s forehead. He ‘s alive. The Keeper untied the rope around his own waist and circled it around them both. Above them, one of the rescuers waited with patience for the telltale tug on the rope. Seconds later he hoisted the Keeper and companion to safety above. The injured crewman was lowered into secured rowboat where his wounds were treated.

The Keeper closed the deck door and bounded up the stairs to the forecastle where the passenger quarters were located. The screams of the children now had reached hysterical levels. He pushed open the door surprising everyone inside. He struggled to maintain his grip in the doorframe as the ship listed further forward.

Hurry! We’ve got to get off this ship now! Where is the Captain?

Apprehension spread across the faces of the Dutch immigrants whose English was rudimentary. They stared at the water-drenched stranger before them with astonishment. They could not imagine from where he came. No one moved.

Come now! We have a boat. Hurry!

The frantic Keeper made eye contact with the father and urged him forward while handing him a rope. The once defeated eyes of the Dutchman blazed with hope. He grabbed the rope and pulled up his family one by one bracing their weight against his. The Keeper guided the rope two times around each waist and motioned toward the door. To his shock the only upper deck of the vessel remained above water. Seated in the rescue craft were two soggy members of the crew along with the ship’s Captain.

The anxious look on the rescue team’s faces turned to grins when the Keeper appeared in the doorway. The Keeper reached for the grappling hook and passed it to his crew. One by one each family member was lowered into the surf boat. A minute later the four saviors, their backs to the crippled craft, rowed west away from the disastrous scene. The Captain of the English vessel shook his head in grief as he watched his command slip in silence beneath the waves entombed forever in the shifting sands of the Outer Banks.

For another hour the courageous cadre of rescuers rowed guided by ever-present beacon emanating from the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.

Assisted by the storm surge, they reached the secure shores of their beloved Hatteras Island without incident. The Dutch father gathered his precious family into his arms and thanked God Almighty above. He turned to the Keeper who had leaped overboard into the shallow surf guiding the rescue boat to a safe mooring.

God bless you man. God bless you all. Thank you.

The English Captain leaned over to the Keeper and spoke with a slurred Yorkshire accent.

You and your crew were magnificent, sir. Never have I witnessed such courage and strength in my thirty years at sea. Who are you?

With a smile laced with inestimable pride, the heroic Keeper of the Hatteras Island Life Station spoke with brevity.

We are Surfmen.

CHAPTER TWO

J JULY 1930

CAPE HATTERAS, NC

The dawning sun glistened down upon golden beaches that stretched forever to the north and south. Sea oats danced in the infinite sea breeze that graced these remote, fragile islands. A radiant, white sea mist hovered over the steep banks of the beach as far as the eye can see. A five-foot surf pounded these banks with an intensified roar relentlessly driving the shifting sands that form the barrier islands. Sea gulls by the hundreds followed a school of bluefish a scant twenty yards offshore. The beach sand itself was alive with sand crabs darting in all directions digging tunnels in the sand.

To the South, stood the Lighthouse, its brilliant beacon forever shining from its wrought iron crown. The striped brick tower had warned mariners for 130 years of the treacherous Diamond Shoals located offshore of the promontory known as Cape Hatteras. The narrow peninsula, known as the Outer Banks, stretched a hundred miles from north to south forming a fragile line of barrier islands off the coast of North Carolina.

Remote and unblemished by the twentieth century industrialization of America, the Outer Banks offered a stunning natural display of seashore fauna and flora that had long disappeared from most areas of the East Coast of the United States. The residents still traveled to the mainland via small boats across the Albemarle and Pamlico Sounds much as their ancestors before them. To the few, but proud inhabitants of the isolated villages that dotted the islands, the Outer Banks were heaven on Earth.

Four miles due east of the Lighthouse, the billowy sails of a Clipper class schooner snapped with crispness in the moderate winds. A regal relic from a by-gone era, the magnificent vessel pushed a frothy plume of emerald green seawater before her bow as she slowed into an ill executed tack. The crew donned in white shirts and blue caps raced about the 150-foot craft in obvious disarray.

"So Alan, Saturday night is the night? You’re gonna do it?"

I reckon it’s time.

You don’t seem too excited about it.

"It’s a big step. Actually, I don’t know why I can’t …

Good God Almighty men. Put yer backs into it!

The captain grinned to himself as he railed at his unskilled crew of Coast Guard trainees. He could see the raw blisters bleeding on their hands as they struggled with the thick sail rigging. Gone was the cocky banter of the early morning. Each trainee cursed in pain as slowly the century old ship came about completing the tenth tack that day. Their desire to work in concert was there but the know-how was not.

Winston, are you going to stand there all day? Trim the master. We should be doing 5 knots by now.

Young Alan Winston tugged with all his considerable might ignoring the searing pain from his ravaged hands. Alan Winston was not just any Coast Guard trainee. He and most of the training crew shared a unique heritage unlike any in the United States. They were Surfmen. In the 1840 ‘s ancestors of these men founded four Lifesaving Stations along the Outer Banks and had served without pay. In 1880, Congress funded the stations and the Lifesaving Service was created. In 1915 the Service merged with the Revenue Cutter Service to form the United States Coast Guard.

Consisting of local men from the Outer Banks, the Lifesaving Service would rescue hundreds of shipwrecked souls from the churning sands of the dangerous Diamond Shoals. These men were stout, hardy men who could row heavy wooden surf boats fifteen to twenty miles out into raging hurricanes and monstrous twenty foot seas to rescue desperate souls whose vessels were crushed by the shoals. Many Surfmen had sacrificed their lives in the line of duty. Most Surfmen hailed from native Outer Banks families, and for generations it was their destiny and duty to serve. It was a duty that they discharged with immense pride, courage and skill.

The Winstons were one of the founding families of the Lifesaving Service and had settled on the islands over 150 years ago. In his youth, Alan had been enthralled and captivated as he listened to his grandfather tell and retell stories of daring rescues from shipwrecks of a time long past. He grew up with these ships with names like the USS Huron, the Ephraim Williams, the USS Monitor, the Home and countless other ghost ships whose graves lie on the Shoals. Young Winston had played on shipwrecks that had washed up on the beach pushed by the relentless force of the shifting tides and sands of the Outer Banks. The Surfmen were his heroes much like Babe Ruth was to every young American boy growing up in the 1920’s.

There were eleven cadets and one training officer manning the vintage Clipper class sailboat that day. Winston, along with his boyhood friend Dave Parks, had labored for the past four hours trimming the sails of the tri-masted schooner that had been donated to the Coast Guard by the US Navy. The day sail had been designed to stress the importance of teamwork and precision. The training exercise had become a painful one as the crew went through a grueling series of one tack after another.

That was the worst one yet. The bastard’s trying to kill us.

It would appear that way. Don’t let ‘em see you suffer. Let’s get ready for the next one. I’ve gotta an idea.

Winston chuckled as he eyed the bemused trainer perched high above on the forecastle rail. The Surfman wrapped the rigging line around his muscular forearm to a point well above his elbow. He yanked the massive canvas taut and motioned to the remaining crew to follow suit. With amazing strength, he held the expansive sail in perfect position with the wind causing the Clipper ship to surge forward. His crewmates stared with awe. As a rule it took two or more men to rig the main sail. Dave Parks, Winston’s best friend, joined Winston and wrapped the fibrous cord around his right arm.

The massive schooner shifted to the starboard side as the all three sails captured the elusive wind. The ship vaulted in a steady rhythm over the crest of each wave accelerating by the moment. The new recruits realized for the first time what the aging Clipper ship was capable of. Challenged by her potential they secured the sail lines and braced themselves against the cascading sheets of seawater gushing from the Clipper’s bow wash.

This baby can fly!

Winston yelled to Parks his mouth framed with his biggest grin.

Sudden wind shifts were not unusual for the Outer Banks that time of year. The vessel decelerated with incredible force catching the surprised Captain off guard causing him to oversteer. Below, Dave Parks never caught glimpse of the sail boom as it swiveled loose by the unexpected wind change. The thick oak mast caught him on the back of his head rendering him unconscious as he shot through the air into the sea. He sank like a rock powerless to slow his descent. In an instant, Alan Winston reacted diving headfirst into the choppy ocean after his boyhood friend.

Visibility in the murky, sand-inundated sea was near zero. A strong current of riptide proportions engulfed the Hatteras native at a depth of five feet. Winston struggled and flipped head over heels downward out of control. With maximum effort, he recovered with only a breath of air in his burning lungs. The salty seawater stung his eyes as he searched for his friend. He could see nothing. With four powerful strokes he broke through the surface and gasped for fresh air. He filled his empty lungs in seconds and dove downward ignoring the shouts from his crewmates.

Alan Winston had never lost a swimming race in his life. His six foot two inch frame was well sculptured with sinewy muscle honed to near perfection from thousands of hours of swimming and rowing. Winston knew that he had only a few seconds to find his injured buddy. He descended into the watery abyss at the optimum angle and intersected the riptide current. Using the current to his advantage, he reached the bottom with a half dozen strokes. Ahead he made out the dim outline of what appeared to be a sand bar. Again, his lungs burned screaming for fresh air.

Where are you Dave?

Winston with reluctance headed for the surface while keeping his head bent downward to scan the ocean bottom as he ascended. A ray of reflected light stabbed his eyes just before he surfaced. Not wasting a moment, he stroked on the undulating surface to a position above the sand bar. A second later, he dove straight down allowing the current to propel him to the sand bar below. Twenty yards ahead and a fathom deeper, he spotted Dave Parks slumped over a yard above the lifeless sea bottom.

The adrenaline surged through Winston. His piston like legs thrashed through the darkened water catapulting the Surfman along side his best friend. Parks’ eyes were wide open exhibiting an eerie expressionless gaze. Winston knew that look, as did anyone who ever had recovered a lifeless body from deep water. He grabbed Parks by the shirt and pushed upward with his remaining arm while his cramping legs powered the two Surfman to the light above. The two trainees had been in the water less than two minutes.

There he is! Off the starboard side!

The trainees raced to the deck railing hoping beyond all logic that their crewmates were safe. One of the schooner’s lifeboats was already in the water with the Captain himself at the helm. The tiny outboard motor sputtered as the ship’s master shifted to full throttle. The quick craft circled around the schooner and eased next to the foundering cadets. Winston placed his knee in Parks’ stomach and pushed with all of the force he could muster. There was no response from his friend.

Get him in the boat. Move it!

The Captain did not like what he saw. Yet, he did not panic. He reached over the side and gripped Winston’s outstretched hand. Within seconds, Parks’ limp body was hoisted into the dinghy. Alan summoned his remaining strength and pulled himself along side his lifeless buddy.

He’s not breathing!

Winston leaned over his friend only to have his shoulder jerked back by the strong hand of his Captain.

Rest cadet. I’ll take over from here.

The calm, reassuring tone of his voice brought an aura of hope to the chaotic scene. Winston rolled away giving the Captain immediate access to Dave Parks. The experienced officer began mouth-to-mouth emergency procedures searching the young face beneath him for slightest sign of life. For an agonizing ten seconds there was no response from Dave Parks. No one on the schooner or in the lifeboat uttered a sound.

Come on, Dave!

Winston whispered while he took the cold hand of his best friend and stroked it. A wave of emotion overwhelmed him as he visualized losing his dearest friend. He ignored the cramps in his legs as shifted his position in the confined craft. It was just a slight squeeze but he was sure he felt it. Before he could speak, the contents of Dave Park’s stomach spewed over everyone in the craft. The cadet’s body convulsed with a raspy, spasmodic cough as the exiting seawater burned his throat and nose.

He’s alive! He’s alive!

The relieved crew cheered with all their might. The exhausted Captain raised away from young Parks and stared with intensity into the eyes of Alan Winston. Tears streamed down both men’s face as they collapsed into a warm embrace. There were no words capable of defining the moment. The Captain spoke with a wistful smile when he recovered.

That was a damn fool thing you did Alan Winston. Against every rule in the book. But that was one magnificent rescue, son.

I..I did the only thing I could. I got lucky.

Oh Jesus, my head is killing me!

Parks sat up with a start but eased himself back down grasping his head with both hands. A trickle of blood seeped from his head wound through his shaking hands. He stretched out his hand seeking any stable fixture. He grabbed Winston’s leg.

Alan, is that you? What happened?

Take it easy cadet. You’ve taken a nasty blow to your head.

The Captain interceded with a composed assertiveness.

And then like a fool you decided to take swim.

Ouch. Don’t make me laugh Winston. I’ll get you for that.

Don’t think for a minute I’ll ever let you forget this, David Parks.

The dinghy collided with a soft bump into the schooner. The crew hoisted the rescue boat onto the deck and lowered it onto the aft deck with much care. The crew crowded around their comrades eager to be of assistance.

Who’s sailing this ship? Back to your posts. Give your crewmate some space to breathe.

Overjoyed by the outcome the crew moved with alacrity to their posts. One black crewman approached Alan Winston who had wrapped himself in a dry blanket.

That was incredible, Alan. Absolutely incredible.

Thanks, I was very lucky.

The crew, their eyes riveted on Alan Winston, whispered among themselves in awe. Each had experienced Winston’s muscular strength usually on the wrong end of a tug of war competition. They also knew that 200 pound Hatteras native was the strongest rower in the Service. Yet, they still had difficulty believing what they had just witnessed. Alan Winston had free dived to an incredible depth of sixty feet not once but twice rescuing his high school buddy from a watery grave.

Later that evening as the training vessel neared Hatteras Inlet, Parks approached Winston who was admiring the brilliant orange sunset unfolding in the western sky. The pain in his head was now a dull throb, manageable, but persistent. His faculties restored, Parks nestled against the brass rail that ringed the ancient craft. His brain searched for the appropriate verbiage as he addressed his one true friend.

A fitting end to a long day wouldn’t you say?

Alan, I don’t know what to say, I …

No need for words, Dave. You would have done the same for me.

Well maybe I would have tried, but I don’t think I would have succeeded like you did. I owe you my life my friend. I’ll never forget this day as long as I live.

Like I said earlier, I ain’t gonna let you forget it!

Ha, yeah I bet.

Parks collected his thoughts pausing for a moment to sip from his mug of hot tea.

How did you do it? I mean the water was so deep and with no visibility. I don’t see how …

Dave, I don’t know. Something came over me. I just kept diving. I had to find you. The thought of you not being … .well you know. Looking back, the whole thing seems like a dream. Like the dreams I used to have after listening to Grandpa talk about the early days of the Service. It felt like there could only be one outcome. Failing was not an option.

Thank God it was you in the water after me my friend. Not one of us could have done what you did. Alan, you were born to do this.

Winston nodded in agreement for he knew his friend was right. Being a Surfman was all that he ever wanted. Parks extended his arm around his friend’s neck and squeezed his broad shoulder before they retreated to their post to prepare for mooring. Little did they know that one day, not too distant, their friendship would be called upon to sustain more than just themselves.

CHAPTER THREE

6 WEEKS LATER

Not one for formal occasions, a nervous Alan Winston rocked side to side as he adjusted his dress uniform in the bathroom mirror. He pushed his sandy blond hair over his forehead and donned his service hat. His azure eyes squinted avoiding the intrusive sun now visible over his shoulder through the bath window. The noise outside grew louder as the families of the cadet corps arrived for the special occasion. A final gaze into the reflective glass caused Winston to ponder for a moment.

Dad, I wish you could be here for this.

Winston’s father, Samuel Winston, would have indeed wanted to be there. Fifteen years earlier, the elder Winston lost his life in the line of duty. Alan’s Grandfather had long burned the story into the memory of young Alan. Samuel, who was the Keeper at the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station, was an indirect casualty of the First Great War and in every sense a hero to all Surfmen. Winston was killed when a torpedoed Canadian tanker exploded into a blazing fireball during a daring rescue attempt. Alan’s father was vaporized and his body never recovered.

Alan was only six years old when he lost his father but the memory of that day was stamped forever in his psyche. For him there would be only one path. He too one day would become the Keeper of the Chicamacomico Station like his father and grandfather before him. Now he had completed the first step on that long journey. This day he would be officially ordained a Surfman.

Alan pushed open the door and exited into the bright sunshine onto the lush front lawn of the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station. The atmosphere was electric for the sedate little village of Rodanthe located some fifteen miles north of Cape Hatteras. Cadets from villages up and down the Outer Banks with their families had gathered to celebrate their achievement. Along the way more than half of the original class had dropped by the wayside unable to complete the rigorous training that defined what it meant to be a Surfman.

There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.

I was in the bathroom.

Oh. There’s someone else looking for you.

Winston’s eyes had already shifted away from Dave Parks to the beautiful creature standing ten yards away. His tanned face broke into a warm smile as their eyes met for the first time that day. Her stunning new dress flowed across her lithe figure tugged by the gentle late summer breeze. Her deep auburn hair cascaded like a mountain waterfall over her bared neck and shoulders. In that instant, Winston felt his knees buckle and his throat tighten as he stepped toward his elegant lady their eyes still riveted to each other.

My God, she is so beautiful.

Hello, Nancy. You look … just so … your dress. You look wonderful. I’m so happy you are here.

Winston could feel himself blushing but could do nothing to halt the involuntary blood flow to his face.

Why thank you Alan Winston. I wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world. Just look at you all decked out in your dress whites. Pretty handsome I’d say.

Winston took her silk soft hand in his and led her away to the hedge that circled the well-manicured grounds of the Station. Behind them, the cadets were beginning to assemble in the rows of folding chairs arranged in a semi-circle in front of the six white columns that supported the front porch of the historic Station.

I’ve only got a moment. We’re all going to Padgetts after the ceremony and then we’ll go the Officer’s Ball. I didn’t know we were going to the restaurant until a few minutes ago. Is that all right with you?

She squeezed his hand with affection and spoke with her sweet Tidewater accent.

That sounds like fun.

Great. Gotta go.

Winston kissed her cheek and hurried to his seat not a moment too soon.

Corps, atten-shun!

Thirty-two sets of polished shoes clicked together in perfect harmony as the Coast Guard’s commanding officer of the Eastern Seaboard region mounted the podium accompanied by the Keepers of each of the Outer Bank’s Lifesaving Stations. Behind the assembly of graduates, the proud families turned their attention to the flag draped podium above them.

At ease, Corps. You may be seated.

Welcome to the Chicamacomico Lifesaving Station on this glorious day. I am Lt. Commander Day, Keeper of this Station. We are here today to honor the group of Coast Guard Cadets assembled beneath me. Shall we honor America by singing our National Anthem?

All eyes turned to the right as an Honor Guard, comprised of four Coast Guardsmen, marched forward through the narrow gap in the white picket fence that surrounded the Station building itself.

Winston stood with his fellow cadets and faced the American flag that snapped in the wind above the Honor Guard. The Buxton high school choir led the crowd in a stirring rendition of the nation’s anthem. Winston sang out with pride as did every man woman and child there. A thunderous round of applause followed as the teary eyed islanders once again remembered what it meant to be Americans.

"Ladies and gentleman, most of you are direct descendents of those who founded the Lifesaving Service more than a century ago. The ideals and traditions of those early Surfmen are a unique part of today’s United States Coast Guard. The officer-training program that this class has completed is second to none in the world. Administration of the program has been handled by the Coast Guard officers under the command of Vice Admiral William Sullivan of the United States Coast Guard. Admiral

Sullivan has received numerous honors and commendations in his illustrious 22-year Coast Guard career. Bill Sullivan is a recipient of the Congressional Medal of Honor for Lifesaving."

Commander Day paused for a moment for effect. The crowd buzzed with admiration for they understood what the Lifesaving Medal of Honor meant.

It is with honor and distinction that I introduce him to you now, Admiral Sullivan.

The crowd responded with enthusiastic applause a minute in duration. The senior Coast Guard officer pursed his lips with firmness as he choked back emotion.

Thank you so much for that warm welcome. It is wonderful to be back on the Outer Banks once again. Commander Day, I want to thank you for inviting me here to this Station today to honor this fine corps of cadets. In a true sense, it is for me an honor to be here at this historic place. It all began here on the Outer Banks. Your ancestors built this grand Lifesaving Station on this spot more than seventy years ago. The courage and bravery of those early pioneers, your grandfathers, laid the basic foundations for today’s Coast Guard. You better than I know the stories of those magnificent rescues spanning two centuries. They were here saving shipwrecked souls during our nation’s darkest hour, the Civil War. When our nation faced the U-boat peril during the Great World War, your fathers were here to rescue the hapless, innocent victims of the evil German submarine force operating only yards offshore from here. Many paid the ultimate price giving their lives so others may be saved. Oh yes, I know I stand on hallowed ground.

Today as I survey you, the progeny of those brave patriots assembled beneath me, I am inspired and reassured. You see I know what you have accomplished. I know what you have endured. I know how your bodies ached in pain from the demanding and sometimes brutal physical training that is a pre-requisite for entrance into the Corps. I know how you overcame self-doubt and how you hurt as fellow cadets failed and left the Service. I know that in your hearts the spirit of service to your fellow man is in essence at the core of your very being.

To the proud families and friends of these fine young Americans, I salute you. It is the core values of honesty, hard work and compassion that you have instilled in your sons that have driven them to this pinnacle of success. Your splendid traditions and heritage will live on through them and will forever enrich the Coast Guard. I thank you for your diligence.

To each cadet, I say this. Congratulations. There can be no finer goal in life than to serve your country and your fellow man. I know that as officers in the United States Coast Guard you will preserve with pride and dedication the honored traditions of your forefathers. In times of war and peace, the Coast Guard has always performed its mission with efficiency and pride. Our mission is primarily a non-military one. Whether it is a foundering freighter or a lost sailboat, we shall answer the call. From the days of the early Lifesaving Service to today’s modern Coast Guard, saving lives has been and will always be our primary mission. However, to those who threaten the security of our coastlands either through illegal commerce or subterfuge we will be vigilant. Men you have completed the finest training program in the world. I and indeed the American people now entrust you to serve and protect the shores of our beloved homeland, this wonderful land of the Free, the United States of America. God bless each and every one.

The admiral paused for the thunderous ovation that followed pleased that his short message had reached its mark.

Will the Corps Commander step to the podium?

Alan Winston quick to his feet clicked his heels with precision and executed a precise right face. He strode with purpose to the podium where he snapped a perfect salute. The Admiral looked up into the eyes of the third generation Surfman and saw nothing but fierce pride.

Sir, I present for commission the Class of 1933.

One by one the names of Winston’s classmates were announced in alphabetical order to the beaming relatives and friends gathered in front of the Station porch. Alan Winston’s name was the last to be read. To everyone’s surprise, the entire Cadet Corp rose to their feet, applauded and cheered their leader, a man whose conduct during the previous year had epitomized the true spirit of all Surfmen. Dave Parks choked back the lump in his throat for he owed his very existence to the same man.

Winston somewhat stunned by the reaction acknowledged the kudos of his peers with a simple nod and a smile. His dream fulfilled, the Surfman gazed upon the stately Station before him as he shook the Admiral’s hand.

One day I will be the Keeper just like you Dad.

Families and friends surged forward into the Corps extending hugs and handshakes to their own. Nancy helped Alan’s sixty-year-old mother up the porch stairs. Alan stepped away from the group of Coast Guard dignitaries and hugged his mother with all of his affection. Tears of love pooled in her eyes as she addressed her only son.

Alan dear, I’m so very proud of you. Your father would have been so proud of you.

I know Mom. Thank you. That means everything coming from you.

Three generations of Surfmen. Now that’s quite an accomplishment. The Winston family should be proud.

Nancy’s face beamed as she spoke while gazing into her boyfriend’s eyes.

Isn’t she beautiful, Mom?

More than beautiful. She’s exquisite. And I might add, a lady in every sense.

Yes, she is.

Winston leaned over and kissed Nancy’s soft lips and took her hand in his. He knew what was on his Mom’s mind and with adroitness he changed the subject.

Mom, I saved you a place at our table at Padgetts. Nancy is coming and I insist that you accompany us. Tim’s treating the entire class to their great seafood buffet, all expenses paid. You can’t pass that up.

Oh yes, I can. At my age my stomach doesn’t cotton too well to shrimp and oysters anymore. A damn pity too.

So you can eat all of the flounder and hush puppies you want. We loved to have you.

It would be nice to chat with you again, Mrs. Winston.

Stop it you two. Run along and enjoy your dinner with your friends. I appreciate the invitation, but the last thing you want is an old woman like me hanging around. If I know Tim, there’ll be a beer or two on the table. Be careful driving. Now go on. I reckon I’ll see you after the Surfman’s Ball.

Okay, mom. I’ll be careful. Nancy’s doing the driving.

Since when?

’Since now. Bye Mom.

Hand in hand the two twenty-three year olds ran off toward Alan’s truck leaving Mrs. Winston to her own thoughts.

Gosh, I just love that girl. She’s perfect for Alan.

The dinner at Tim Padgett’s Seafood Restaurant and Bar was sumptuous. Tim had enough sense to cordon off the rear of the dining room giving the celebrating Surfmen and their dates a modicum of privacy. Even with that, the dinner grew louder and louder as the hungry, new Coast Guard officers feasted on fresh fried shrimp, oysters, crabs, and beer. One beer led to the next as the Guardsmen toasted each other. No longer teen-agers they did have enough sense to moderate the drinking realizing that it was going to be a long night with the ball and beach party still ahead.

After taking Nancy home, Winston returned to his family’s home near Buxton. He retreated to his father’s tiny den off the family room and sat down behind his father’s old desk. The desk, a solid mahogany captain’s desk with a roll-down top, was an artifact rescued from a Brazilian freighter that foundered and broke apart off the coast of Ocracoke in 1914. The elder Winston had been a modest man and kept all of his career memorabilia and commendations secured from view inside the desk. It had been years since anyone had opened the ornate bureau. The first drawer creaked when Alan pulled it open.

The top drawer had been converted into a file drawer and was stuffed with manila folders each labeled with meticulous care. Alan flipped through the bulging files and recognized the names of several shipwrecked vessels. His father had kept a copy of every log entry from each shipwreck and rescue from his twenty year Lifesaving Service career. Alan was familiar with these files and remembered as a child watching his father transcribe the information into his personal files. The third generation Surfman wanted something else. He closed the file drawer and opened the bottom drawer. Ah, here we are.

Winston muttered to himself keeping his voice low in order not to awake his napping mother in the next room.

Winston with care lifted five leather bound photo albums onto the desk blotter. Each album was identical and was labeled by year on the outside cover. He opened the book labeled 1906-1907. He looked at each with care as he flipped to the year 1907. He chuckled to himself as he turned the yellowing pages. He had forgotten how good looking and strong his father had been. The huge handlebar moustache dominated the youthful face of Samuel Winston on every photo. Alan stopped a quarter way through the album and pulled himself forward to the desk adjusting his posture against the comfortable desk chair.

The wedding pictures were fading but most were still quite clear. Winston stared at the black and white photographs for more than a minute. His Mother’s photogenic face reflected with clarity her overwhelming joy to be Samuel Winston’s young bride. Photos of the reception at the church were followed by more of the newly weds boarding their carriage for the long ride to the ferry. One look at the photographs anyone could tell these two were in love. Winston placed the album in his lap and lapsed into thought.

God I miss you Dad.

It was the happiest day of my life. Your father was so handsome.

Winston, startled, bumped his knee against the desk.

I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?

Winston’s face blushed beet red with embarrassment.

No, I was looking for something, something special. This belonged to your father’s grandmother and I thought you might want it given the circumstances.

Alan turned to face his mother who placed the velvet box in his hand. He had never seen the green box before. He opened it and was stunned by its contents. The jewel sparkled with brilliance even in the dim desk light. Winston was mesmerized as he fingered the one-carat diamond set in a simple, but elegant gold band. He looked up at his smirking mother whose eyes twinkled with mischief.

Mom, how did you know?

Mothers know these things.

But I can’t take this. It belongs to..

His mother interrupted.

To you. Your father would want you to have it. Oh how I wish he could meet Nancy. He would love her in an instant. She’s very special Alan. I think you know that.

But..

But what? You men. You never know when something good is staring you smack dab in your face. Are you telling me you don’t love her?

Of course I love her, but … .

Alan you better think about this. Nancy is perfect for you. She knows you and understands you. God, she has waited for years.

Now you aren’t looking for some grandchildren are you?

Alan tweaked his mother’s nose with a playful swipe.

Well, I wouldn’t mind that.

Alan stole a final look at the wedding pictures and spoke as he handed the open binder to his mother.

You were a beautiful bride, Mom.

Thanks. Yes, I was. I made that dress myself. It took me six months and two different patterns. You should have seen your Father’s eyes when I waltzed down that aisle. It was a wonderful day and I remember like it was yesterday. I wonder … maybe Nancy would like to try on my dress.

There you go again … women.

Winston used the comment to make his exit leaving his perturbed parent behind with her sighs of frustration.

The graduating class had done an amazing job of decorating the tiny high school gymnasium with the help of their girl friends, wives and mothers. A near perfect replica of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse fabricated with papier-mache had been erected at center court. Dave Parks had rigged a revolving beacon at the apex of the makeshift tower lending a sense of reality to the impressive twenty-foot structure. Alan and Nancy had contributed their time by painting the entire lighthouse the day prior. At the base off the impressive model several wheelbarrows of golden Outer Banks sand complete with live sea oats had been formed into sand dunes.

The balcony railing that encircled the gym had been fitted with functioning antique kerosene lanterns, old lifesaving rings and fishnet further adding to the decor of the festive occasion. A captain’s wheel from a nameless shipwreck had been placed at the rear of the balcony just above the VIP table. Two dozen tables adorned with soft glowing candles had been placed in a half moon formation around the open dance floor. A long table festooned with fresh flowers served as a combination serving table and conversational side bar. The community had contributed mountains of appetizers and sweets. Gone was the stiff military regimen of earlier in the day. It was time to have fun.

Swirling couples breezed across the waxed wooden floor swooning to the sounds of a mainland swing band. Alan Winston felt rather uncomfortable seated at the elevated VIP table separated from his classmates. While it was an honor bestowed on a select few cadets, he would have preferred to be seated with Dave Parks and his date. In addition, he would have to behave himself while his buddies were sipping Tennessee whisky in the parking lot pontificating on important subjects such as baseball and women. Such were the trappings of command. The vacant smile plastered on his face did not escape the eagle eyes of Nancy. A brief round of applause for the orchestra brought them both to conversation.

So when is the Corps commander going to ask his lady to dance.

Winston twitched as she placed her gloved hand through his arm. The delicious aroma of her perfume filled his senses as she pulled herself closer to his body. His long arm slid across her shoulders down to her slender waist. Their eyes flaming with desire fixated on each other and sparkled in the candlelight.

My my.

Winston swallowed hard trying with little success to counter the swell of passion stirring deep inside of his soul. He knew that there were no words to describe what he felt for this very special lady. He yearned for her in a way he had never experienced in his twenty-three years. Maintaining intense eye contact he led her to the dance floor and held her tight. The band melted into a soft waltz. Her soft breath scintillated his neck as their cheeks joined. Nancy blinked away her tears of happiness replacing them with a soft kiss to Alan’s now quivering neck. Neither saw Dave Parks sneak up.

Okay lovebirds. That’s enough. Maybe you’d better carry on outside.

Hey, I give the orders in this unit, cadet.

Is that right? Well commander, may I have the honor of just one dance with the prettiest lady in the building?

You rat. Nancy, if he doesn’t behave just let me know.

The bottle is under the front seat passenger side.

You read my mind.

‘Alan you’re not going to …’

Just a sip. I promise

Winston grinned with mischief planted all over his tanned face. A second later the orchestra swung into a Rudy Vallee ballad. Winston turned to exit but stopped to admire the rear view of his girlfriend as Parks led her to the dance floor. Her auburn hair, which reached to the middle of her back, was shimmering in soft candlelight. Her every step was pure elegance.

Winston sighed and exited into the star filled night. He needed the brief respite from Nancy to complete a clandestine mission. He approached Parks’ Ford sedan and quickly found the bottle in question. With care he opened the paper sack and laughed out loud.

Dave Parks, you are amazing.

Winston held up a bottle of French champagne and shook his head with satisfaction. His lifelong friend had come through once again. Where Parks had found the imported bubbly he could never imagine. The Outer Banks had just begun to recover from Prohibition with only a few remnants of the once profitable booze smuggling rings in operation. Winston hurried to his truck and placed the bottle in the beach blanket behind the seat. He unrolled the other end of the navy blanket and saw that his mother’s fancy brandy sniffers were intact. He patted his jacket coat and strolled back to Dave’s vehicle.

I need a little liquid encouragement.

Winston opened the glove compartment revealing a half-emptied bottle of Jack Daniels Tennessee Sour Mash whisky. The smooth eight year old elixir tingled his throat as it swirled downward into his stomach. He resisted the urge for a second swig remembering Nancy’s admonition. With near perfect timing, the band concluded its number right as Winston bounded through the double gymnasium door.

Okay Cadet Parks, you swine. Party’s over.

Oh no and here I was about to ask Nancy for a walk on the beach.

Dismissed you swarthy sea dog.

Winston graveled his voice into a throaty rasp, a decent imitation of a rum soaked pirate. Parks gave him a knowing glance searching for a sign of approval. Winston responded with a quick closed-eyed nod. Nancy detected nothing.

You weren’t gone very long.

Just like a I promised.

Winston’s stomach jumped with anxiety when his eyes met those of his girlfriend. Yet within seconds her smile disarmed the lingering self-doubt that had cluttered his mind for a month. The timing would never be better. He reached for her gloved hand.

It’s stuffy in here. How about a walk on the beach?

Ever alert, Nancy sensed Alan’s nervousness.

"Is something wrong, Alan?’

No. Everything is fine. Better than fine. Come on, let’s get out of here.

Hand in hand they exited the gymnasium with Winston admonishing himself.

You dunce. You can do this.

Instead of heading for the creosote soaked boardwalk that led to the beach, Alan steered Nancy on direct path to his pick-up truck.

I thought we’re going to the beach.

We are, just not this beach.

Winston kissed her lightly before opening the truck door. A second later, they whirled away in a cloud of sand and dust heading south toward Buxton. Alan fidgeted with the rear view mirror and stretched his arm around his lady’s bare shoulder.

I hope you don’t mind, but there were a million people on the beach at the gym. I’d like a little privacy tonight. So I thought we’d drive down to the Lighthouse to be by ourselves.

That sounds quite nice, Alan

She nestled closer to Winston lowering her head under his cheek. The loud hum from the steel track road made further conversation difficult. Fifteen minutes later they drove into the familiar confines of Buxton and turned east in the direction of the Lighthouse. The truck’s springs groaned while they traversed the pothole-filled sand roadway that led to the towering structure.

Winston gunned the engine as he swung the truck off road in between the lofty sand dunes that rimmed the beach. The roar of the Atlantic filled their ears when he switched off the truck engine. It was a reassuring sound. He was now in his element.

The Surfman bounded out of the truck and opened the door for his beau. The cool sea air invigorated the Hatteras native. He grabbed the blanket from the rear of the truck taking care not to drop the champagne bottle. He swept her off her feet into his strong arms before her feet reached the ground.

Now this is what I call privacy.

Oh Alan..

Winston pushed a wisp of her hair away from her face and kissed her soft, succulent lips. She responded like never before bringing both arms around his muscular neck. He lowered her to the ground and they pressed their bodies into a frenzied, seemingly forever kiss. Breathless, they broke the embrace.

We ‘ll never get to the beach at this rate. Come on, I’ve got everything we need.

They strolled down the beach with their arms around each other’s waist. Dozens of sand crabs darted in every direction only inches in front of their bare feet. Above, the autumn sky was dazzling with thousands of sparkling stars in clear view against the cloudless black sky. Every twenty seconds, a swatch of light from the Lighthouse would stab through the darkness over them as the historic beacon continued its relentless mission of warning. The sound of crashing surf was followed by the echo of thousands of bursting bubbles in the frothy tidewater. Alan searched the sea oat covered dunes for the perfect spot.