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And if I go to the beach, "Perhaps I can be of some help to the Herr Standartenführer? ”

By the time von Wachtstein got there, two rubber boats had unloaded their crates and were already making their way back to the submarine for others. A dozen men in blue coveralls were with some difficulty carrying the heavy wooden crates across the loose sand of the beach and toward the trucks.

Standartenführer Karl Cranz, Fregattenkapitän Karl Boltitz, Sturmbannführer Erich Raschner, and “Mr. Schmidt”—all in civilian clothing—were standing with a navy officer, an SS-sturmbannführer, and two SS enlisted men. They were in somewhat wet uniforms. The SS men all stood at rigid attention.

Either Cranz or Raschner is giving them hell about something.

The third rubber boat approached the beach.

“You and your men get that crate out of that boat,” Cranz ordered coldly. “And I don’t give a damn how wet you get! And that includes you, Sturmbannführer! ”

The SS officer gave the Nazi salute, then shouted at his men, who ran into the surf to meet the rubber boat. The SS officer splashed in after them.

I suspect the Herr Standartenführer has just taught the Herr Sturmbannführer that it is not beneath an SS officer’s dignity to get one’s uniform wet in the performance of his duty.

Von Wachtstein saw that the navy officer—who was in a somewhat informal uniform, with a battered brimmed cap, a sweater, and shapeless navy blue trousers—was smiling at the sight of the SS splashing around in the surf.

In that moment, as von Wachtstein—to his great surprise—recognized the navy officer, Kapitänleutnant Wilhelm von Dattenberg spotted him.

“Hansel!” he cried happily. “You sonofabitch! I couldn’t believe it was you in that ugly little airplane! ”

“Willi! You ugly bastard!” von Wachtstein cried back, then ran across the sand to him.

They embraced, pounding each other’s back.

“I gather you gentlemen are acquainted?” Cranz said.

Neither von Dattenberg nor von Wachtstein paid any attention to him.

“They were at school together, Herr Standartenführer,” Boltitz offered. “I learned they knew each other only just now.”

“Herr Kapitänleutnant,” Cranz said. “If I may have a moment of your time?”

Von Dattenberg looked at him but didn’t speak.

“Is there any reason the rubber boats cannot stay here?” Cranz went on.

“How would I get back aboard my boat?” von Dattenberg asked jokingly. “That’s a long way to swim.”

“You are talking to a SS-standartenführer!” Sturmbannführer Raschner snapped.

“I’m sure the kapitänleutnant meant no offense,” Cranz said, putting oil on the troubled seas.

“I meant none,” von Dattenberg said to Cranz, then nodded toward Raschner, “but I take offense at his tone of voice.”

“Easy, Willi,” Boltitz said.

“You will have to understand, Herr Kapitänleutnant,” Cranz said, “that Sturmbannführer Raschner really has no idea of the stress you and your men have been under. I believe you owe the kapitänleutnant an apology, Raschner.”

Von Wachtstein thought, What the hell is Cranz up to?

Does he want the boats that much?

He doesn’t want to have a fracas in front of Schmidt?

Or for it to get back to Himmler that there was a fracas on the beach because his flunky didn’t like the way the U-boat commander talked to him?

“If I in any way offended you, Herr Kapitänleutnant, I apologize,” Raschner said.