by Bob Kranich
Island Flavor, (Part 2, Excerpt 45)
This is a new story titled, Island Flavor. It tells of the historic US military build-up of the Miami area during the Second World War. Also about the fact that some Nazi spies were brought into the USA via submarines. In our story a German spy is being dropped off the Miami shore.
Island Flavor
[For his espionage mission: Peter Schmidt is to be inserted by a U-boat of the Reichsmarine (German Navy) into the Miami, Florida area. There, he is to observe the U.S. Army Air Force activities at the 36th Street Airport.*]
[His Enigma Electro-mechanical Rotor Cypher machine is a four-rotor German Naval model.* In addition, the transmitter is a captured British unit.* It has a limited frequency and reduced power. The transmitter is suitable for Morse key only. Together they both fit into a small suitcase and weigh no more than 35 pounds.]
“This way, Herr Schmidt. We’re going out on deck,” the captain announced.
There was a slight breeze. The U-302 was rocking gently. Even though it was February, the air was balmy.
Herr Schmidt, just sit in the raft and we’ll slide you down. Good mission.”
“Thank you Captain…and thank you for the excellent trip. Good hunting.”
The raft hit the water, splashed, rocked violently and then steadied. Peter slipped the ropes off the raft and rowed away from the sub. He heard the diesel engines shut down and the whine of the electric motors. He looked back then and saw the sub diving. The commander saluted and disappeared into the conning tower, the hatch shutting above him.
The U-302 slipped silently out of sight, and all that remained were bubbles on the surface and more boiling to the surface.
He looked towards the Miami Beach lights and rowed backwards so he could see where he was going. He checked his British waterproof watch. It was 2:15 AM. His handlers had made sure he had no German clothing or accessories, except of course the Enigma Code Machine. The insignia was taken off of it together with any identifying markings. To unknowing persons it might pass as a strange typewriter. He rowed towards the brightest lights. There was a slight drift by the current and wave action north.
That will be ok, he thought. It will take me off the main section of the Miami Beach area. Even though there were long steady waves he noticed the rowing was still not so easy in this round rubber two-man raft.
Even this raft was non-German. It was captured U.S. Army Air force. If he needed to he could just leave it on the beach, and hopefully, the authorities would think it was from a training exercise.
He was in the breakers now. He could see the beach, a light color just beyond the sparkle of the waves. The raft picked up on a wave, rode over the top as it broke, came rushing down, and hit the sand. Besides soaking him, it then slid the raft up on the sand, and the raft came to a stop.
He got out, found his knife, slit open the rubber liner, reached in and grabbed the suitcase. He saw a couple walking arm-in-arm down the beach. They were farther up than he was . He sat down facing the ocean, his back to them, suitcase on his lap so they could not see it.
“Look, Dear, someone else is on the beach.”
“Yes, Honey, it is so lovely out here. He looks so content. Just like us.”
As soon as they passed by, he got up and headed straight up the beach. He walked past a small hotel, and out in front he saw he was on a paved two-lane road, Collins Ave. Then, he noticed there was a bus stop on the other side of the road. I’m in luck, he thought. He crossed over and saw that a bus was coming his way. As it drew near he could see its lit up route sign, 36th St. Airport.
“What luck,” he murmured to himself.
He reached for his money pouch, pulled out a couple of ones and a five. The bus pulled up, and he got on.
“How much?” he asked.
“25 cents,” the driver said, “You need the exact change.”
“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t have it. Can I give you this dollar? You keep the change?”
“Not supposed to do it, but it’s late. Ok.”
He sat down on a seat up front. He looked around. Not many people were on the bus at 5:30 AM. The total was a couple AAF (Army Air Force) guys, and an old lady with a shopping bag.
“Driver, any hotels near the airport?” Peter asked.
“You won’t find any hotels there. They're all back at the beach. But there are a few motor inns.”
“Here we are now. You will see them on the right.”
“Thank you,” Peter said as he stepped off the bus.
There was a faint morning glow just coming from behind the skyline off the Atlantic. It was back lighting the city skyline. He saw a single story structure and a big sign that read, Howard Johnson’s. There was a small building with a picture window next to it. A neon sign read, office, VACANCY.
“You got the last one. With all these Army Air Force guys coming to this airport, we’re full almost every night!” the young male desk clerk exclaimed. “Got any ID…drivers license?” he asked.
“Yes Sir, I’ve got my driver’s license. It’s New York.”
“Ok, Mr. Smith. That will be $8.50, out of $20. Number 12, third door on the right. Have a good day. Oh, check out time is 10 AM. But you will get some extra time this morning. The room is ready now.”
“I appreciate it, Sir. Thanks,” Peter said.
He walked outside the office and down the sidewalk to room 12. Peter unlocked the door and went in, double locking it behind him. There was a dresser, double bed, single chair, and a lamp. He put his suitcase against the wall next to the bed. He sat down on the bed, took off his shoes, laid back and fell deep asleep.
He was started awake by a lot of noise. Where am I, he thought, as he sat up. Then it came back to him. Peter went over to the window, pulled the drape just so. The traffic was intense on 36th street in front of the motor lodge. “I’ll get cleaned up, and then I need to find some clothes and some toiletries. I need a shave, but that will have to wait,” he said out loud to himself.
Where can I find a place to shop? I need some clothes and toiletries,” Peter asked the motor inn desk clerk. It was a different person, a much older man. His name tag said “Manager.”
“I’m staying in room 12, came in early this morning.”
“Got a car?”
“No, Sir.”
“You catch the bus out front here, heading west towards the airport…marked Hialeah. It will go up Royal Poinciana Boulevard and will come to Miami Springs. That is near the golf course. There are a lot of shops there.”
“Thanks a lot, Sir.”
Peter came out of the office and saw the restaurant across the parking lot. The sign said, Howard Johnson’s. He suddenly realized he was famished and went over.
Back in his room he hid the suitcase under the bed. He then transferred some money to his pocket from his waterproof container strapped to his body. They had provided him with a lot of money. All U.S. bills. He had about $15,000 in all manner of bills, about $10,000 in $500s, and the rest in assorted denominations. None of it was new or crisp.
Island Flavor, (Part 2, Excerpt 45)
This is a new story titled, Island Flavor. It tells of the historic US military build-up of the Miami area during the Second World War. Also about the fact that some Nazi spies were brought into the USA via submarines. In our story a German spy is being dropped off the Miami shore.
Island Flavor
[For his espionage mission: Peter Schmidt is to be inserted by a U-boat of the Reichsmarine (German Navy) into the Miami, Florida area. There, he is to observe the U.S. Army Air Force activities at the 36th Street Airport.*]
[His Enigma Electro-mechanical Rotor Cypher machine is a four-rotor German Naval model.* In addition, the transmitter is a captured British unit.* It has a limited frequency and reduced power. The transmitter is suitable for Morse key only. Together they both fit into a small suitcase and weigh no more than 35 pounds.]
“This way, Herr Schmidt. We’re going out on deck,” the captain announced.
There was a slight breeze. The U-302 was rocking gently. Even though it was February, the air was balmy.
Herr Schmidt, just sit in the raft and we’ll slide you down. Good mission.”
“Thank you Captain…and thank you for the excellent trip. Good hunting.”
The raft hit the water, splashed, rocked violently and then steadied. Peter slipped the ropes off the raft and rowed away from the sub. He heard the diesel engines shut down and the whine of the electric motors. He looked back then and saw the sub diving. The commander saluted and disappeared into the conning tower, the hatch shutting above him.
The U-302 slipped silently out of sight, and all that remained were bubbles on the surface and more boiling to the surface.
He looked towards the Miami Beach lights and rowed backwards so he could see where he was going. He checked his British waterproof watch. It was 2:15 AM. His handlers had made sure he had no German clothing or accessories, except of course the Enigma Code Machine. The insignia was taken off of it together with any identifying markings. To unknowing persons it might pass as a strange typewriter. He rowed towards the brightest lights. There was a slight drift by the current and wave action north.
That will be ok, he thought. It will take me off the main section of the Miami Beach area. Even though there were long steady waves he noticed the rowing was still not so easy in this round rubber two-man raft.
Even this raft was non-German. It was captured U.S. Army Air force. If he needed to he could just leave it on the beach, and hopefully, the authorities would think it was from a training exercise.
He was in the breakers now. He could see the beach, a light color just beyond the sparkle of the waves. The raft picked up on a wave, rode over the top as it broke, came rushing down, and hit the sand. Besides soaking him, it then slid the raft up on the sand, and the raft came to a stop.
He got out, found his knife, slit open the rubber liner, reached in and grabbed the suitcase. He saw a couple walking arm-in-arm down the beach. They were farther up than he was . He sat down facing the ocean, his back to them, suitcase on his lap so they could not see it.
“Look, Dear, someone else is on the beach.”
“Yes, Honey, it is so lovely out here. He looks so content. Just like us.”
As soon as they passed by, he got up and headed straight up the beach. He walked past a small hotel, and out in front he saw he was on a paved two-lane road, Collins Ave. Then, he noticed there was a bus stop on the other side of the road. I’m in luck, he thought. He crossed over and saw that a bus was coming his way. As it drew near he could see its lit up route sign, 36th St. Airport.
“What luck,” he murmured to himself.
He reached for his money pouch, pulled out a couple of ones and a five. The bus pulled up, and he got on.
“How much?” he asked.
“25 cents,” the driver said, “You need the exact change.”
“I’m sorry Sir, I don’t have it. Can I give you this dollar? You keep the change?”
“Not supposed to do it, but it’s late. Ok.”
He sat down on a seat up front. He looked around. Not many people were on the bus at 5:30 AM. The total was a couple AAF (Army Air Force) guys, and an old lady with a shopping bag.
“Driver, any hotels near the airport?” Peter asked.
“You won’t find any hotels there. They're all back at the beach. But there are a few motor inns.”
“Here we are now. You will see them on the right.”
“Thank you,” Peter said as he stepped off the bus.
There was a faint morning glow just coming from behind the skyline off the Atlantic. It was back lighting the city skyline. He saw a single story structure and a big sign that read, Howard Johnson’s. There was a small building with a picture window next to it. A neon sign read, office, VACANCY.
“You got the last one. With all these Army Air Force guys coming to this airport, we’re full almost every night!” the young male desk clerk exclaimed. “Got any ID…drivers license?” he asked.
“Yes Sir, I’ve got my driver’s license. It’s New York.”
“Ok, Mr. Smith. That will be $8.50, out of $20. Number 12, third door on the right. Have a good day. Oh, check out time is 10 AM. But you will get some extra time this morning. The room is ready now.”
“I appreciate it, Sir. Thanks,” Peter said.
He walked outside the office and down the sidewalk to room 12. Peter unlocked the door and went in, double locking it behind him. There was a dresser, double bed, single chair, and a lamp. He put his suitcase against the wall next to the bed. He sat down on the bed, took off his shoes, laid back and fell deep asleep.
He was started awake by a lot of noise. Where am I, he thought, as he sat up. Then it came back to him. Peter went over to the window, pulled the drape just so. The traffic was intense on 36th street in front of the motor lodge. “I’ll get cleaned up, and then I need to find some clothes and some toiletries. I need a shave, but that will have to wait,” he said out loud to himself.
Where can I find a place to shop? I need some clothes and toiletries,” Peter asked the motor inn desk clerk. It was a different person, a much older man. His name tag said “Manager.”
“I’m staying in room 12, came in early this morning.”
“Got a car?”
“No, Sir.”
“You catch the bus out front here, heading west towards the airport…marked Hialeah. It will go up Royal Poinciana Boulevard and will come to Miami Springs. That is near the golf course. There are a lot of shops there.”
“Thanks a lot, Sir.”
Peter came out of the office and saw the restaurant across the parking lot. The sign said, Howard Johnson’s. He suddenly realized he was famished and went over.
Back in his room he hid the suitcase under the bed. He then transferred some money to his pocket from his waterproof container strapped to his body. They had provided him with a lot of money. All U.S. bills. He had about $15,000 in all manner of bills, about $10,000 in $500s, and the rest in assorted denominations. None of it was new or crisp.
From the Author:
My second full-length book , Florida Keys’ Watercolor Kapers is composed of 336 pages. There are 12 stories running from 6 pages to as many as 72 pages. It is fully illustrated with 88 watercolors and sketches. The watercolors I made roaming around Key West after I finished my 750 mile hike from Georgia to Key West. (See book or Don Browne’s Southwest Florida Online News records, A Walk Across Florida.) As you read these stories you will experience Key West, the Keys, and the Caribbean. These stories span the time of the early 1800’s to 1969. bkranich.wixsite.com/bobkranich
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