The Dangerous Shore: How a Motley Crew of Scientists, Mobsters, Double Agents, Retirees, Volunteer Pilots (and a Boy Scout) Stopped the Invasion of America

Lydon is no stranger to life at sea during these uncertain times. Eager to leave his mark on the world, Lydon enlisted directly from high school. Now, with three years in the Navy and after a year spent aboard Eagle 56, the twenty-three-year-old knows every creak, every moan, of the old subchaser they affectionately call "The Tub." Her true name, born from a wartime editorial in The Washington Post, captured her purpose: she and her sisters were meant to scour the seas for submarines, "like eagles hunting prey." Built in 1919 by the Ford Motor Company, she's no state-of-the-art destroyer, just a two-hundred-foot remnant of the First World War, outfitted with a single four-inch gun forward, two .30-caliber Lewis machine guns above the bridge, a .50-caliber Browning AA on the after deckhouse, and a manually operated depth charge rack at her stern. She's a relic, a workhorse, a vessel long past her prime, yet is still standing against a new war. For Joseph, this ship—born the same year as him, with her square stern and boxlike lines—is more than aging armor and sluggish engines; she is home, and her crew are family.

Promoted to seaman first class just before the attack on Pearl Harbor, Joseph is on a path to make the Navy a lifelong career. Hailing from the City of Brotherly Love, he is not just a sailor—he's the eldest of seven, a brother, a son, with too many lives depending on him to falter.

His numb fingers tighten around the rail, the cold biting deep into raw skin as he counts the minutes to relief. He turns, drawn by the promise of the radio room's dry warmth and the familiar bitterness of Navy coffee, when a burst of static, followed by an urgent voice, splits the night: "MEN SPOTTED IN RAFTS, JUST OFF THE COAST OF CAPE MAY."

PART 1

THE SMOLDERING FIRE

WHAT BROUGHT US TO THE DAY OF INFAMY Emotionally scarred and economically crippled, great nations found themselves in the grip of a global economic depression, grappling with financial ruin. The devastating conflict known as "the Great War" or "the War to End All Wars" had left the world reeling from the horrors of slaughter on an unprecedented scale. The stage was set for a new chapter in history, and a charismatic but menacing figure named Adolf Hitler stepped onto the scene in 1933, the same year Franklin D. Roosevelt began his first term as president of the United States.

For eleven years, the Great Depression had plagued the global economy, and as the 1930s ended, around 17 percent of Americans were unemployed. Roosevelt worked tirelessly to address the basic needs of the masses. He inherited a nation wary of war and protected by the oceans, leading Congress to pass Neutrality Acts to keep America out of foreign conflicts. Meanwhile, the US Army languished with fewer than 200,000 men, vastly outnumbered by Germany's 7 million soldiers. The lack of resources left the Army Air Corps with just 1,500 combat planes, 700 of which had become obsolete by December 1941. By comparison, the German Luftwaffe (air force) had 3,750 first-line aircraft at its disposal.

Across the Atlantic, Hitler, a fiery orator, captivated the German masses and steadily erased the "disgrace" of the Treaty of Versailles, the very peace agreement that ended World War I. Despite France's formidable army and England's military might, the so-called Great Democracies were passive, heads buried in the sand. As Germany pursued racial purity, millions of Jews, Slavs, Blacks, and other non-Aryans faced persecution, stripped of their citizenship and rights.

In Italy, Benito Mussolini followed a similar path, building his empire while brutally suppressing dissent and invading Abyssinia without consequence.

And so, the kettle heated with no one, so to speak, minding the stove, except perhaps for Winston Churchill. An elder statesman in his midsixties, Churchill sounded a lone voice of warning in the House of Commons, "Those Germans are not looking for equal status. They are looking for weapons." The "humpty-dumpty-looking man" soon gathered a small band of supporters, but found little resonance with a public sick of war. Neville Chamberlain, the British prime minister, painted Churchill as a villain, stating, "The real danger to this country is Winston. He is the warmonger, not Hitler." Churchill found little response to his calls for preparedness from a largely indifferent public. Britain and France, choosing appeasement, ignored the rising tide of militaristic fervor in Germany.

Then, barely two weeks after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War on July 17, 1936, and with the specter of fascism looming over Europe, global attention turned toward the XI Olympic Games. The events that unfolded in the host city of Berlin heated the nearly boiling kettle.