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this war; only those who know they're
soldiers and those who do not yet know." He slowly straightened from the
crouched position in which he had been observing the events on the lake, and his
joints protested the change in position, causing him to wince. He arched his
back, stretched his stiff muscles and started for the woods, not turning to see
if the boy followed.
    Olaf stared after him a moment then looked once more at the
distant cloud of smoke that marked the final resting place of the ferry Hydro
and all who had been aboard, before following Sten into the shelter of the
thick pine Forrest that bordered lake Tinnsjo.
     

CHAPTER THREE
    DELAWARE RIVER, SOUTH OF PHILADELPHIA. 15 JULY, 1944
    The humid air of summer had descended on Philadelphia, the
atmosphere hot and thick, a palpable feel to it. It covered the entire city,
insinuating itself into every crevice and corner, settling heavy and immobile
in living rooms and kitchens, coming uninvited into the bedroom and spreading
out at its leisure in stores and restaurants. The most powerful of fans did
nothing to dispel the oppressive air. The hot air swayed this way and that,
whirled about, even turned once or twice on its heels, but at the end of all
these gyrations, it remained where it was, sultry and suffocating.
    Larry Sabatini stood on the deck of the hospital ship
Tranquility as it sailed up the Delaware River to the Philadelphia Naval base.
The five hundred foot vessel, the former Marine Dolphin, had recently been
acquired from the Maritime Commission and was making its way back from England
to be refitted in its new capacity. In the distance, through the shimmering
heat haze, he could just make out the head of "Billy" Penn, the
statue of William Penn atop City Hall. It was like a personal "welcome
home," lifting his heart more than he would have thought, and enveloping
him in a feeling of security he had not known for many months. The
uncomfortable summer air, starting to settle around him as the ship slowed and
approached its berth, did nothing to dampen his spirits. The long days at sea
had been a respite from a pervasive apprehension he had endured for months, an
unease known only by those who had served behind the lines, in the heart of the
beast, surrounded by the enemy, with thoughts of capture, torture and death
always nibbling at your consciousness.
    Leaning over the rail as the vessel slipped into its
mooring, he banished all thoughts of the OSS from his mind, and turned the
inward eye to memories of South Philly, the place where he grew up, the place
where his family lived, the place that meant comfort and safety to him. Two
weeks of leave with no cares and no military. Or so he thought. Two weeks to
visit family and renew old friendships. Two weeks. But, at the end of those two
weeks he would find that his life had been shattered and for all time hence
thoughts of home would elicit neither comfort nor safety.
    It was a sign of the respect the OSS had for his abilities
that he was allowed the time to leave the European theatre, make the
transatlantic crossing, now relatively safe, and return home to visit his
family. It was also a sign of the concern they had for an operative in whom
much had been invested, and who ran the risk of losing his effectiveness and
edge from the constant psychological trauma to which he had been exposed.
Members of the Special Operations Branch of the OSS were carefully vetted,
particularly in regard to their ability to withstand the kind of mental
pressure that must be endured when operating behind the lines, often alone and
with few resources except what one could muster on their own. Larry had dealt
with situations that few could have tolerated, but his last mission had pushed
his coping skills beyond their limit and he bore wounds that still festered.
    As lines were tossed between ship and dock he picked up his
duffel, packed and at his side since first light, and joined the crowd waiting
for the gangway to be lowered.