Most Americans know nothing about the time Nazi submarines stalked the Eastern seaboard of the U.S.  But if you’re ever on the Outer Banks of North Carolina and see anyone old enough to remember the year 1942, strike up a conversation.  Chances are, they remember an eerie glow on the sea at night, seen from childhood bedrooms or the beach.  Torpedoed by Hitler’s U-boats a few leagues offshore, cargo ships and burning oil tankers cast these fires.  Burned bodies of sailors often washed ashore.  In 2008, I interviewed romance novelist Dixie Burrus Browning, whose father Dick Burrus once played for the Indianapolis Indians.  Dixie, who was twelve years old in 1942, remembered not only the dim, red radiance over Hatteras Island’s marshes, but ship debris, a lifeboat that had been strafed by a German machine-gun, and public auctions of wreckage.  Her mother made a quilt out of a Texaco flag salvaged from a stricken tanker that went down off Diamond Shoals in March 1942, en route from Texas to Connecticut.