Tucked into the base of a sand hill, cloaked by kudzu and weeds, the entrance to the bunker goes unseen by tourists on the other side of the mound, shuttled onto Fort Story to see the old lighthouses of Cape Henry.
Beyond the door, cobwebs drape a narrow passage. Cave crickets jump and scatter, startled at the sudden intrusion into their dark, dank world. Flashlights lead the way to a small room, empty except for a table.
It’s shaped like a half-moon — a plotting table where men wearing World War II uniforms once leaned in, the helm of operations for an underwater minefield guarding the Chesapeake Bay from enemy vessels.
Like much of the history of Fort Story, the bunker feels forgotten, ghostly with the images of what once was. Combat never came to Fort Story, making it easier for the past to fade away.
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