The Button

"We cannot have that thing sitting there, pointing like a dagger at England," explained a British officer.

"That thing" was Helgoland--the tiny, mile-long island, 28 miles north of Germany. In 1890, when Britain traded it to the Germans for Zanzibar and a chunk of continental Africa, it was considered a fine swap. "Like getting a whole suit of clothes for a single trouser button," crowed famed African Explorer Sir Henry Morton Stanley. By 1914 the Kaiser had spent $80 million turning Helgoland into an "unsinkable battleship."

After victory in 1918, the British tore down the fortifications, but in spite of the protests of the proud, German-hating Frisians who lived on the island, Helgoland was left to Germany. By 1936, Hitler's tractors and bulldozers had moved in. Helgoland's receding shores (in 300 years four-fifths of the island had washed away) were buttressed with granite and bound with huge chains. Submarine pens with walls twelve feet thick, harbors, and eight miles of tunnels were built.

Last week, Helgoland's tunnels were packed with 6,400 tons of explosive. Birds were warned off with charges of TNT. Then a British naval vessel touched off the biggest bang since Bikini. A sixth of Helgoland slid into the sea. The dagger pointed at Britain was once again dulled--this time, the British hoped, for keeps.

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