by Bobby Akart
Within weeks, as the U-boat continued its course across the North Atlantic toward the U.S., Müller demanded answers from his superior. He made it known that while Claussen was his superior in rank, he was certainly inferior in experience.
The two men began to butt heads as the long journey continued. Müller worked surreptitiously to spread discord among the crew. A divide became evident between the seaman from the former 9th Flotilla and those loyal to Claussen.
Finally, Claussen called a meeting of his officers, excluding Müller. He disclosed to them the secretive nature of their mission and their destination as the Gulf of Mexico. Early on in the war, German U-boat activity in the Gulf had been responsible for destroying nearly a hundred ships containing oil and supplies for the Allied war effort. Operation Drumbeat, in particular, wreaked havoc in the Gulf and had an unnerving effect on Gulf Coast residents.
Because of the discord caused by his second-in-command, Claussen contemplated placing him under arrest. He decided to table the decision until he had an opportunity to discuss the matter with Müller once they approached the Caribbean. That civil conversation never took place. The sub’s Oberbootsmann, the noncommissioned petty officer responsible for crew discipline, was overheard discussing the potential arrest by Müller loyalists.
What happened next doomed the mission.
Chapter Twenty-Four
November 1944
Aboard the U-1226
North Atlantic Ocean
“One thousand meters below the keel, Herr Oberleutnant,” announced the helmsman. “Increasing speed to two-thirds, right ten degrees.” The two-hundred-fifty-foot submarine weighed just over a thousand tons, smallish in comparison to modern-day vessels.
Claussen patted the young helmsman on the back and unfurled his nautical charts on a square table set in the middle of the conning tower. He studied the route. During his preparations, he’d had conversations with other commanders who’d made their way into the Gulf of Mexico and also received the most up-to-date intelligence data on the Americans’ defense of the coastal waters between the Florida Keys and Cuba.
It was tempting to sail through the Straits of Florida, but the water depth was only six thousand feet, leaving little room for evasive maneuvers. The preferred route was longer, but deemed safer because it avoided detection via depth charges or aircraft reconnaissance. The hulking submarine tended to stand out in the crystal-clear waters of the Caribbean Sea.
“Continue your course west of Bermuda toward Puerto Rico,” Claussen instructed the helmsman. “This should take you on a southerly track between the Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico.”
In the days before sonar navigation, submarine commanders navigated the same way surface ships did. They identified position fixes, such as land masses and celestial bodies, and then used dead reckoning in between, taking into account ocean currents at various depths. Winds were also considered because submarines spent much of their time on the surface.
Claussen was unaware that his executive officer, Müller, who’d been intentionally excluded from most of his conn duties, had appeared behind him.
“You are making a mistake traveling in these waters,” said Müller with a gruff. He’d abandoned all pretense of addressing his commander with respect. He welcomed Claussen’s attempt to arrest him. His men were ready to respond. “You should not traverse the Devil’s Triangle at depth.”
Claussen closed his eyes and shook his head. For days, he’d ignored Müller and simply tolerated his presence. He’d been advised by his bosun that arresting the second-in-command would likely instigate a mutiny. The mission he was given by Reichsführer Himmler was far too important to allow petty comments by a jealous second-in-command to get in the way.
“Nur Aberglaube,” Claussen muttered. Only superstition.
“Nee,” Müller shot back. “It is not. The facts are there. In 1918, the American ship Cyclops disappeared in these waters. Her sister vessel suffered the same fate many years later. You call yourself a seaman. A commander. Yet you do not know the history of these treacherous waters?”
“What do you suggest, Müller? Hmm? Surface travel under the nose of the U.S. Naval aircraft? Perhaps we should sail to Miami for lunch?”
Müller lit a cigarette, another act of defiance against the young commander’s standing order prohibiting smoking on the conn. He took a deep draw on the Eckstein No. 5 and intentionally blew it in Claussen’s direction.
Müller was clearly instigating something with Claussen. It was a test of Claussen’s authority, and his failure to respond would be a sign of weakness to the entire crew, not just those loyal to Müller.
“Lieutenant Müller!” Claussen shouted as he spun to face the taller man. “You are to clear the conn and return to your quarters until further notice.”
Defiant, Müller continued to smoke. “No, I refuse to die in bed. Nor will I watch you destroy mein Unterseeboot!”
Müller turned to his bosun and was about to order Müller arrested when the helmsman shouted. His voice was urgent.
“Herr Oberleutnant! The gyrocompass!”
The gyrocompass, reading the Earth’s revolution and gravitation, showed the direction of true north while at sea. It was designed to ignore any magnetism put off by the operation of the submarine or changes in the Earth’s magnetic field. It was generally steady, changing only with the turn of the vessel.
Now, it was shifting in fits and spins.
“Is there a problem with its power supply?” asked Claussen. The gyrocompass was powered by alternating current electricity. The electric supply was produced by a motor generator, and most submarines were equipped with a backup.
The helmsman contacted the engineering room and ordered them to check the generator. They responded that there were no issues.
Throughout the frantic activities of Claussen and the helmsman, Müller stood to the side, calmly smoking his cigarette.
“You should surface, der Dommkopf.” Imbecile.
“Shut up!” Claussen yelled back.
Suddenly, the nose of the submarine lurched downward, throwing all standing onto the floor or into the control panel where the navigation crew were seated.
“Rise! Rise! Rise!” ordered Claussen as he found his footing and gripped a railing along the upper level of the conn.
Müller was relentless in criticism. “I told you, der Dommkopf.”
Claussen responded with his fist. He uncharacteristically spun around and leveled a right blow to Müller’s mouth, cramming the cigarette hanging between his lips into his chin.
Müller was startled at first and then retaliated. He charged at Claussen, lowering his head and driving the crown into the commander’s sternum. Both men fell to the floor of the conn.
Schultze tried to come to his commander’s aide. He grabbed Müller by the collar of his uniform and rolled him off Claussen, who was winded from the blow to his chest. Müller fought Schultze by kneeing him in the groin and then delivering a punishing blow to his throat.
“Herr Oberleutnant! She is not responding!”
“You have killed us all!” snarled Müller, who dropped to his knees to pummel Claussen. The commander’s face was bloodied and his nose was broken. Other members of the crew joined the fray. Within seconds, an all-out brawl ensued between Claussen’s men and those loyal to Müller. Gunshots rang out within the conn, and soon firefights broke out within the U-boat as the two sides attempted to seize power of the sub.
The young helmsman desperately tried to maintain control of U-1226. He was navigating blind as his control panel flickered and the gyroscope continued to spin wildly out of control.
U-1226 was off course, some one hundred miles northwest of Puerto Rico. It was also dangerously below its collapse depth. If it submerged any more, the immense water pressure would breach the hull.
While the fifty-six crew members of U-1226 fought for the right to control the submarine, the waters of the Bermuda Triangle claimed another victim.
> Chapter Twenty-Five
Aboard the Sea Searcher I
One Hundred Seventy Miles North of Puerto Rico
North Atlantic Ocean
The southernmost part of the North Atlantic Ocean between bewitchingly beautiful Bermuda with its pink sand beaches, the U.S. coastline lined with condominiums, and the north shore of Puerto Rico was one of the few places on Earth still wrapped in an aura of superstitious mystery.
The Bermuda Triangle, also known as the Devil’s Triangle, the Twilight Zone, the Limbo of the Lost and even the Hoodoo Sea, covered half a million square miles of the North Atlantic. It doesn’t appear on any world maps, and the U.S. Board on Geographic Names refuses to officially recognize the Bermuda Triangle as being a part of the Atlantic Ocean. But make no mistake, pilots and sailors alike will repeat the legends of unexplained occurrences dating back to the 1800s, which included ships swallowed by the sea and planes disappearing from the sky. In some cases, they reappeared again.
As was often the case when epic tales and folklore became popular, the naysayers worked overtime to prove the stories to be false or simply coincidental. There’s always a party pooper. Scientists used theories ranging from frequent tropical storm activity to a strong ocean current that often caused sharp changes in the weather. Others simply stated human error was to blame for the mysterious disappearances and that the shipwrecks or plane crashes weren’t out of the ordinary. Those who actually sailed the waters of the Bermuda Triangle and pilots who’d cheated death when in the area respectfully disagreed.
The early origins of the region’s mystical reputation dated as far back as Columbus. During his travels leading to the discovery and exploration of America, he frequently recorded his observations in his journals. There were the frightening screeches of the múcaro común, a rare owl indigenous to Puerto Rico, and the humanlike squeals of wild pigs that inhabited the islands. To the north end of the enigmatic waters, the cahow birds of Bermuda would circle ships that passed by. They were soon to blame for the terrifying shipwrecks that occurred along Bermuda’s treacherous stretch of reefs.
Over time, as American pop culture got into the business of defining and explaining the unusual events, everything from alien activity to sorcery became possible causes. Regardless, the mysteries had never been completely solved, and the fact remained that the Bermuda Triangle was responsible for more inexplicable maritime and aircraft disasters than any other stretch of ocean in the world.
Captain Tobias ten Brink was once a research geophysicist with the U.S. Geological Survey before being recruited as an adjunct scientist with the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, a nonprofit facility dedicated to the study of marine science. His study of underwater tectonic processes had led him to the deepest depths of the world’s oceans and made him a highly sought-after candidate to work with Woods Hole not only as a researcher but as a mentor for their next generation of marine geoscientists.
Captain Toby, as he was called by everyone, was an amiable person. He was known for his outgoing personality and willingness to engage in long conversations with anyone showing an interest in his research. On this particular expedition, undertaken in conjunction with the Ocean Exploration Trust, he was following up on the revelation of nearly one hundred newly discovered sea creatures existing in the Puerto Rico Trench, the deepest in the Atlantic Ocean.
He’d awaken bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that morning, as he liked to say, raring to meet another beautiful day on the sea. The sun was bright that late-July day as the Sea Searcher I sailed across the whitecapped waters of the Atlantic. The afternoon before, they’d left Port Canaveral on Florida’s Atlantic coast, the intermediary stop from their home port of Woods Hole, Massachusetts near Nantucket.
He walked around with his mug of coffee and heartily greeted the crew. He was informed that their honored guests—journalists from the New York Times, National Geographic, and BBC Future—were awaiting him in the galley where they were having breakfast.
Captain Toby made his way into the Sea Searcher I and snuck a peek through the porthole window of the galley door to determine whether the group had finished their breakfast. He didn’t want to intrude on their meal. Plus, he wanted their undivided attention as he explained what they should expect that day.
Satisfied they were finished and enjoying a second mug of coffee, he took a deep breath and entered. This expedition was being followed closely in the media but more importantly by his benefactors at Woods Hole and those who provided their funding, namely Knight Gruppe AG, an Austrian-based philanthropic firm with a worldwide presence in all manners of industry, banking and real estate. While he’d never met the principals of the firm, he knew they were committed to his research of these waters, and that was all that mattered to him.
“Good morning, all!” he cheerily greeted as he entered through the galley door.
“Captain Toby!” one of the journalists responded. “We were just talking about you.”
He laughed. “As well you should. Today is a momentous day for us all.” He gestured at one of the galley crew to ready a large round table at the far end of the galley next to a whiteboard. Chairs were set into place, and charts were spread out for viewing.
“Tell us more, Captain Toby,” an enamored woman from the New York Times said.
“Please join me over here, if you don’t mind. You are my students for the day. It’s time to learn about isopods, tanaids, and leptostracans.”
“How exciting?” said the BBC Future journalist sarcastically.
Captain Toby laughed, although he didn’t see the humor in such an amazing discovery. Based on his conversations with the Brit the night before, he wondered if the older man was there for the scientific discovery or for an opportunity to take a boat ride on the beautiful waters.
Everyone took a seat, leaving their unfinished coffee mugs behind. Now, each of them had their computer tablets open to take notes. Captain Toby rearranged the chart until the largest was on top. The laminated map revealed the area stretching north of Puerto Rico and included the U.S. coastline for reference.
“This whole area is commonly referred to as the Bermuda Triangle. Of course, that is a myth of epic proportions, but it does provide us a point of reference for our discussion. Several years ago, when I was employed by the U.S. Geological Survey, we were on a mapping expedition of this region to study the complex transition between the Lesser Antilles subduction zone to the south and the major transform fault zone, which extends from this point past Cuba and through the Cayman Trough to Central America.”
He ran his index finger along the northern side of the islands into the Caribbean Sea. He continued. “You see, I have long had a theory that tsunami activity impacting Puerto Rico had actually been triggered by the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1906. Through my research, I focused on the fault along the Puerto Rico Trench, which leads directly to what is known as the Milwaukee Deep, an elongated depression that constitutes the floor of the trench. It is the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean, with a reading of nearly twenty-nine thousand feet.”
“How does it compare to, say, um, the Mariana Trench?” asked the female reporter from the Times.
“Certainly, Mariana is known as the deepest. Within the vast bodies of water that cover over seventy percent of our planet, there are seven points considered deeper than the Milwaukee Deep, but none have been left unexplored like this one.
“Efforts to complete mapping of this trench have been undergoing for quite some time. With advanced technology, especially the addition of deep-diving manned submersibles together with the newly manufactured fleet of remote operating vehicles, ocean explorers can supplement surface mapping with visual observations.”
The reporter from National Geographic asked, “How did you discover these new species?”
Captain Toby stood up from the table and waved over one of his research assistants who stood dutifully by. She knew what he was going to request without a word spoken between them. He and his t
eam had met in the operations room of the Sea Searcher I the night before to discuss their interaction with the media. It was important the reporters be told what to report rather than take it on themselves to create a story. Controlling the message resulted in good press. Good press resulted in larger and larger amounts of funding for their future projects.
“We’ve prepared this detailed analysis for your reference. Inside, you’ll find bullet points that highlight our research together with the details surrounding our findings within the body of the report.” Talking points, based on theory.
“Thank you, Captain Toby,” said the New York Times reporter. “I really wanted to take in this exciting opportunity to observe your work without having to spend most of my day in my cabin on Google.”
Captain Toby glanced at the woman’s left hand in search of a wedding ring. He smiled inwardly. He might have to provide her an exclusive interview.
“During a recent mapping expedition, one of our research teams discovered an ocean zone, a rare light region that extended four hundred feet to a thousand feet in depth, halfway to the bottom of the Milwaukee Depth. The rariphotic zone was sandwiched between two other regions of the ocean known for their unique biological communities. It was worthy of further study, so the Sea Searcher I was dispatched with my team aboard.
“Using Argus ROVs, we explored this rariphotic zone and discovered the interesting creatures I mentioned previously, in addition to unique green moray eels, yellow fish and pink fish that differed greatly from their genetic cousins. The ROV successfully captured enough of the creatures, as well as others, for us to confirm the existence of many new species.”