It was during their second beer that Magne accepted Lawton’s offer to visit an oil platform that the Texan was helping put in off the Louisiana coast. They left for the site immediately after the conclusion of the seminar.
This was the Norwegian’s first visit to the American south, and he thoroughly enjoyed his exposure to both the balmy weather and the variety of unique southern customs.
Magne seemed genuinely impressed by Lawton’s project.
His main interest was the crew of two dozen divers that Lawton was responsible for and he was surprised to learn that a good majority of the men were ex-U.S. Navy. In Norway, a military diver was seldom allowed to transfer to the civilian sector and apply the craft that the government had spent so much time and money teaching him.
When Lawton admitted that he was an ex-Navy diver himself, who had seen action in Viet Nam, Magne’s eyes opened wide, and for the rest of the day the Norwegian pestered his host to share some of his wartime experiences. Lawton reluctantly did so later that evening, while sipping longnecks on the platform’s deserted helipad.
The war had been a traumatic time in Lawton’s life that he would have preferred to forget about. During his two-year tour in the jung led hell of Southeast Asia, he had witnessed atrocities that had broken stronger men than he. Only by the greatest of miracles did he come out of the conflict with some degree of sanity. Yet the nightmares still returned from time to time, and just sitting there on that platform, with the humid Gulf winds hitting him in the face, brought back many a poignant memory of his exploits as a U.S. Navy SEAL.
It was well after midnight when the two veteran divers finally parted company, with their new friendship all but sealed. To reciprocate Lawton’s hospitality, Magne invited the Texan to visit him in Norway. Lawton accepted, though it was to take him a full year to find the time in his hectic schedule to fit the trip in.
With the spirited strains of Peer Gynt still filling the cockpit, Lawton sat forward expectantly when the bare outline of a ship became visible on the distant horizon.
The vessel’s unique silhouette became more discernable as the helicopter continued its approach. Though he had previously only seen pictures of the Falcon, there was no doubt in his mind this was the Norwegian dive ship he had travelled thousands of miles to visit. There could be no mistaking the bulbous helideck that was positioned on the ship’s bow, or the massive bridge and dual engine stacks situated amidships. The rest of the bright yellow vessel was dominated by an immense crane. This was the operational portion of the Falcon, where its moon pools were located. Through these openings to the sea, the ship’s remotely operated vehicles, or ROV’s for short, and manned diving bells would be lowered.
“Looks like we made it,” said the pilot matter of factly
“I’ll have you safely on deck before you know it.”
The good weather allowed their approach to be a routine one, and with a minimum of difficulty the Bell 212 landed on its shipborne helipad with a bare jolt.
“Thanks for the smooth ride, Karl,” said Lawton as he unbuckled his safety harness.
“Will you be staying on board for awhile?”
“Afraid not, sir. I’ll only remain long enough for them to unload that mess of supplies back in the main cabin.
Then I’m off for Stavanger to pick up a new load of computer hardware for the main office.”
“Well, take care, young lady. And thanks again for the lift.”
The helicopter’s rotors were whirling to a halt as Lawton exited the vehicle through its main hatchway. Outside, he was met by a gust of cool, salt-filled air and a weather beaten crew member dressed in orange coveralls and matching hard hat.
“Welcome aboard the Falcon, Mr. Lawton. I’m Olav Anderson, the ship’s quartermaster. Magne is sorry that he wasn’t able to greet you personally, but he’s in the midst of an operation in the ship’s diving control room.
If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you down there.”
The Texan nodded and followed his guide down a latticed steel ladder to the main deck. Here they passed a silver suited figure, who stood with a fire hose in hand, his gaze riveted on the nearby helicopter. Nearby, a fully enclosed, orange life boat was stored, and Lawton was impressed by the Norwegian’s exacting safety standards.
A hatch led them below deck. While transit ting a spotlessly clean passageway, the quartermaster offered an impromptu briefing.
“The Falcon is the newest multi-purpose vessel in Noroil’s ever expanding fleet. Its main functions are to act as a diving support ship and provide fire fighting services. The Falcon is 101 meters long, with two fully equipped engine rooms, three tunnel thrusters in the fore ship and two Azimuth thrusters in the aft. All of these systems are automatically controlled through a dynamic positioning system with dual redundancy.”
“To what depth is your diving system rated?” asked
Lawton, as they passed by the ship’s mess room.
“350 meters,” answered the quartermaster.
“If needed, this rating can be easily modified for 500 meters.”
Yet another ladder led them to a spacious compartment filled with various machine tools. While crossing its cluttered length, the quartermaster continued his briefing.
“The Falcon has two moon pools and is outfitted with a pair of diving bells, each capable of holding up to seven individuals. For decompression purposes there are three separate transfer chambers, and a central four-man chamber for extended stay, saturation purposes.”
Lawton caught a brief glimpse of one of these large, cylinder-shaped, white chambers as they stepped through a hatchway and began their way over a narrow catwalk that bordered one of the open moon pools A thick cable linked to an overhead winch extended into the water here. Several crew members could be seen gathered around a nearby console, and the Texan couldn’t help but vent his curiosity.
“Is there currently a bell down below?” he asked.
“Actually, it’s a ROV” answered his guide, without breaking his brisk stride.
“We call it Solo. Inside that umbilical is the latest in fiber optics, allowing high quality video and data feedback at depths up to fifteen hundred meters. Solo has also got the latest in side scanning sonar, that allows for high speed pipeline sonar surveys at velocities up to four knots.”
Well aware that such a vehicle would certainly make life easier for the Falcon’s divers, Lawton followed the Norwegian into a narrow passageway lined with snaking electrical cables. The corridor led directly into a large compartment dominated by a central cluster of consoles.
Seated in front of this assemblage of high-tech equipment were a trio of technicians. Each wore yellow overalls, and had their attentions focused on the complicated assortment of video monitor screens mounted before them.
The middle figure sported a familiar mop of wavy blond hair, and David Lawton spotted the name Rystaad printed across the broad back. Magne seemed unaware of his guest’s presence behind him, his right hand glued to an airplane-like joystick, his eyes riveted to a video monitor. The Texan gingerly stepped forward until he was immediately behind his host and could just make out the flickering images visible on the video screen.
The monitor was filled by an object that appeared to be a large boulder. A digital depth gauge showed that it was laying on the seabed 283 meters beneath the sea’s surface. Yet it was a single sharp spike that emerged from the top portion of the object that indicated it wasn’t a boulder at all, but a manmade object.
“My God, is that a mine?” blurted the Texan.
Without taking his eyes off the monitor screen, Magne Rystaad coolly answered.
“As a matter of fact, it is. Welcome aboard the Falcon, David. Sorry I can’t offer you a proper handshake, but I’m currently utilizing our ROV to place six kilos of dynamite at the base of that baby, that we believe to be a relic of World War I.”
“No apologies necessary, Magne,” replied Lawton who watched intently as his host gripped yet another
joystick with his left hand.
Almost instantaneously, an articulated manipulator arm came into view on the screen. At the tip of the artificial appendage was a sausage-shaped cannister that was being deposited beside the base of the mine. Only when this process was completed did Magne push back from the console, turn to face his guest, and exhale a full breath of relief.
“It’s really good to see you, David,” the Norwegian said as he stood and offered his hand in greeting.
Lawton found Magne’s firm grip a bit clammy as he replied, “Likewise, my friend. It seems I got here at an opportune moment.”
“Your timing’s impeccable, David. You’ll get to see the fireworks firsthand.”
Magne issued a flurry of instructions in rapid Norwegian to his coworkers, before returning his attention to his guest.
“We just found this mine yesterday, while in the middle of a routine examination of the seabed for the laying of Ice Field’s new oil pipeline.”
“With all of your other pipelines in this area, I would have thought that the seabed here had long been cleared of any obstacles,” said Lawton.
“So did I,” Magne answered.
“But as you very well know, the open seas are full of surprises. We only learned from the Norwegian naval authorities this morning that the mine appears to have been originally laid in 1918. At that time some 70,000 mines were deposited in a minefield between Norway and Great Britain to prevent German submarines from gaining access to the Atlantic.”
“Couldn’t you just reroute your pipeline to go around the mine?” asked Lawton.
“We tossed the idea around, but decided it just wasn’t worth the risks involved. As you well know, during pipe-laying the laying barge hauls itself along on anchors.
Some of these anchors extend several kilometers from the barge, and it’s therefore imperative that a cleared corridor over five hundred meters wide exists. Because of the presence of massive, house-sized boulders on the seabed beneath us, the route can’t be significantly altered; thus we’ve been saddled with the job of ridding the seas of this potential hazard along with all the others once and for all.”
One of the technicians interrupted with a brief comment and Magne provided the translation.
“The blast will be triggered by our ROV. Solo has just attained its firing position. Though I’m afraid that there won’t be much to see, keep your eyes on the central monitor screen.”
Lawton did just this as Magne returned to the console.
Illuminated by the ROV’s powerful mercury-vapor spotlights, the fiber optic video camera showed nothing but an expanse of grey water. It was just after Magne depressed a circular red button that the screen filled with a swirling vortex of roiling air bubbles. It took several minutes before the agitation settled.
“I’ll move Solo in now,” said Magne as he activated the joystick.
“But I doubt if there will be much left of that mine but an empty crater in the seabed several meters deep.”
Soon the video screen filled with just such a feature and David Lawton said thoughtfully, “That sure beats the hell out of deactivating mines like we did in Nam.
Back then we were still doing it the old-fashioned way — with divers.”
“Two hundred and fifty kilos of TNT can pack a wallop,” said Magne.
“I certainly wouldn’t want to have to go down there and personally deal with such a monster.”
“Tell that to the C.O.” said Lawton with a wink.
Magne smiled and stood to rejoin his guest. Only then did Lawton notice that Magne was wearing the alligator-skin cowboy boots that the Norwegian had bought in Houston the year before.
“I see you still have your boots ” observed the Texan.
“Most comfortable pair of ‘shoes’ I ever owned, David. I almost gave you a call before you left to ask you to bring me another pair.”
“That can be arranged,” said Lawton.
“Do you still have your Stetson?”
The blue-eyed Norwegian shook his head.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. My oldest boy Karl took a liking to it from the day he met me at the airport. That was the first real cowboy hat he’d ever seen. When he asked me if he could wear it to school the next day, I couldn’t refuse.
Needless to say, that was the last I ever saw of it.” The Norwegian’s warm eyes sparkled.
“Why don’t I give you an update on the family over something to eat.”
Oil field support ships were widely known for the excellent quality of their food, and the Falcon’s galley was no exception. The buffet table displayed a wide variety of both hot and cold delicacies. At Magne’s suggestion, Lawton chose a plate of fresh herring, served with sour cream and chopped onions. For his main course he selected broiled chicken, steamed potatoes, beets, and an apple tart for dessert.
The mess was designed to hold up to one-half of the Falcon’s one hundred person complement at a time. Yet less than a dozen crew members were present as the two sat down at a vacant table near the room’s rear bulkhead.
“I hope you find the food satisfactory, David. The Falcon’s head chef was trained in Paris, although he still can’t duplicate the wonderful chili that was served on your rig. I don’t suppose you would happen to know the recipe.”
“That, my friend, is an official Texas state secret” laughed Lawton as he piled a piece of herring onto a slice of black bread.
“But I’ll tell you what — though I’m not much of a cook myself — when I return to Houston, I’ll see what I can do about getting a copy of Cooky’s famous Rio Grande chili recipe and send it off to you.
Maybe I could even manage to smuggle out a couple of packages of real Texan chili powder.”
As Lawton took a bite of herring, he appreciatively added, “This concoction’s damn tasty itself. When I eat fish back home it’s usually prepared deep fried or blackened with cajun pepper. But I think that I could learn to enjoy this herring. Yes, I think I certainly could.”
“Well, you’ll be having your fill of it during your stay with us,” said Magne as he dug into the Ceaser salad he had selected.
“Herring is a staple part of our diet, and hardly a day goes by without it being served. My wife Anna likes it raw for breakfast. I myself prefer the pickled variety, like the type that you’re eating.”
“Is Anna still teaching?” questioned the Texan between bites of his appetizer.
“She certainly is, David. This is the start of her third year, and she’s just as enthused about those fifth graders others as she was on the day she first began.”
“What ever happened to your oldest boy, Magne? Did he enlist in the Army like he was threatening to do?”
Magne put down his fork.
“Fortunately, Karl listened to the voice of reason and decided on college. A full scholarship to the University of Missouri is not something to pass over on a mere whim. He’ll have plenty of time to serve his country once he graduates and returns home in four years.”
“You must be very proud of him, Magne. What’s the little one been up to?”
The Norwegian grinned.
“Thor is as full of the devil as ever. It’s hard to believe he’ll be graduating secondary school in another year. Where in the hell does time fly?”
“Tell me about it,” said Lawton as he cut into a chicken breast.
“I still find it hard to believe that a whole year has passed since your visit. It seems like it was just the other day that we were out there on the Gulf of Mexico sipping Lone Star longnecks and swapping the stories of our lives.”
Magne nodded.
“What ever happened to your daughter?
Did you hear from her like you were hoping last year?”
There was a hint of bitterness in Lawton’s tone as he answered.
“To tell you the truth Magne, I haven’t.
Though I did hear from one of her close girlfriends that Susan’s doing real well. She’s got her own place in Santa Monica,
California, and is studying to get her real estate license. I still think it’s her mother’s fault for her never answering my calls or letters. My ex has filled her with so much poison that she probably thinks I’m a demon of some kind. I should have fought harder for custody from the very beginning.”
Magne sensed he was treading on sensitive ground, and was all set to change the direction of their conversa4S tion, when he was paged over the public address system.
He left his guest to his dinner, and stood up to cross the mess hall and pick up a wall-mounted telephone. He was back to their table in less than a minute, his eyes wide with wonder.
“Solo’s made yet another surprise discovery,” he said without bothering to seat himself.
“Would you care to join me back in the diving control room to have a look?”
Without a second’s hesitation, Lawton put down his knife and fork and stood.
“You’d better believe that I’d like to have a look, partner. Is it another mine?”
“Why don’t you wait and see for yourself, David.
From what my assistant says, neither one of us should be too disappointed.”
There was a deliberate vagueness to this answer that immediately aroused Lawton’s curiosity, and he followed his host out of the galley area and aft toward the Falcon’s stern.
This time when they entered the compartment where the Falcon’s diving operations were monitored they found the room buzzing with excitement. Several jumpsuited technicians stood blocking the central console, as they watched the scene unfolding on the video monitor.
Magne impatiently pushed his way through this crowd, with David Lawton close on his heels.
Once the Texan was past this gawking mass, his eyes went at once to the video monitor. The screen was filled with an immense, elongated black, tubular structure, that he assumed to be a shipwreck of some sort. Slowly the ROV’s camera continued its sweep of the mysterious object, and several distinguishing features showed themselves, causing Lawton’s pulse to quicken.
The Golden U-Boat Page 4