The Golden U-Boat

by Richard P. Henrick

  Illuminated beneath Solo’s floodlights was a rust-streaked hull, whose length was perforated by a number of regularly spaced free-flood holes. Yet only when the Texan viewed the streamlined conning tower that had two dual cannons set into each end, was he certain enough to express himself.

  “It’s a German Type XXI U-boat!” he exclaimed.

  “During my UDT training, we dove on a similar wreck, that had sunk off the coast of Georgia. No other submarine has a fin with two cannons set into each end like the Type XXI. I’m absolutely positive that’s what we’ve got here, Magne.”

  Seemingly oblivious to this spirited revelation, Magne Rystaad calmly questioned the technician seated to his right.

  “Tell me, Knut, how did Solo make this discovery? Was it by sonar?”

  “It was,” replied his associate.

  “We were just completing a visual inspection of the debris field generated by that exploding mine, when the side scanning sonar unit made the first contact. At first I thought it was one of the large boulders we’ve previously seen on the seabed here.

  But since our bathymetric chart had no mention of such an object positioned in this quadrant, I decided to eyeball it to get a definite I.D.”

  “You did well to do so,” said Magne.

  “Yet I wonder why a wreck of this size wasn’t previously uncovered by past survey teams?”

  “Perhaps it was hidden beneath the same sediment that veiled that mine you found earlier,” offered the Texan.

  “He could be on to something, Magne,” added the technician.

  “The seabed in this region is mostly comprised of sand and muddy silt that could have shifted during last week’s gale.”

  As the pointed bow of the wreck came into view on the video screen, Lawton said, “If that’s the case, now what?

  Can you lay the pipeline around it?”

  “No chance,” replied Magne.

  “Because of the irregular shape of the neighboring seabed, the new pipeline must pass through this corridor. That means we’ll have to thoroughly salvage this wreck to make absolutely certain it doesn’t contain unexploded ordinance.”

  “When will you start?” asked Lawton.

  “I’d love to have a look inside her myself.”

  Magne grinned.

  “Perhaps in exchange for that chili recipe and a new Stetson, I could arrange such a thing.

  But before we rush into such a dangerous venture, I feel it’s best if we call in some experts. We’ve got a group of young divers who are specialists in this type of thing.

  They call themselves NUEX, for Norwegian Underwater Explorers. Their specialty is military salvage, and no matter the degree of danger or difficulty, if a job can be done, they can do it.

  “The last I heard, they were working inland beneath the waters of Lake Tinnsjo. Thor, I want you to get a hold of them. And if they balk at our invitation, don’t forget to remind that group of hardheaded misfits who signs their paychecks. We’ve got a multi-billion dollar job on the line here, and as far as I’m concerned, this project takes precedence over all others, no matter what they may think.”

  Approximately 175 miles due west of the Falcon, another group of Norwegians were gathered around a shipborne video monitor, intently watching a picture being conveyed by an ROV. Though not as sophisticated as the system deployed on the full-sized North Sea diving vessel, the fiber optic cables of this smaller, portable unit conveyed a sharp, finely tuned portrayal of the black depths of Norway’s Lake Tinnsjo.

  “Are you certain that both mercury-vapor lights are working, Knut? It’s so damn dark down there at 350 meters that I can’t make out a thing.”

  These comments came from Jon Huslid, NUEX’s chief underwater photographer. Only in his mid-twenties, the red-headed Bergen native already had a reputation as one of the tops in his field. One of the original co-founders of the group calling themselves the Norwegian Underwater Explorers, Jon was the team’s self-proclaimed spokesman, and was not afraid to step into the role of leader if called upon to do so.

  “Both lamps are on, all right,” replied Knut Haugen, who was seated before the ROV’s compact control board with one hand on the joystick.

  “I sure wish we had that portable sonar unit. Then we’d know just where the hell we were.”

  Knut Haugen was in charge of engineering. A soft spoken native of the Telemark region, he was a mechanical genius who was responsible for the operation and upkeep of their gear. His broad-shouldered, six-foot, four-inch frame was currently squeezed into the small trawler’s forwardmost cabin, the only vacant interior space large enough to hold the assortment of gear needed to run their current operation.

  Seated beside Knut was diver Arne Lundstrom. Arne was also from Telemark. He was slightly built, and had a full, bushy beard and dark eyes that lit up with enthusiasm when he talked.

  “Try taking her deeper, Knut,” suggested Arne.

  “Why, I bet we’re still not even on the bottom as yet.”

  Quick to heed this advice, Knut pushed forward on the joystick and watched the digital depth gauge begin to drop further.

  “Easy now,” warned Jon Huslid.

  “Our last scan showed some pretty sharp rock formations down there, and if we were to smash into one of them, that could be the end of everything.”

  To ease the photographer’s anxieties, Knut gently eased back on the joystick and lessened the ROV’s forward velocity to a bare crawl. All eyes were glued to the video monitor, that continued showing nothing but a black, watery void.

  “I still say that the wreck of the Hydro doesn’t want to be found,” broke a deep voice from the hatchway.

  “No matter how hard we look for the ferry, all of our effort is destined to be in vain.”

  The speaker of these pessimistic words was another of NUEX’s young divers. Jakob Helgesen was from the far-off northern city ofTromso, the so-called gateway to the Arctic. Lapp blood flowed in his veins, and it was said that Jakob had inherited the gift of foresight from his maternal grandfather, who was a spirit chief of this nomadic people.

  “Don’t start up with that spooky crap again, Jakob,” countered Jon Huslid.

  “The Hydro is just another wreck, like the dozens of others we have searched out and salvaged from all over Norway.”

  The black-haired Lapp shook his head to the contrary.

  “I beg to differ with you, Jon. Don’t tell me that you’ve already forgotten the twenty-six poor souls who went down with the doomed ferry when the saboteur’s charges blew its bow off. The spirits of this lake have veiled the wreck to protect their final resting place.

  That’s why no one else has ever succeeded in locating the Hydro” “And NUEX is going to change all that,” said the photographer confidently.

  “Besides, we’re not interested in disturbing the wreck itself. All we want to do is find the Hydro’s main cargo.”

  “It’s all part of the same,” said Jakob with a sigh.

  Jon Huslid turned away from the monitor screen to argue otherwise, when Knut’s excited voice redirected his attention.

  “We’ve got something! Right there, on the upper right hand portion of the screen. It looks like it’s part of a boat’s superstructure.”

  As he moved the ROV in to have a closer look, the monitor filled with a jumbled mass of twisted, rust-covered steel. Careful to keep the ROV and its umbilical free from this obstacle, Knut expertly guided it forward.

  Soon pieces of rotted plank could be seen, along with an elongated tubular structure that Arne Lundstrom eagerly identified.

  “It’s one of the Hydro’s dual smokestacks, just like we saw in the old photographs!”

  “I believe you’re right, Arne,” said Jon Huslid.

  “That means that we’ve done it, lads. After forty-seven years, we’re the first to actually find the wreckage of the Hydro! Now if we can only extract a suitable piece of salvage to document our find.”

  Knut nodded.

  “You do
n’t have to say any more, Jon.

  When the ferry originally went down, eyewitness reports indicated that before she disappeared from sight, the railroad flatcars that Hydro was carrying broke loose, rolled off the deck, and then sunk straight down. That would put them somewhere close by

  As Knut utilized the joystick to initiate an organized sweep of the surrounding seabed, Jon looked up at his dark-haired associate.

  “So much for the spirits of the lake, Jakob.”

  The Lapp’s scowl magically turned into a broad grin as he stepped forward to offer the group’s photographer his handshake.

  “Congratulations, Jon. Some events are just destined to happen, and this discovery is one of them. So once again, NUEX has made the history books.”

  “That we have, my friend,” replied the smiling photographer.

  “No other human has laid eyes on the Hydro since that February morning back in 1944, when her cracked hull slid beneath these very waters. Now if the fates are still with us, perhaps we can locate that all-important portion of the Hydro’s cargo that precipitated this disaster.”

  “I think I saw something, Knut,” interrupted the voice of Arne Lundstrom.

  “In the foreground, in the center of the screen.”

  All eyes immediately returned to the video monitor as the ROV was sent in to investigate this sighting. Its dual mercury vapor lights cut into the blackness. And when a faint distant glint momentarily flashed onto the screen, Knut needed no prompting to open the throttle wide and cause the ROV to surge forward in a sudden burst of speed.

  Seconds later, the screen filled with a image that caused gasps of wonder from the four men. Illuminated by the spotlights was a large steel canister, like the sort industrial chemicals were stored in. It sat upright on a relatively flat subterranean ledge. Cautiously, the ROV closed in, and soon the four awestruck observers spotted a label that had long ago been stenciled on the cannister’s rust-streaked side.

  “It’s in English,” said jon

  “And it reads, ‘potash lye.”

  ” “Then it’s not the heavy water after all,” said Arne, a hint of disappointment flavoring his tone.

  “Like hell it isn’t,” retorted the excited photographer.

  “Forty-seven years ago, when the last of the heavy water was removed from the Norsk Hydro plant for the trip to Germany, it was stored in cannisters marked, ‘potash lye’. We’ve done it, friends! NUEX has found the greatest treasure to be hidden in Norwegian waters since the days of the Vikings!”

  A round of shouts and applause was followed by the ever practical voice of Knut Haugen.

  “Shall we get on with the actual salvage attempt, gentlemen?”

  Though Jon Huslid was more in the mood to break open one of the bottles of aquavit that sat in the adjoining galley, he resisted temptation.

  “You may proceed, Knut. Just make certain that the collar is snuggly fitted around the cannister’s base before we inflate it.”

  “Come off it, Jon,” replied the straight-faced engineer.

  “Do you think I’m an amateur? Don’t forget who it was that perfected this salvage technique.”

  The photographer apologetically shook his head and smiled.

  “I’m sorry, Knut. It’s just that now that we’re so close to realizing our dream, I don’t want anything to happen to spoil it.”

  Knut merely grunted, and went to work utilizing the ROV’s articulated manipulator arm to place a deflated plastic collar around the cannister’s base. Once this device was properly positioned, a pump would be activated topside. Air would be sent rushing down the umbilical, inflating the collar and causing the cannister to attain a state of positive buoyancy, which would send it floating to the surface like a cork.

  Confident that Knut could do the job, Jon turned toward Jakob Helgeson.

  “How about joining me on deck with your wet suit? You’ll have to go over the side to attach the winch cable.”

  “Some fresh air sounds like a good idea,” said the Lapp, who turned and led the way up a narrow wooden ladder.

  Both divers arrived topside, where a bright blue, cloudless sky greeted them. The air was brisk and hinted at the long, cold winter that would soon be upon them.

  There was a light wind blowing in from the southwest, and the boat that they had rented for the week bobbed up and down in a gentle swell.

  With a photographer’s practiced eye, Jon Huslid surveyed the encircling countryside. Lake Tinnsjo was an elongated, sausage-shaped body of fresh water that was over thirty kilometers long and barely three kilometers wide. Situated on the southeastern corner of central Norway’s Hardanger plateau, the lake was set in a deep valley. From its boulder-strewn shores, the surrounding hills rose dramatically upward, to a ridge some thousand meters above sea level. Sturdy pines hugged rocky soil that would never see a farmer’s plow.

  They were currently positioned over some of the lake’s deepest waters, approximately one kilometer from the shoreline. Jon knew very well that the saboteurs had planned all along for the ferry to sink in this portion of the lake, for in this manner, the Hydro’s precious cargo would sink to depths that were, at that time, totally un salvageable

  He briefly looked to the northwest, where a small spur of the lake extended to the town ofMael. This had been the spot where the rail cars holding the heavy water had been loaded onto the ferry for the short trip to Tinnoset.

  Nearby was the village ofRjukan, where the cargo originated at the infamous Norsk Hydro plant. This facility still existed, though its days of manufacturing heavy water were long over. Today it merely generated enough hydroelectric power to feed a plant whose main product was fertilizer.

  When first told about NUEX’s intended expedition to Lake Tinnsjo, the townspeople of the region rose in angry protest. Though the war had been over for well over forty years, there were many still alive in the area who had lived through the Nazi occupation. They were very content to forget all about those nightmarish times, and looked at any attempt to salvage the sunken ferry as an intrusion on their privacy.

  The members of NUEX had argued that it was their historical duty to find the wreck once and for all. Of course, to convince the state-run organization that sponsored them to support their efforts, another line of reasoning was used. Beyond the historical significance of their expedition was the fact that the Hydro’s cargo was worth a virtual fortune in today’s marketplace. They argued successfully that if the thirty-three drums of heavy water were still intact, that they could subsequently be sold for over five million dollars. The executives at Noroil couldn’t ignore such a figure, and deciding that it was worth the risks involved, gave the project their blessing.

  It was in high school when Jon first read about the attack on the Hydro. The incident inflamed his imagination, inspiring him to read other narratives regarding his people’s daring exploits during World War II. Yet because of the significance of the Hydro’s cargo, this mission stood out in importance above all the others. To him it was the crowning point of the Norwegian underground’s undeclared war against the Germans, and could have very possibly saved the entire world from Nazi domination as well.

  The key ingredient to manufacturing an atomic bomb was heavy water. A totally harmless compound on its own, heavy water gained importance when it was learned that it was an exceptionally efficient moderator for slowing down neutrons in a uranium pile. This enabled the neutrons to collide with and split up uranium235 atoms, until the reaction would sustain itself and thus make possible an atomic explosion.

  What few people realized was that most of the early research into nuclear physics was done in Germany during the 1930’s and early 40’s. In fact, the Germans were only months away from producing a working prototype of a bomb, and had only one major ingredient lacking — heavy water. Since the Norsk Hydro plant was the only facility in the world making that substance at the time, the Nazis decided to occupy Norway with all due haste.

  They did so without much difficu
lty, and every effort was made to produce the great amounts of heavy water needed by German scientists to initiate that first self-sustaining atomic reaction.

  By this time the Allies had their own atomic research projects going. Intelligence operatives closely monitored the Nazi effort, and when it looked like they were about to win this critical race, commando teams were sent into Norway to destroy the heavy water stocks before they reached Germany. After several failed attempts ended in tragedy, a group finally succeeded in penetrating the plant and blowing up much of these existing stocks. But the Nazis ordered them replenished, and in early 1944 the final load was packed up in drums, loaded onto a freight car, to be sent off to Germany.

  Thanks to a daring operation in which a Norwegian commando team hid a time bomb in the Hydro’s hull, the shipment only made it as far as the bottom of Lake Tinnsjo. The rest was history.

  Proud to play a part in the final chapter of this incredible story, Jon Huslid prepared his Nikon for the moment when the first cannister popped to the surface.

  Hopefully, it and the others that would follow would still be sealed. His country would then have a liquid treasure on its hands, to do with as it pleased.

  Barely aware of the distant chopping sound of a far-off helicopter, Jon’s attention was caught by a deep, familar voice behind him.

  “Knut’s got the collar in place, and Arne’s started up the compressor. The drum should be surfacing off our port side, any moment now.”

  Jakob Helgesend joined his associate beside the boat’s stern railing. The Lapp was dressed in a full black rubber wet suit, that had NUEX stenciled on its back with bold white letters.

  “I’ll go over the side as soon as it shows itself,” he added.

  “That way I can make certain the collar is firmly in place when you throw me the winch cable.”

  The characteristic clatter of the helicopter seemed to intensify, and Jon briefly scanned the blue sky in an effort to locate it. His examination was cut short by a booming voice that emanated from below deck.

  “It’s on its way up!”

  The photographer’s pulse quickened as he returned his glance to the waters off their port side. No sooner did he pull off his camera’s len se cap than the surface of the lake erupted in a frothing circle of agitated white bubbles. Just as he snapped off the first picture, the drum responsible for this wake shot out of the depths in which it had been buried and smacked back into the blue waters with a resounding slap.