As Jon swam free, Jakob followed, with David Lawton once again bringing up the rear.
The Texan was genuinely excited to be back at work again. The hot water that circulated throughout his suit effectively countered the frigid cold of this depth, and since hypothermia could kill a man just as quickly as a poor breathing mixture could, he was especially careful with his umbilical. Only when he was absolutely certain that it was playing out smoothly did he begin swimming away from the bell with speed.
As it turned out, he didn’t have to go far. His teammates’ torches lit the black waters like a flare, and as he swam up to join them, he spotted the immense gray hull of the vessel that they had been sent down to investigate. Lurking in the blackness, like a monstrous behemoth, the U-boat almost appeared imbued with life itself. Only when they swam in closer did he spot the vessel’s rust-streaked hull and saw for certain that this object was manmade after all.
“We have the target in sight, Chief,” reported Jon.
“It appears to have settled upright on its hull, and looks to be listing a few degrees to its port side.”
“Excellent,” replied the distant voice of Magne.
“See about finding those hatches set into the base of its sail.”
“Will do, Chief,” said Jon, who swam forward almost immediately.
The two Norwegians were strong swimmers, and it took Lawton’s total effort to keep up with them.
He slowed down as he reached the sub’s hull. It appeared to be intact, and he could still make out the dozens of free-Hood holes that allowed such vessels to go from the surface to periscope depth in an unprecedented ten seconds.
It was as he reached the aft end of the sail, that a bright strobe lit the blackness forward. When this blindingly bright light repeated itself, Lawton closed in to see what it was all about. What he found in the waters ahead of him caused goosebumps to form under the black wet suit.
Positioned beside the forward portion of the conning tower, Jon Huslid had a small waterproof camera aimed toward the sail itself. As Lawton reached the photographer’s side, he turned toward the sub to see what the Norwegian found so interesting. What the Texan saw caused him to momentarily gasp, for still visible in white paint on the rust-covered steel plates was the sub’s identification number — U-3312.
“We know the old wolfs name now,” observed the photographer.
“It’s U-3312” “Got it,” replied Magne.
“While you see about getting inside, I’ll get the fellows at the Naval Ministry started on pulling up its history. You’ve got fifty-one minutes to go, gentlemen.”
Immediately below the I.D. number, Jakob could be seen struggling to open the hatch that was set into the sail’s base. While his teammate went to his aid with a crowbar, Lawton decided to give the hatch on the after end of the sail a try. The last time he had explored such a vessel was off the coast of Georgia, this same hatch had provided him an entryway, so he wasn’t really shocked when he gripped its circular iron handle and found it give with the slightest of efforts. The doorway opened in122 ward, and only after Lawton peeked into the flooded sail’s interior and spotted a clear ladder leading downward, did he go to retrieve his fellow divers.
The Norwegians were still gathered around the forward hatchway, stubbornly straining on its jammed handle with a pair of crowbars, when he arrived.
“Put down those crowbars and follow me,” instructed the Texan.
“Excuse me, Sir,” countered Jon Huslid.
“But we’re just starting to make some progress here.”
“Do what you like,” shot back Lawton.
“But if you want me, I’ll most likely be found in the sub’s control room, that I’ll be accessing through the open hatchway positioned ten meters behind you.”
Not waiting to give them a chance to respond to this revelation, Lawton swam off to do just as he said. No sooner did he reach the open hatch, than a pair of lights could be seen rapidly approaching from the sub’s forward end.
“We’ll I’ll be damned, Jon,” observed Jakob as he spotted this entrance.
The photographer swam by David Lawton and skeptically peeked inside.
“It looks clear, alright,” he said.
“Let’s give it a shot. Watch those umbilicals, Jakob. I’m going in.”
The Texan reported their movements to the surface.
“We’re proceeding to enter U-3312 through its sail-mounted aft, starboard hatchway.”
“I read you,” replied Magne.
“Good hunting.
You’ve got forty-seven and a half minutes and counting.”
Lawton signalled Jakob to go on and enter the sail. The Norwegian did so readily. Lawton made certain that their umbilicals were clear before entering the hatchway himself.
It was eerie as he carefully swam down the length of the well and emerged into the vessel’s control room. The curious Norwegians had already begun their inspection of this space, and Lawton did his best to carefully scan the compartment with the limited light available to him.
The cold water had kept most of the fittings in a fairly decent state of preservation. He swam by the diving station, and was able to identify the assortment of large brass wheels that would be turned to adjust the U-boat’s trim. Nearby he found the remnants of a cracked gyro-compass, and a compact, barnacle-laden table that he supposed was reserved for the navigator’s charts. A closed bin lay beneath this table, and curious as to what lay inside, Lawton bent over to have a look.
He laid his torch on the deck and grabbed the bin’s handles. When they didn’t give at first, he put his foot up against the adjoining bulkhead, and using his back for leverage, yanked backward with all his might. The doors parted, and out shot a black creature with a slimy narrow body, bright yellow eyes, and massive, snapping jaws. His pulse pounding in terror, Lawton blindly dove to his left, causing the giant eel’s slithering body to smack up against his side and then dart off into the blackness.
He was still trying hard to regain his composure, when he heard one of the Norwegians cry out in disgust.
“Oh, for the love of God, just look at what’s left of that poor fellow!”
His curiosity now fully satisfied, Lawton backed away from the open bin and swam toward the flickering lights at the center of the compartment. Both of the Norwegians were gathered there, their torches illuminating the skeletoned figure of a man, who was still dressed in a ragged black uniform complete with a white hat, draped over what appeared to be the partially deployed periscope.
“Looks like he died right at his station,” observed one of the Norwegians somberly.
Lawton felt a heavy lump gathering at the back of his throat as he pulled his glance away from this macabre scene.
“Come on, lads. We’d better be moving now,” he managed.
This time he led the way to the forward hatchway.
He found it jammed shut. While Jakob utilized a crowbar to free it, the central portion of the control room flashed with a photographer’s strobe.
Soon after this strobe faded, Jon joined them at the stuck hatch, and with their combined strength, they finally succeeded in wrenching it open.
A long, narrow passageway led to the boat’s forward spaces. With no time left to explore the various spaces that bordered this corridor, they continued on toward the sub’s bow, stopping only when they came to another closed hatch.
“This should be the entrance to the torpedo room,” remarked Lawton.
“Make certain that those umbilicals have plenty of slack in them while I give the hatch a try.”
Using a crowbar, the Texan managed to turn the circular locking mechanism, which opened with a loud, rusty squeal. His pulse quickened as he pulled the hatch toward him and swam into the spacious compartment that lay beyond.
While he circled this cavernous space with his light held up before him, Lawton listened as one of the Norwegians sent a report topside.
“We’ve entered what appears to be
the forward torpedo room, Chief. But strange as it may seem, there doesn’t appear to be anything in it. The whole room looks like it’s been stripped bare.”
“Why that’s impossible,” returned Magne.
“Are you certain you’re in the right space?”
“It’s the torpedo room alright,” said Lawton.
“I just passed its six bow caps. But the compartment does appear to be completely empty.”
“Get a load of this, Jon!” interrupted Jakob.
“What in the hell?”
“You’re down to less than a half hour, gentlemen.
It’s time to clear out of there and return to the bell” warned their conscience from above.
Totally ignoring this advice, the three divers gathered on the port side of the compartment, where the Lapp had just made a puzzling discovery. Cut into the side bulkhead was a neatly cut rectangular hole that extended all the way through both hulls and led directly into the open sea.
“Good Lord!” exclaimed Jakob.
“It looks like this cut is recent, and it appears just wide enough to fit a single diver.”
“Did you hear me, gentlemen?” repeated the sharp voice of Magne.
“I said that it’s time to return to the bell! Do you copy that?”
“Magne, this is David. We hear you all right, and we’ll return to the bell in a minute. But in the meantime, just hold onto your horses a second.
We’ll be getting back to you right shortly.”
Without waiting for Magne to respond, the Texan made certain that he had plenty of slack in his umbilical before fitting his head and shoulders up against the mysterious opening. Seeing that he could just clear it with a couple of inches to spare, he kicked himself forward and entered the void that lay between the sub’s inner pressure hull and its outer skin.
“David, I want you out of there right now!” screamed Magne urgently.
“Jon, Jakob, what the hell is going on down there? Either get back to the bell, or I’m going to have to send Arne in to carry you back by force!”
Oblivious to this threat, the two Norwegians followed the American’s lead, with Jakob going into the hole first. Instead of heading right for the outer skin of the vessel, the Lapp plunged down into the black space that separated the two hulls. It was easily wide enough to fit two divers, and Jakob knew that somewhere down here was stored the sub’s ballast tanks. With his mercury-vapor torch held out in front of him, he continued downward toward the keel, as the infuriated voice of his boss rattled forth from his mask mounted speakers.
“Arne, I want you to suit up right now. Then get out there and pull those guys up out of there if you have to.”
It was obvious that Magne was furious, and before Arne was forced to needlessly leave the shelter of the bell, David Lawton responded.
“Hold on, partner. I’ve seen what I had to see, and now we’re headed on back to the ranch. Keep dry, Arne. We’re comin’ home.”
Both David Lawton and Jon Huslid returned through the hole that they had swum through and reentered the empty torpedo room. Yet one umbilical still remained on the other side of the opening, and the photographer was quick to speak out.
“Come on, Jakob! What the hell’s keeping you?”
Mysteriously drawn to the black void that continued beckoning him onward, the Lapp ignored the call of his colleague. Only one thing mattered now, and that was reaching the bottom of this manmade pit, where no diver before him had ever penetrated.
It was just as his torch illuminated the flat keel of the boat, and he prepared to turn upward, a glittering reflection shot up from out of the blackness.
It appeared to have emanated from a portion of the keel only a few meters distant, and Jakob reached out into the void with his torch.
Then he saw it. About the size of a large brick, it looked to be comprised of a golden, metallic substance, and had a pair of familiar eagle-like creatures engraved on its surface. He reached for it and found it to be incredibly heavy. Swiftly he turned to join his companions for the long decompression that would soon follow.
It took Knut Haugen an entire day to locate an inflatable collar large enough to lift the entire rail car from the lake bed. He did so at a deep-sea salvage firm that was based out of nearby Konigberg.
While the collar was being expressed out to him, he got on with the task of finding some trustworthy assistants.
He recruited a cousin that was working part-time on the construction of a new hydroelectric plant outside of Eidsborg, and an old friend, who lived in the village of Heddal.
A major concern was where the heavy water would be stored once it had been extracted. The thirty-three drums promised to take up a lot of space, and Knut finally settled on a partially empty warehouse that was owned by a Hakanes-based lumber company. Though he would have preferred to find a more secure location, the building was close to the salvage site, and since the heavy water wouldn’t be there long, he supposed that it would do.
Ever practical, Knut made certain that the logistical problem of transferring the containers to the warehouse was solved long before the drums reached the lake’s surface, by renting a flatbed truck, a dozen wooden pallets, and a small forklift.
All of this equipment arrived on the same morning that the salvage collar reached him. This unique piece of gear weighed several hundred kilos, and took the combined efforts of both his muscular assistants to get it loaded onto the trawler.
By the time he returned to the site of the wreck, the excellent weather that had prevailed began turning for the worse. A stiff northerly wind was beginning to blow, and the once cloudless sky was gray and overcast. Fearful that the weather would only continue to deteriorate, Knut decided to go on with the attempt regardless.
A previously placed sonar transponder guided the ROV down to the sunken rail car The heavy collar was rolled overboard, and as it sank it was guided down to its proper resting place by the ROV, until it was securely tucked beneath the wreckage. Knut started up the air compressor, and a steady stream of air was pumped via an umbilical down into the icy depths. As the collar began to fill, slowly the rail car began to lift.
To insure that it rose on an even keel, he expertly utilized the ROV to insure that the partially inflated collar was evenly distributed. It took several long, frustrating hours to accomplish this task, and as he was nearly finished, a cold rain had begun to fall topside. Trying his best to ignore the worsening weather, he restarted the compressor and anxiously waited for this novel salvage technique to show the desired results.
It seemed to take forever for the collar to fully inflate, but when it finally did, the results were quick in coming. Rushing from the ROV’s control board in the trawler’s cramped, forward cabin, Knut reached the boat’s stern just as an agitated circle of white bubbles in the water beyond signalled the treasure’s imminent arrival. He looked on in wonder as the rail car shot onto the surface at a slight angle, its bent, rust-streaked frame completely surrounded by the fully inflated collar. Knut barely had time to count the thirty-two sealed drums that lay securely strapped to the car’s interior as he slipped into a wet suit and dove overboard to secure the collar with a winch-borne tow line.
The darkening sky didn’t really open up until the trawler was well on its way back to shore, but by this time, Knut really didn’t care. Ignoring the icy gale, he pulled up to the small wooden dock and screamed out in triumph. Yet his celebration was. brief, for he still had to get the heavy water unloaded onto solid land.
Though he had planned to immediately transfer the drums to the warehouse, the rotten weather and advancing dusk kept him from accomplishing this goal. It was all they could do to get the containers out of their bobbing raft and onto the dock before darkness was upon them.
Knut and his exhausted assistants decided to spend the night on the trawler. His original intention was that they would sleep in shifts, so that one of them would always remain awake to watch their treasure. Yet this was not to be, for Knut
fell soundly asleep on the very first watch.
He awoke with a start several hours later, shocked to find the shiny barrel of a pistol pointed at his head.
“Don’t try anything brave, Viking,” warned a strangely accented voice from the darkness.
“What in the hell is going on here?” quizzed Knut as he started to sit up.
The cold, hard side of the pistol smacked into his jaw, sending him crashing onto his cot.
“Now, not another move out of you. Viking!” shouted his mysterious attacker.
“Or I’ll use this weapon like it was intended.”
Certain that he meant it, Knut dared not flinch.
As a stream of blood poured from a broken blood vessel in his nose, Knut summoned the nerve to question.
“Where are my crew mates?”
With his face and figure still hidden in the cabin’s dark shadows, the intruder answered.
“The lads are merely giving us a hand completing the job that you did not finish earlier today.”
Only then did Knut hear the characteristic whine of a forklift truck in the background, beyond the pattering sound off the constantly falling rain.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” blurted Knut.
“You don’t really think that you can get away with stealing that heavy water, do you?”
“Who said anything about stealing it?” returned the icy voice.
“We’re only taking back what was rightfully ours in the first place.”
Out of sheer desperation, Knut violently kicked up his foot in an effort to dislodge the pistol, but the stranger had been expecting just such a move and parried this blow with his forearm. Again Knut tried to sit up, and this time the solid butt of the pistol smacked into his temple. As the diver tumbled backward, unconscious, his attacker cursed in perfect German.
“You stupid swine! May your dreams last an eternity, Viking!”
From the thick wood of Norwegian pine that bordered the dock area, Mikhail Kuznetsov watched the tall blond stranger leave the trawler. Even through the sheets of pouring rain, the scarred veteran could see the chrome Luger that this figure carried in his right hand.
The Golden U-Boat Page 12