“Trick or treat,” he said as he drifted back, positioning the videocam in the opening. “I’m gonna get a shot of us coming through.”
Dex and Tommy backed away, giving Andy room to maneuver his wide-shouldered torso through the hatch. He was followed by Kevin Cheever. They wore orange and lime green suits respectively, which flashed colorfully in the torchlight, and now with four outfitted divers in the chamber, the space did not feel in any way near as capacious or comfortable. As Andy slowly panned around the interior of the conning tower, Dex found himself imagining what it must have looked like with a crewman at every station.
“We have about twelve minutes,” said Dex. “Tommy and I are going to look for the captain’s cabin. You guys can see if they left anything in here that might tell us something.”
“Got it,” said Kevin.
“After that, it’ll probably be a good idea to get some video of the aft sections—engine room, crew quarters, and then if you have time, head on back to the rear torpedo room. If they scuttled this tub, they would have opened all the tubes to get it done.”
“Got it.”
“Let’s see…what else? Okay, then Tommy and I will exit from the control deck hatch to save time.”
“Okay, Chief,” said Kevin.
“Anything else?” said Andy.
“If you have time, see if you can get a look inside the hump-back.” That was the term Andy had come up with to describe the additional chamber on the U-boat, which ran the entire length of the hull’s aft section.
“Yeah, right.”
“We saw a hatch in the engine room leading up that way,” said Dex. “But don’t try anything risky. Don’t go up there if your air is low.”
“We won’t,” said Kevin.
And Dex knew he wasn’t bullshitting him. Kevin Cheever was one of those by-the-book kind of guys. He was polite and thoughtful and you just knew he was a highly moral person. He also knew the value of following procedure.
“Okay, Tommy, let’s see what we can find up this way.”
Dex drifted toward the bulkhead door leading to the bow, and was a little surprised to see it ajar. Pausing, he looked for signs of damage, but there was nothing apparent. The corridor beyond this door seemed more narrow than the others. Two doors flanked the passageway, the one to the right was a second room with stainless steel tables and benches—the officer’s mess. The one on the left was closed, but it swung inward as Tommy leaned into it. By submarine standards, the room beyond it was like a first class stateroom. A trundle bed, a wardrobe locker, private bathroom, and an expansive desk with a chair that, despite the corrosion and the rotted fragments of leather, looked somehow imposing.
“Captain’s quarters,” said Dex. “You copy that, Don?”
“Yeah, Chief. Sounds exciting,” said Don through the headset. “Glad I’m not there…”
“Hey, we might find somethin’ here,” said Tommy. “You want me to start diggin’ around?”
Dex checked his watch. They were running short on time and air. “Yeah, let’s just be careful. Stuff’s going to be real fragile after all this time.”
“Gotcha,” said Tommy as he drifted closer to the wardrobe and storage drawers built into the hull.
As Tommy eased open each door and drawer, trying not to disturb their contents, Dex fixed his attention on the Captain’s desk. There was a center drawer, which contained nothing but decayed and corroded stationery items, but there was file drawer that formed the right side of the foot well, which looked promising. It was locked, but Dex used a compact, flattened pry-bar from his tool bag to spring it open. Sixty-plus years underwater had defeated even Germany’s precise manufacturing specs, and the file drawer slid open to reveal a section of decayed files and a small, steel oblong box with a four digit combination lock.
Dex picked it up, immediately feeling its mass. The box, perhaps ten inches long and half as deep, was well-machined…and heavy, and quite possibly air and water-tight. Carefully, he slipped it into his sample bag. Then, scouring the inner walls of the file drawer with his torch beam, he saw nothing else of interest.
“Hey, this might be something…” said Tommy.
He was still scanning the storage area where the Captain’s clothing had been kept.
“What’d you find?”
“I dunno, looks like some clips and some medals.” He held them out in his hand, pinned them there with his Ikelite.
“Yeah, grab any of that kind of stuff you find. It’s all that’s left from the clothes, but it might tell us something.”
“Okay,” said Tommy.
“This place looks pretty empty,” said Dex. “But the seawater could’ve eaten everything. No way to tell.”
“Piece of his shoes,” said Tommy. “There were little scraps and pieces in the locker. That was all that was left of this guy’s shoes.”
“I remember reading somewhere that the German sailors used to put their names in their shoes—that it was a good way to ID a ship by checking the guy’s name on naval registries.”
“Not this time,” said Tommy.
A soft beeper sounded, synched up with the LED on Dex’s Princeton Tec. The device was telling him it was just about time to go.
“Hey, you about ready?” he said to Tommy as he gestured toward the ceiling.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Kevin, Andy…? How’s it going in there?”
“Not much around. This place looks like they picked it clean.” said Andy. “We’re heading towards the aft torpedo room.”
“Be careful. Get samples of anything that looks interesting,” said Dex. “Tommy and I are heading up. You copy that Don?”
“I hear you.”
“What about Doc and Mike?”
“Ready to hit the water,” said Doc. “On your mark, Boss.”
“Any time you’re ready,” said Dex. “We’ll see you on the safeline. On our way up.”
Nodding to Tommy, Dex gestured to his dive-mate to get moving.
He felt a pulse of excitement jump through him as he anticipated going through the stuff they’d just found. Good chance they’d ID the sub for sure now, and that might just be the beginning.
Chapter Fourteen
Bruckner
Under the Greenland Shelf
The next several hours passed with the deceptive calm of typical U-boat operations. Erich’s experience warned him to never accept a lack of peril as an indication of safety. A ship that traversed under the sea was always in danger. Period.
As the 5001 continued its path along the coast of Greenland, Erich used the time to get Manny up to speed on what they would be doing, and how they would do it. They spoke openly in the privacy of the Captain’s quarters.
After going over the sealed instructions on how to gain access to Station One Eleven, Erich leaned back in his chair, opened his hands as if to say any questions?
His Exec did not disappoint him.
“How long have you know about this secret base?”
Erich shrugged. “Not long. Six months, perhaps. Only since the time I was selected for this current mission.”
“Everything on a need-to-know basis.”
“True,” said Erich. “But, as you can imagine, there are always rumors flying. The most obvious assumption is that our scientists are working on special weapons projects. Although I’ve heard this is not the only such base.”
“Really?”
Erich grinned. “There is talk of a ‘Station Two Eleven’ located in the Antarctic.”
“Someone in High Command has a preference for cold weather.”
“Inaccessible locations seems to be the priority.” Erich poured more black coffee from his thermos, sipped it absently. “Even if the enemy discovers the existence of such bases, they will be difficult, if not impossible, to attack.”
> “What about our boat? How hard for us to get into the Station?”
Erich tapped the now unsealed orders and directions. “You have read the briefing. We have a precise map of the underwater passage, but it will require skill and some luck, as usual.”
Manny smiled. “Of course. How much do we tell the crew?”
“That will be to our discretion. Since this is an emergency mission, we may include them in whatever will ensure success, would not you think?”
Erich felt strongly about that, believed he owed his men a high level of honesty for their trust in him.
Manny nodded as he checked his wrist watch. “I agree. The more they know, the more well-equipped to deal with the unanticipated.”
Erich stood up, reached for the cabin door. “It is time,” he said softly.
As he entered the control room, he saw Bischoff hunched over his funkmaat console, hands pressing his headphones ever closer to his ears. He looked up to address his captain.
“All quiet, sir.”
“Herr Ostermann,” said Erich. “An update on our position.”
“We are approaching the entrance coordinates. We should be able to get a visual any time now.”
The helmsman was standing by, waiting for the command to take additional action.
Turning, Erich directed his attention through the viewing port, past the pale, ghostly reach of a single searchlight. He paused as something began to define itself in the murky water.
“Helmsman,” he said. “All ahead one quarter. Zero bubble.”
“I see a darker space,” said Manfred, whispering. “Is that it? The entrance.”
“We need to get a little closer.” Erich trusted the data from the sealed briefing. He was certain they were on track, but a solid confirmation would make him feel even better.
As the boat surged forward, her bow level, the details of the ice-shelf, which formed the cruel, undersea shoreline of Greenland, revealed themselves.
“That looks like the opening we are looking for. Right there.” Manny pointed dead ahead.
Erich squinted ineffectually through the thick glass of the viewport. He silently cursed the visibility, at the same time realizing how innovative and helpful it was to even have a viewport. Having spent all of his undersea time sailing “blind,” he should be happy to be able to see anything.
Visibility gradually improved, but with excruciating slowness. Meter by meter, the boat closed the distance between itself and the opening in the shelf. Erich could almost feel the weight of all the ice over their heads.
A little farther. A little more, and—
“It is a cavern,” said Manfred, still whispering so only Erich could hear him. “Look!”
“Affirmative. Helm, approach with caution on current heading. Slip speed.”
Waiting patiently for a clearer view, Erich could see they were slowly knifing through a natural geologic opening, perhaps a fault that had been there a long time.
Closer and closer, the U-5001 approached and Erich could now appreciate the size of the yawning chasm in front of them. Even allowing for distortion and lack of proportion, the opening appeared capacious, ready to swallow up their bulk like a minnow.
“Steady as she goes,” said Erich.
Like the open maw of an enormous sea creature, the submerged entrance to the secret base filled the viewing port with a vast, hollow darkness. It was like the entrance to an undersea hell, to a place of nightmare and the ending of all light forever. Terrifying, yet comforting in a way he had not expected, Erich tried to estimate its true dimensions.
When entering a space that defied experience and logic, such as this one, he knew it would be easy to let your imagination loose on a catalogue of horrors. There could be a monstrous row of stalagmites, like the saw-teeth of a beast, waiting to split open the hull like a pea pod. There could be an utterly black wall behind the ice-shelf, which had only appeared to be an opening. A barrier into which they would plunge, nose-first, in several seconds. There could be an underwater tremor, which would bring the ceiling of the cavern down upon them like the sledge-hammer of a Norse god.
All these thoughts passed through him like flashes of lightning. In an instant, disaster could seize them like a failing engine in mid-stroke.
He imagined the bulkheads crumpling down and around them like wrapping paper, followed by the frigid pressure-slam of the sea, rushing over him with such speed and power he might be flensed of his skin. His men turned inside-out before the icy water filled their throats and lungs with the force of a forty-foot wave. Could there be a worse way to die?
Surely no.
Closer to the deeper darkness plunged his boat. They had entered the mouth to the cavern, slipping down its vast throat.
“Incredible,” said Manfred. “We made it…”
Erich continued to stare through the viewing port. “For the moment. But I want another set of eyes, Manny. We must be vigilant.”
“Aye, sir.” The view beyond the glass could have been a mile beyond the moon. The boat’s searchlight probed the darkness and found nothing close enough to reflect. Where were they?
“Ahead. Slip speed,” said Bruckner. “Bearing one five nine.”
No one spoke for several minutes. The sounds of the U-5001 held them in a false machine-silence. The metal beast breathed and stretched and inched forward, making the sounds they had all learned to ignore.
Manny exhaled slowly. “It looks as if we are headed beneath the whole of Greenland. Impossible, I know, but…”
Erich turned to his radio/sonar man. “Bischoff, get me some readings. I want to know how much room we have to maneuver. I cannot trust my briefing alone.”
“Aye, sir.”
Manny continued to peer into the darkness beyond the viewing port. The lance of the boat’s single light appeared feeble, almost silly, when confronting such a vast cavern. No one spoke for several minutes as new information was gathered. Erich glanced at the other crewman on the control deck, and he felt a swelling of pride to be with such men. Despite knowing virtually nothing about this part of the mission, they performed their duties without question or hesitation. Even now, as bubbling over with curiosity as they must be, they kept their mouths shut, their emotions in check. Every man performed with the utmost character and professionalism.
“Captain,” said Bischoff. “Soundings concur. We have more than ample room in all directions. But there is one oddity.…”
“Tell me,” said Erich.
“Unless my equipment is wrong, we are only one-twenty from the surface.”
“Given the details of our briefing,” said Erich in a low voice. “That is quite possible. Right, Manny?”
“If we are entering a huge air-pocket, trapped in the vault of the cavern. Certainly.”
Erich spoke to his funkmeister. “Inform me when we have a clear ascent.”
“It appears we are clear now, Captain.”
Manny looked at him. “Best way to get her to the surface?”
“We are going to experiment,” said Bruckner.
Erich outlined his idea to inch forward through the underground sea, carefully sounding the surrounding to see if the topography might offer them the assistance they needed. After briefing Bischoff and the rest of the control deck crew, Erich and Warrant Officer Ostermann studied the chart of Station One Eleven that had been appended to the sealed orders. Erich hoped he could find a natural slip—a place where the seabed rose gradually. This was his back-up in case the diving planes would not get the boat to the surface.
“Get me a status report from Kress,” he told Manny.
Signaling on the tube, Kress responded almost instantly, his voice edged with tension that all engineers seemed to possess in great quantities. Erich could imagine Kress, a spindly-thin man, with very round eyes, enhanced by the thick glasses he wore, leani
ng into the tube.
“Fassbaden, what in feiken is going on up there? I am getting bits and pieces, but mostly pieces.”
“This is Captain Bruckner, Herr Kress.”
“Pardon me, Captain. It is stressful down here.”
Kress was very smart, well-read and full of plans to someday be an inventor for the automobile industry. His entire family had worked for Daimler since the founding of the company, and he longed for such a career—if he could just get out of this war alive.
Erich exhaled slowly. “Things are complicated. I will brief you later.”
“My men are on edge,” said Kress. “Not knowing is one thing. But hearing the torpedoes being fired…they deserve to know if they are in danger.”
Erich grinned, but without humor. “Remind them they are in a U-boat…they are always in danger.”
“Are we making for the surface?”
Erich explained to Kress what he would need from the boat, plus his contingency plans.
Kress understood perfectly. “We should be able to handle it. I can give you five hours of battery.”
Erich knew his tactics depended on how easily their ascent could be accomplished. If he had to ground the boat on the slope of the shoreline, he might have to think about abandoning the ship. He could try to get his crew to the surface with the “D.T.”—an escape device whose real name was draeger tauchretter.
Erich had little faith in the equipment, which had been used with varying success (and much failure) by submariners. Essentially it was a “re-breather,” which converted carbon dioxide into oxygen. In theory, it would allow a man to stay alive until he could reach the surface, but all sailors knew an air supply was only part of the problem of escaping a sunken submarine. Depth and pressure and nitrogen poisoning were the other three variables, which ultimately determined whether or not survival was possible. Although every crewman had trained on the draeger, no one really believed it could save their life.
“One more thing before we start, Herr Kress—”
Submerged Page 12