Submerged

by Thomas F Monteleone

  He opened it to reveal Bruckner’s photo in full military dress, displaying the hat and insignia of Kapitaenleutnant. The guy looked like a pro, no doubt about it. Looking at his pictures, Dex received an immediate impression of total confidence, knowledge, and authority.

  “Is that his passport?” said Tommy.

  “No, it’s his really official ID in the military. The other one’s just more Nazi bullshit. This is the one that counts.”

  “How do you know this stuff?” Tommy looked at him like a little kid.

  “You mean other than because I’m a really smart guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know, I was always kind of interested—fascinated, really—by the whole Nazi thing,” said Dex. “I’ve read a lot about them.”

  “You read German?”

  Dex shook his head, pointed to some entries on the right page of the Soldbuch. “Nah. But if I could—see this?—it’s a record of all our Captain’s assignments. We could find out a lot about this guy.”

  “That’s cool.”

  Scanning the printed words in the small entry spaces, Dex pointed to a column and smiled. “Yeah, and look at this. Here’s exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

  “What?” Tommy leaned closer.

  “Right here. This line. The last one filled in? The last assignment—U-5001.”

  “The name of the sub?”

  “I’m sure of it now,” said Dex. “I saw those numbers stenciled on the inside of a hatch lid. If we can find an ID plate somewhere, that’ll just confirm what we already know. The torpedo room is usually where they put them. If we get that, it’s just icing on the cake.”

  “U-5001.” Tommy tapped the open lid of the box. “So this thing’s a home run, huh?”

  “Oh yeah. It should help unravel most of this boat’s total story. Or at least point us in the right directions.”

  “We’re gonna need somebody who reads German,” said Tommy.

  “That won’t be a problem. If I have to, I can transcribe this stuff and run it through a translation website.”

  “They got stuff like that?”

  Dex looked at him. “You need to explore more of the world than its bars.”

  Tommy grinned, raked his fingers through his thick, black hair.

  Reaching back into the metal container, Dex pulled another book from it. Thick, heavy pages bound into a durable but flexible cover. The pages were filled with writings. Rather than cursive, the words were printed in bold block letters, with a fountain pen. A handwriting specialist would probably say the printing had been by someone of great confidence and authority.

  “Wow, take a look at this,” said Dex as he began to flip through it.

  “What is it?”

  “This is the captain’s log. Day-by-day entries on what happened onboard the boat. See, here’s the dates. And then look here—the little column down the right margins? And the check marks?”

  “Yeah,” said Tommy.

  “That indicates when the entries were forwarded home to U-boat control. Every day’s activities of every sub were kept in Berlin—they were called BdU KTBs. It was a perfect record of a boat’s orders, communications, engagements…you name it.”

  Tommy chuckled, shook his head. “Man, how the hell you know this stuff?”

  “I read a lot,” said Dex with a shrug. “Plus I watch the History Channel.”

  Tommy, perhaps shamed into silence, nodded and tried to look suitably serious.

  “We need to find out what this says.” Dex closed the log. “And we will.”

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  “You’ll see,” said Dex, folding the log up and carefully placing it on the table. “But let’s see what’s left in there.”

  Looking down, he saw one more item in the box—a thick envelope filled with medals and decorations, which he picked up, opened, and spread out on the bench.

  “Here’s another Knight’s Cross, with the ribbons,” said Dex.

  “Yeah, and hey, are those things diamonds?”

  Dex nodded. “Yeah, this one is. With the oakleafs. It was one of the highest medals they could get. This guy, Bruckner, he must have been special.”

  “You mean good?”

  Dex grinned. “Well, that’s a relative term when you’re talking about these guys.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Dex nodded, started returning Captain Bruckner’s effects to the steel box. “Let’s take a quick look at the brick. Then we’ll see what we can get out of that journal, okay?”

  “You’re the one who knows what you’re doin’. Sounds good to me.”

  Dex retrieved the remaining object from the backpack, laid it on the bench. Although roughly the shape and size of regular red brick, it was surely nothing so mundane.

  “Man, it looks freakin’ weird in the light,” said Tommy.

  And it did.

  As Dex regarded it under the fluorescent light, he noticed right away that he couldn’t actually identify its color. The smooth surface on first glance appeared to be a slate gray, but light seemed to dance and shimmer just beneath the surface, imparting a spectral aspect to it. It was as if the object were somehow absorbing light and reflecting different wavelengths at random. This effect also gave it a less substantial appearance—just the slightest suggestion of wavering, like a special effect in an old movie.

  But it was a real, solid object. It had a lot more mass than most things its size, and Dex wondered if it might be some weird isotope the Nazis had been screwing around with. He knew they’d had several deuterium plants up and running in Norway before a few Lancaster bombing runs took them out.

  A thought burned through him—could it be giving off dangerous, or even lethal radiation? Then he shrugged inwardly. If it was, then it was already too late to worry about it.

  “Not much I can make of it,” he said. “We need to have some science-guys take a look.”

  “Maybe Kevin knows somebody where he works.” Tommy reached out, touched the odd surface. “Feels kinda cold.”

  “Yeah, I wonder if the density of the material is allowing it to retain the temperatures from the bottom of the bay.”

  “You got me there. I slept through my science class, know what I mean?” Tommy chuckled at his own wit.

  Dex had been only half listening to him. He was wondering more and more about these strange objects they’d dredged up from the past, and his paranoia meter continued ticking like a Geiger counter. If this thing were some kind of odd element, giving out weird radiation, then they’d been absolute jerks to expose themselves and anybody else who might have been close enough. There was definitely something odd about the surface and the color of the object, and that could only be the beginning.

  Plus there was the whole question of how many people he wanted to involve in this—if there was something special, or dangerous, associated with this brick, he wasn’t sure he wanted any government types getting their noses out of joint about it.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Not until they’d had a chance to do some checking on their own. Once the feds got involved, you got shut out of the game. Good chance you’d never hear another word.

  With Kevin Cheever at NavTronics, he had a straight path to some of the best research scientists in the business, whom he hoped could keep their mouths shut. He hoped Kevin could get something out of the lab that would at least give them an idea about any radiation problems.

  Checking his watch, Dex looked at Tommy.

  “Still pretty early,” he said.

  “Why? You wanna go down to the ‘Point’?”

  Dex shook his head in mock sadness. “Is that all you ever think about is hanging in bars?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “You have a computer?”

  “Not rea
lly. I fuck around with the one at the engine house. But I don’t have one here, no.”

  “That’s what I figured. That’s why I brought mine. Let’s go up to the kitchen table.”

  Dex explained the need to get those log pages translated ASAP.

  “So what’re we gonna do?” said Tommy when they emerged from the cellar stairway.

  “Watch me.”

  First thing he did was plug in his scanner to his laptop and punch up his latest OCR software which claimed to be able to not only grab and transcribe printed text, but reasonably legible handwriting. Since the program had been bundled with the scanner when he bought it, Dex had never had the need to test what sounded like dubious ad hype.

  Now we’ll see, he thought.

  Retrieving the captain’s log from the strongbox, he opened it to the first pages. The large block printing looked plenty legible. As soon as the laptop screen said everything was ready, he laid the open sheet on the glass bed and keyed the scan command.

  A few seconds later, he saw Bruckner’s words appear on a place the captain could have never imagined—the digitized image of the computer screen. He ran the recognition part of the software, surprised to see most of the printing now transformed into word processing text.

  Amazing. He didn’t even want to think of what kind of technology made this possible.

  “Did it work?” said Tommy, still not sure what he was looking at.

  “Like magic. Now, all I have to do is scan in the rest of the pages.”

  Tommy reached into fridge for another beer. “How long will that take?”

  “Maybe an hour or so.”

  “You need me for anything? I was thinkin’ I’d turn on the ballgame.”

  “Go ahead.” But Dex looked up, suddenly realizing something. “Hey, that reminds me—you have cable, right? You don’t, by any chance, have internet service, do you?”

  “Nah, not yet, why?”

  “Once I get the pages done, I need to translate them on the ’net.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Hmmm, outta luck, I guess.”

  “Too bad. I’ll have to do it when I get back to the house.”

  Tommy picked up the remote, started clicking through the channels. “Hey, wait a minute! Augie’s got it, I think?”

  “Who’s Augie?”

  “The old guy next door.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. He talks to his relatives in Sicily on his computer. Watches those old black and white movies too. Always wantin’ me to watch’em too.”

  Dex grinned. “How old’s Augie?”

  Tommy smiled. “I don’t know—eighty-somethin’.”

  “Well, God bless him—lots of old people refuse to learn anything new. Why don’t you ask him if we can hook in a little later, okay?”

  Tommy gave him the thumbs-up, then slipped out the front door to check in with his neighbor.

  Returning his attention to his laptop, Dex continued to scan in the pages. He needed to get everything into the computer’s memory then do a full text recognition. If that worked, then he’d get a rough translation from one of the internet sites.

  He shook his head in mock disbelief. A process that would have required weeks or months boiled down to hours. Dex appreciated the technology on another level as well—he didn’t want the added hassle of getting some third-party translator into the mix. But maybe that didn’t matter. Kevin had already told his lab pal about the sub, and of course, there was the Coast Guard.

  Flip the page.

  Scan.

  Recognize.

  He began the drill, noticing right away there were lots pages. Either the captain had been very wordy, or he had an awful lot to say.

  As Dex continued the repetitious steps, watching the number of pages mount up, he wondered where all this was going. What exactly would they find on what might be their last dive to the sub? And why was it so important to him? The second question intrigued him more than the first. He was aware of a subconscious alarm going off in some walled-off part of his mind. Muffled, distant, but no less insistent.

  There was something weird about the wreck—not showing up in any of the internet records, its size and shape, and, of course, the brick of unidentified material. In Dex’s worst moments, his thoughts returned to his deadly radiation fears. (A couple of days under its invisible glow and he would be waking up with all his flesh oozing off his bones like molasses.)

  He smiled at the image—like a Gahan Wilson cartoon—but was only a breath away from shuddering as well. Made sense. Maybe that’s why the crew left it onboard—they’d known it was dangerous as hell.

  The smart thing to do was get the brick into the hands of somebody who could analyze it and find out just what the Germans had been up to. Which is exactly what he would do—as soon as he ran these pages through one of the online translators. If there was nothing in there sounding too damned odd, he and Kevin would check in with some of his lab-buddies.

  But that last thought kind of pushed his thinking toward the next logical “if”.

  Namely, what if the captain’s journal revealed something really weird or dangerous about the sub and/or the brick?

  Then what?

  Dex knew enough about the way things worked—the more people you let into any loop, the less control you have over what happens next.

  The questions were eating at him, and he wasn’t the type to let that kind of neurotic crap get to him.

  Suddenly the front door opened, and Tommy reappeared with a short, wizened old guy. He was thin, and a little stooped over and wore an Orioles cap over big ears.

  “Hey, Dex, I want you to meet somebody,” said Tommy. “Augie Picaccio, this is my pal, Dex McCauley.”

  He shook hands with the old guy, who smiled with what looked like his real teeth. “You wanna get on-a-line? No problem. I got-a Skype and Netflix and ESPN.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes and a couple glasses of wine later, Dex was sitting in Augie’s living room with Tommy and the laptop. It had been Dex’s experience with computers that nothing worked right the first time, and not until the cyber-gods had their fun with you before getting bored.

  And so, he was both shocked and pleased when his laptop accepted his wireless login and let him get started. The old guy’s son had set him up with the wireless modem and it worked just the way it was supposed to—Dex was online without much hassle.

  Using a website he googled called Transliteral, he started cutting-and-pasting the scanned text. It was slow-going because the site only allowed about a page at a time in the “text to be translated” box. Then you got to see another ad in a pop-up. Dex grinned as he sipped his Chianti Classico. You get what you pay for—and Transliteral was free.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Erich Bruckner

  Under Greenland, May 2, 1945

  The mist was not as thick as it appeared, and as the rubber boat slipped across the calm surface, Erich could see farther into its depths than he’d anticipated. Two seamen from the gunnery crew, Decker and Stirtz, plied the water with caution coupled with a degree of clumsiness. Each man had a Schmeisser MP-40 slung over his shoulder, and had been picked for their ability to use the submachine gun with great facility, rather than their paddling skills.

  “Ready to transmit, Captain,” said Bischoff.

  “Proceed.”

  “One Eleven, come in. One Eleven, come in. Over…”

  Erich listened for a response through the static on the portable radio.

  Nothing, which prompted Bischoff to continue: “One Eleven, come in. This is U-five-zero-zero-one on R&R to your position.”

  After a short pause, a voice penetrated the static. It was weak, but clear. “This is Dr. Bernhard Jaeger. Station One Eleven. We read you, Five-zero-zero-one.”

  “Contact,
” said Bischoff, handing the headset to Erich.

  “Get those paddles out of the water,” said Erich. “I need silence.”

  He spoke as his men complied. “This is Captain Erich Bruckner of the U-5001. We have been sent here to assist. Can you state your location and situation?”

  Everyone on the boat strained to hear the words of Dr. Jaeger, who gave precise coordinates and directions. He reported that there had been an “event,” which killed many of the Station personnel. Erich did not like the sound of the doctor’s words.

  “Doctor, is my boat and crew in danger here?”

  A pause, more static, then: “Presently, I think not. The danger is over, the worst has already happened.”

  “How many survivors?” said Erich.

  Weakly, Jaeger spoke: “Unknown. In my lab, there are five of us. That is all I know. Rubble from an explosion has blocked us in.”

  “Very well, stand by…” Erich nodded, looked at Bischoff. “You have a fix on their transmission?”

  “Yes, Captain.” He gave him a compass reading and Erich directed his men to follow it.

  As they moved toward the shoreline, they could not ignore the illumination above them.

  “What the hell is that light?” said Manny. “It is bizarre.”

  He pointed upward at perhaps fifty degrees off the horizon to something that appeared to be a sun-like object trying to burn its way through the thick fog. But Erich knew it was impossible to be getting actual sunlight this far underground. “Probably something Dr. Jaeger and his friends have arranged,” said Erich. “Soon we know for certain.”

  The paddles violated the water, slapping and gurgling loudly. The sound made Erich ever more aware of the silence of the place. As they distanced themselves from the U-5001, he felt like they were entering a vast cathedral in the middle of the night, feeling alone, and dwarfed into insignificance by the scale of things around them.

  So large was the enclosure that he had no real sense of movement other than the gradual dissipation of the mist as they cleaved it. The “ceiling” above hung so distant, it could have been the sky itself. Manny raised his compact Leica to his eyes, snapped off what would be the first of many pictures. The slide-click! of the aperture also sounded loud, intrusive.