“Okay,” said Dex. “Let’s take a look down there. Get out your torch.”
He and Tommy unhitched their watertight flashlights from their utility belts, and switched them on. Despite their compact size, the devices put out a tight, sharp beam. Dex hovered over the dark circle of the open lower hatch, then pierced it with a burst of light, revealing a ladder leading down to a grated deck.
“Tommy, listen up. I’ll go in first. You stay topside till I see what kind of room we have down there.”
“Gotcha.”
“Donnie, you copy that? We’re going in.”
“Gotcha,” said Don, his voice modulated by the little earpiece headphone. “Standing by…”
Following the path cut by his torch beam, Dex angled head first into the hatch. Experience from previous dives into openings of similar dimensions alerted him to how much clearance his tanks allowed him. He had to move with deliberate caution in case there was something sticking out that might foul his hoses or snag his suit.
Dex tilted over, headfirst, and slid through the hatch, keeping his chest close enough to the ladder to clear his double tank. Halfway down, he craned his neck around to see what might present possible problems. The passageway directly beneath him appeared to be clear of obstacles or debris.
As he righted himself, his torch played across the grated deck, touching steel and brass fittings, and Dex had a brief moment in which he felt like an intruder to a place better left untouched. Like a grave robber or a cat burglar. To the left, in the direction of the aft torpedo room, he saw what looked like a single brick laying up close to the bulkhead.
Tommy’s “gold bullion,” no doubt.
“See anything?” said Tommy. “I’m ready to follow you in.”
“Come on. Just take it slow.” Dex drifted over to the brick-like object. As he drew closer, he could see it wasn’t the treasure Tommy had imagined. There was no gold sheen about it. He reached out, picked it up and was surprised to feel how heavy it was — some kind of really dense material. Rubbing it, he was surprised to see no thin rime of algae sticking to its surface. The color looked like a dark pewter.
Whatever it was, the Nazis probably had some use for it. Lying nearby were the rotted remains of what might have been a canvas rucksack. No way to tell if there’d even been any more bricks here or if this was the only one. Dex opened the throat of his collection bag, slipped the heavy object into it. As he was doing this, Tommy floated over to him. “Hey, so was I right?”
“You mean is it gold?”
“Yeah…”
“I don’t know what this thing is, but it’s not gold.”
“Hey, guys,” said Don’s voice through his earpiece. “You wouldn’t want to clue us in up here, would you?”
“Sure,” said Dex. “We’re not rich, okay?”
He briefly summarized their findings, then listened to Don bemoan their bad luck. The water in the flooded chamber was clear enough to see the closed hatch in front of them — leading toward the center of the boat. Other than their breathing, amplified through their hoses and communications gear, the normal silence of being under the sea morphed into something more eerie, more oppressive in the sub’s cloudy interior.
“We’re going to work our way aft towards the conning tower now,” said Dex. How’s Team Two? They ready?”
“Been ready,” said Don.
“You can get them in the water on schedule,” said Dex. “Everything looks okay so far.”
“Any sign of damage?” said Don.
“Not yet. Looks like the Jerries scuttled this thing but they didn’t use charges.”
“Jerries?” said Tommy. “Why they called that?”
“No idea… I’ve always wanted to say the word, that’s all.”
Moving to the hatch, Dex checked the wheel-lock. It was frozen, as often happened to moving parts in seawater, but in the open position. He put his shoulder against it, and it swung inward, away from him easily. Beyond this bulkhead, they entered a surprisingly open section of the boat, which housed two long, lean diesels. The salt water had failed to eat much of the formidable engines, and in tribute to the German engineering that created them, they still looked clean and powerful enough to be refurbed and push this boat along at a good clip. Flanking the diesels on the outer walls of the hull were banks of batteries to power the electric motors. To them the sea had been less kind, reducing them to crusted piles of corrosion.
“Pretty big rig,” said Tommy.
“This was a big boat.” Dex paused to study the path ahead, making sure there were no obstacles that might be a problem.
Between the two engines, a ladder headed up to a wider than usual hatch, which appeared to be locked down. Dex played his torch beam over it. “That’s probably the access to the second level.”
“We goin’ up?” said Tommy.
“Not yet. I want to see what the control deck looks like. Plenty of time to check that out later.”
“You’re the boss,” said Tommy.
“Hey, Dex…” Don’s voice in his earpiece. “Andy and Kevin are ready to go.”
“Check. They need to bring the camera.”
“They got it.”
“Good.” Dex paused for a second. “Kevin? Andy? You guys copy that?”
“Just hit the water,” said Kevin Cheever. “What’s up, Boss?”
“We’re about midway down the aft section. When we get there, we’ll see if we can get the hatch on the bridge open. That leads down to the control deck, which is where we’re headed. We can meet you there.”
“Sounds like you worked this out pretty good,” said Andy. “We’ll be there.”
Dex checked his chrono — they were making pretty good progress. He’d have a little time to poke around in the captain’s area before having to head up. And he felt good about having the second team nearby when he did it. He was starting to feel confident, and even a little comfortable as they moved along, and he had to remind himself he was floating through the center of a rusting hulk at the bottom of the bay. A dark, congested coffin that hadn’t yet given up all its secrets.
In other words: still watch your ass.
Next came a section of the hull filled with bunks so neatly and closely stacked, he could almost see them still occupied by fresh-faced German sailors. What had happened to them? If any were by the oddest chance still alive, they would be stooped and shrunken old men. From the looks of the number of racks, the sub had supported a larger crew than the Type VII boats.
“Just cleared the crew quarters,” Dex reported to Don. “Nothing unusual.”
He was looking for anything that might help explain the boat’s size and oddly shaped hull, but so far Dex hadn’t noticed a damn thing.
“Hey, Dex,” said Tommy. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
“Yeah?” he said as they floated past the bunks, heading ever closer to the center of the boat.
“You think everybody got out of this thing? I mean, what if we find… you know… some bodies?”
“Like I said, my first impression is they scuttled her, which means everybody jumped ship way before she ended up down here.” He paused as they approached the next bulkhead door, slowing their motion to see if there were any potential problems. But nothing revealed itself in the beam of their torches and he tried to relax.
“Sounds like a ‘but’ coming…” said Tommy.
“Kind of. Any bodies exposed to seawater this long would be pretty much just gone. But if we did find some poor bastard holed up somewhere — protected somewhat — well, we’d have to give him a proper burial.”
“Gives me the creeps,” said Tommy.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Dex motioned him to move closer as they were within reach of the next bulkhead. The hatch here was also unlatched, but this one swung in toward them, to reveal a collection of tables and benches, which defined the crew’s mess and the galley beyond it. This deep into the boat, the metal surfaces looked cleaner than Dex would have expected. The incursion of endless variations of sea life was everywhere, of course, but not with the ravenous reclamation he’d seen in other wrecks.