by Eric Flint
They were used to mines not exploding with the first couple of shots, but a fourth shot rang out, and then a fifth. Sam turned to his brother. “Maybe they missed the horns.”
“They hit all five horns,” Henrik said. “What happens now?”
Al glanced round to see Henrik had joined them. He had a telescope in his hands, which explained how he knew the horns had been hit. “If the marksmen can’t set it off by shooting at the horns, then they have to set a charge on it and blow it up that way.”
“Is that dangerous?” Henrik asked.
“The actual setting of the charge isn’t that dangerous. What’s dangerous is whatever is happening inside the mine. It could go off at any moment,” Sam said.
“Which is why they’re going to wait a good ten minutes before approaching it,” Al said.
Ten minutes later one of the whaleboats rowed within fifty yards of the mine before stopping to let a swimmer slide over the side with a length of slow match tucked behind his ear and a fused stick of dynamite between his teeth. The swimmer used a combination of dogpaddle and sidestroke to swim up to the mine. Once there he carefully placed the stick of dynamite on top of the mine and after blowing on his slow match, lit the fuse and swam away.
He hadn’t swum more than ten feet before a seagull landed on the mine, and moments later started to peck at something sticking out of one of the damaged horns.
KAABOOOM! BOOOM!
“Holy shit!” Al shouted. Not that he could hear anything. He hadn’t been expecting the double blast of the gunpowder and dynamite, and had been caught with his ears uncovered. He looked around to check that Sam and Henrik were okay. They were, but both were staring white-faced at the slowly dissipating cloud of white smoke.
They watched on in silence as a whaleboat approached a body floating in the water and gently hauled it aboard. Nobody could have survived that blast, Al thought. Not being so close to it.
* * *
The diving team hadn’t previously had any social interaction with the whaleboat crews, but you had to do something to show your respects when a man died. So Al, Sam, Henrik Mortensen, and Jörgen Ibsen set out that evening for the tavern where the boatmen usually hung out. They heard them long before they saw the light spilling out of the tavern.
“Do Danes mourn someone’s death by having a party?” Al asked.
Henrik shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“I’ll go ahead and see what’s going on,” Jörgen said.
He was waiting for them when they got to the door. “They’re celebrating good news. Soren Hemmingsen survived the explosion.”
“What?” Al demanded. Soren Hemmingsen was obviously the name of the swimmer, but Al had seen how close he had been to the explosion. It just wasn’t possible that he could have survived.
“It’s true,” Jörgen said. “He’s a bit of a mess, but they say there’s nothing that won’t heal.”
Al was still trying to wrap his mind around what he’d heard as he trailed his companions into the tavern. It went against everything he’d ever learned about diving—a diver that close to such a big explosion should have been killed. It was in this confused state he was introduced to the leader of the whaleboat crews.
“It shouldn’t have taken young Soren nearly getting himself killed before you joined us,” Oluf Andersen said as he shook Al’s hand.
Al rescued his hand from Oluf’s strong grip. “We can’t drink when we’re diving.” It wasn’t much of an excuse, but it did contain an element of truth. Alcohol and SCUBA diving didn’t mix. Al couldn’t remember the details of what the complications were, but he did remember that alcohol in the system could increase the risk of decompression sickness.
Oluf snorted. “Erik doesn’t seem to have any trouble drinking.”
The name didn’t mean anything to Al. “Who?” he asked.
“Erik Andersen. Soren’s replacement.” Oluf smiled. “You didn’t think we’d stop sweeping just because one man has been injured?”
Al had thought that. “I would have thought you’d have difficulty finding a replacement so quickly.”
Oluf shook his head. “The money’s too good. They upped the diver’s bonus for destroying a mine by setting a charge on it to a whole rigsdaler. There were a number of volunteers. Erik was the lucky one.”
That was about one hundred dollars, and Al knew it wouldn’t have been enough to get him to go that close to a live mine with damaged fuses. “If all it takes is money, maybe we can hire a couple of locals to use the new hard hat rigs when they arrive.”
Oluf snorted. “No way. No amount of money will get a sane man into one of those killing machines.” He reached a hand out to each brother. “Come, have a drink with me.”
Al didn’t want to seem stand-offish, but there were some things a sensible person didn’t do. “I’m serious. We’d love to have a drink with you, but it’s a really bad idea to mix diving with alcohol.”
Oluf gestured in Erik’s direction. “He’s drinking, so you can drink. Come, I’m buying.”
“But he’s free diving, while we’re using SCUBA. With repeated dives you build up nitrogen in your system, and…”
“Nitrogen?”
It was obvious that Oluf had never heard of nitrogen. Al took a deep breath before attempting to explain what nitrogen was. The explanation created more questions, and soon Al and Sam were the center of interest as the boatmen asked about the science of diving. The evening ended with Al and Sam carrying the drunk Henrik and Jörgen back to the dive tender.
* * *
The next evening the diving team once more joined the boatmen at the tavern, but having had nothing better to drink than boiled water that first evening, this time Al and Sam came prepared, with coffee and a coffee pot.
A barmaid brought out a couple of mugs and the steaming coffee pot that had been simmering on the stove out the back. She poured coffee into Al and Sam’s mugs and stood waiting expectantly. Oluf noticed the smell and asked what they were drinking.
“Coffee,” Al replied as he took the first sip. It was just how he liked it, and he told the barmaid so. She smiled and placed the coffeepot on the table before walking away.
“She likes you,” Oluf said.
Al blushed. He’d noticed the looks she’d been giving him. She was a very attractive woman, as barmaids tended to be. But he had heard stories about how they earned their living and wasn’t interested in that kind of encounter. To distract him, Al offered Oluf a sip of his coffee. Oluf’s reaction didn’t bode well for the future popularity of coffee locally.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Al said as he had another sip. “Me and Sam were talking today…”
“During your copious free time,” Oluf said after rinsing his mouth out with beer.
“Hey, those breaks are compulsory,” Al said. He was all ready to further justify their long intervals between dives when he saw the smile Oluf was trying to hide. “Ha ha, you got me. Yes, during our copious free time, Sam I and I got to thinking. What do you think about using a sort of spar torpedo to plant the explosive charge on a mine that’s refused to explode?”
Sam butted in. “Yeah. If you put a stick of dynamite on a long pole, you wouldn’t have to get as close as Soren did.”
“But when the mine explodes, the boat will be too close,” Oluf protested.
“The mine will only explode if something upsets the fuses. So you have your marksmen pick off any birds that try to land on it,” Sam said.
“But when the dynamite explodes, surely the mine will also explode?” Oluf asked.
Al shook his head. “The dynamite won’t set off the gunpowder. It needs a source of ignition.”
“But surely dynamite going off is a source of ignition,” Oluf said.
“Sure,” Al agreed, “but by the time it ignites the gunpowder, the mine will be broken open. All you’ll get is an enormous powder flash.”
Oluf’s raised brows said more than words.
“Gu
npowder needs to be confined to explode,” Al said. Oluf still looked dubious. “Hey, I can prove it.”
“Please do.”
Al looked around for the source of the interruption. What he found were a lot of interested faces. Just like the previous evening, they’d attracted an audience. “I’ll have to hunt around for what I need.”
“What do you need?” one of the boatmen asked.
“A couple of anvils would be nice, and of course, some gunpowder.”
The man nodded. “I can get some gunpowder, but what do you need the anvils for?”
“I want to recreate a demonstration I saw years ago. A guy placed an anvil on its working face and filled a cavity in its base with gunpowder and lit it. It just flared off, but when he repeated the experiment by putting the second anvil on top of the gunpowder, it exploded, sending the second anvil high into the air.”
“I’d like to see that,” the man said. Others agreed, and one suggested he knew where they might be able to find a couple of anvils.
“If you can get them for me, I’ll get everything set up for a demonstration tomorrow before we start work.”
“Tomorrow?” Oluf asked. “What is wrong with now? There is still at least an hour of daylight.” He turned to the tavern. “Who wants to see Al’s demonstration?”
There was a roar of agreement, and Al found himself dragged around to a local blacksmith’s shop where Oluf and his friends persuaded the blacksmith to lend them his anvils. These were carried to the seashore where the larger one was set into the sand. Al took the offered barrel of gunpowder and filled the cavity. He then lit a fuse and hurried away. Twenty feet from the anvil he joined the others watching the fuse burn. When it hit the gunpowder there was a massive flash and a cloud of white smoke.
“That was pretty,” Oluf said. “Now make it explode.”
Al checked his audience. “This is going to be dangerous,” he warned. That got nods of understanding, but not a lot else. Al remembered he was dealing with people who were clearing mines for a living and tried a different tack. “If this goes as I expect, that anvil”—he pointed to the second anvil—“is going to shoot over a hundred feet into the air, and I have absolutely no idea where it’s going to land. So, I’d like everyone to back off at least a hundred yards.”
There were snorts of disbelief, but Al was having none of it. “Either you fall back a safe distance, or I won’t do this.”
That threat finally got some movement. When the audience was far enough away Al loaded the cavity with gunpowder, set the fuse, and with his brother helping, lifted the second anvil to cover the gunpowder. He waited until Sam was at a safe distance before he lit the fuse and walked very quickly to where Sam and the others were waiting. He glanced over his shoulder a couple of times just in case the fuse burned faster than usual, but there was still fuse left when he reached the others.
KAABOOM!
The explosion sent the top anvil shooting high into the sky. It was a very long four seconds before it landed fifteen feet from the other anvil.
“Can you do that again?” someone in the crowd called out. His request was soon met by a roar demanding that Al repeat the experiment. He glanced at Sam, who shrugged his shoulders and walked over to get the gunpowder barrel.
Naturally someone complained about the noise and the watch was called out to deal with the unruly rabble that had congregated on the beach in order to make loud noises that disturbed honest citizens’ sleep, or at least that was what the members of the watch said when they arrested everyone.
* * *
The next day started very much like any of the preceding dozen or so days, except that Al and Sam were sleep deprived and Henrik more sarcastic than usual.
“Did the sleeping beauties have a nice sleep?” Henrik asked when Al and Sam stumbled aboard the diving tender.
Al glared at the dive master. “You could have come and bailed us out.” They’d spent an uncomfortable night in the town lockup with the boatmen, who’d all been a little the worse for drink.
Henrik’s brows slowly rose. “Now why would I want to do a thing like that?”
Al wasn’t taken in. He could guess why Henrik might have a grudge against him and Sam. “We woke you up?”
“Of course you woke me up. You woke the whole town up.”
“If you were awake, why didn’t you come and bail us out when we sent a messenger around to get you?” Sam demanded.
Al slapped a hand over Sam’s mouth before he could stuff his size nines in any deeper. “We’ll be ready to dive by six,” he said as he said as he hustled Sam past Henrik.
* * *
It was deep into their first surface interval and Al and Sam were napping in deck chairs under the warmth of the morning sun when they were woken by Jörgen calling out.
“Fire! There’s a ship on fire.”
Al rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared out across the water in the direction Jörgen was pointing. There was no land due south of their position for over thirty miles, so he was probably right to say it was a ship. Al struggled to his feet and walked over to Henrik, who was studying the smoke through his telescope. “What is it?” he asked.
“So, the sleeping beauties have finally surfaced. Here, have a look. Maybe you will recognize her.”
Al accepted the telescope and set it to his eye. “It’s a ship all right, but she’s not burning. It’s a steamship.”
“What?” Jörgen protested. “What’s a timberclad doing way out here?”
“It’s not a timberclad,” Al said. He could understand why Jörgen might have jumped to that conclusion. The timberclads were probably the only steam ships he’d ever seen, but Al had a little more experience with them. “I think she’s the Puffing Willie.”
“The tugboat from Lübeck?” Sam had arrived and was staring in the direction of the smoke.
Al nodded. “It has to be her. There aren’t any other single stackers in the Baltic.”
“As far as we know,” Sam said.
Al shrugged. “As far as we know then, but I’m willing to bet it’s the Puffing Willie.”
“She’s over six miles away,” Henrik said. “That means you have plenty of time to complete your next dive before she gets here.”
Al gave the smudge of smoke on the horizon a last glance before heading below to get ready for the next dive.
* * *
The Puffing Willie didn’t steam past the dive tender. Instead, well before she came near, she turned to steam into Helsingør.
“Can we go back to the harbor and find out what she’s doing here?” Sam asked.
“You can borrow the dinghy,” Henrik said, “but you better be back before noon.”
Their next dive was scheduled to start at twenty past twelve. Al glanced at his diver’s watch. It was just after ten thirty, and it would take maybe fifteen minutes each way to get there and back, leaving an hour at most. “Let’s go next surface interval.”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, give them time to get settled.”
It was just after one o’clock when Al and Sam arrived in Helsingør. After securing the dingy they wandered over to where the Puffing Willie was tied up. Except that she wasn’t the Puffing Willie. The name “Osprey” was written across her stern, and a naval ensign fluttered above it.
“And you were so sure she was the Puffing Willie,” Sam said.
“That’s the USE Navy’s ensign,” Al said. “Maybe they changed her name when they commissioned her.”
“So what’s she doing way out here?” Sam asked.
That was a good question. The Puffing Willie, or Osprey as she was now called, was a small river tugboat, and she didn’t have the bunkerage to make the trip from Lübeck, where she’d been based, to Helsingør without making multiple stops on the way. “I think she might be a minesweeper now.” Al gestured towards the equipment on the after deck of the Osprey. “All that stuff looks new, and those blimp things look like something I’ve seen in pictures of minesweepers in action.�
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“Al, Sam, just the people I need to see. Come on aboard,” a voice called out from the deck of the Osprey.
Sam recognized the man who’d called out. “That’s Mr. Tillman. I wonder what he wants?”
“There’s an easy way to find out.” Al walked over to the gangway connecting the Osprey to the wharf. “Permission to come aboard, Mr. Tillman.”
“Permission granted,” Louie Tillman said.
* * *
“You’re cutting it a bit fine,” Henrik said when they arrived back at the dive tender over an hour later.
“We’ve got new orders,” Al said as he passed a folded document to Henrik. “How long will it take you to get ready for sea?”
Henrik glanced at the orders. “Destination—Wismar.” He stared into the distance for a few seconds before speaking. “I can be ready inside an hour. How long will it take you two to get ready?” he asked. “The current will be turning in our favor in about twenty minutes.”
The tidal range at Helsingør was negligible, but it did signal the change in flow of water into or out of the Baltic, and the current in either direction could be as much as three knots. For a sailing ship capable of only six or seven knots that could be either a great boon, or a great hindrance.
“I want to say goodbye to Oluf, but other than that, there’s nothing stopping me being ready to sail in an hour,” Al said.
“Same here,” Sam added.
Henrik nodded. “Right. We’ll dock to off load the salt and take on provisions. While we’re doing that you can hunt up Oluf and his colleagues to say your goodbyes. I’ll ring the bell when I’m ready.” he looked pointedly at the brothers. “Just make sure you’re back before I stop ringing the bell.”
“But Oluf and his colleagues are out sweeping,” Sam protested.
“No, they aren’t.” Henrik gestured out to sea. “They were called in shortly after the Osprey docked.”
“I wonder why,” Sam said.
* * *
“It’s awfully quiet,” Sam observed as they approached the tavern Oluf and the other boatmen frequented.
“That’s a bad sign,” Al agreed as they approached the door. The last couple of times they’d been here the tavern had been bustling with activity, but right now it was almost silent.
