by Bobby Akart
As she watched them begin to relax and enjoy each other’s company, she remembered the task at hand. She needed to hurry in order to get to Frau Mohr’s farm. She promised the children she’d return, although she wasn’t sure that was a promise she could keep. She never knew if she would return from the forest.
But return she did. Several hours later, with a hen firmly secured in one grain sack and two loaves of freshly baked bread in the other, she slipped into the apartment building where Ella lived. She prayed the entire return trip that the sisters had been returned to their children. However, when Ella answered the door, her eyes sunken from exhaustion, Traudl-Maus knew they would probably never return.
Then she did something that might get her scolded by her mother, but it was worth the risk.
“Everyone? How would you like to join my family for dinner tomorrow? We don’t have much, except a chicken and two loaves of bread.” She held up the grain sacks for them to see.
“We have potatoes and peas,” offered Ella.
“Good. Good. My mother will make us all kartoffelpuffer.” Potato pancakes were a staple of German households during the war.
“At your house?” asked Horst. He hung his head in sadness. Tears streamed down his face. “But wir Juden.” We are Jews.
Traudl-Maus reached out to the young boy and lifted his tear-soaked chin with her hand. “Nein, Horst. You are all Germans. Just like me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
One Hundred Seventy Miles off the North Coast of Puerto Rico
The Puerto Rico Trench
Depth: 18,700 feet
Fathoms: 3,120
The Deepsea Challenger 7
North Atlantic Ocean
The first human-occupied vehicle, or HOV, to reach the deepest parts of the planet was known as the Deepsea Challenger, built in Sydney, Australia, for Woods Hole. It gained world recognition for its second dive into the Mariana Trench when famed producer James Cameron piloted it to the deepest spot in the planet’s oceans on a solo mission. It was the culmination of years of technological preparation and single-handedly resulted in an explosion of funding in ocean science.
Over the next two decades, the Deepsea Challenger program advanced to larger, more technologically advanced exploration vessels. The original vehicle measured twenty-four feet and was made up of three sections.
The beam was made of a new innovation, syntactic foam, the only flotation material capable of withstanding the crushing pressures of the deep ocean. A personnel sphere was contained below the beam. This part of the submersible was surrounded by three-inch-thick steel and thick observation glass with numerous strain gauges attached, providing the operator a series of warning indicators when the HOV was under extraordinary pressure. Finally, the Deepsea Challenger was equipped with a section dedicated to harvesting sea life and surface materials for study. The two booms could work together to gather the items to study and place them safely within the sub without breaching the personnel compartment.
With the success of the first Deepsea Challenger mission, excitement grew and many millions of dollars were invested in improving the HOV’s capabilities. As a result, the next generation of manned submersibles had been built and placed into service, including the Deepsea Challenger 7, or DSC-7, being operated by a crew from the Sea Searcher 1.
The DSC-7 had several major modifications. For one, it had increased in size to over thirty feet. Its shape and design allowed for additional compartments, including a much larger bank of lithium-ion battery packs. The two hundred eighty batteries, each the size of a loaf of bread, quadrupled the power of the HOV and allowed the crew to remain below the surface for a longer period of time.
The other significant design change was the addition of a pressurized air-lock compartment, allowing divers to undertake the deepest exploration of the planet in history outside of an HOV.
The atmospheric diving system, developed in conjunction with the U.S. Navy, was technologically remarkable. Prior to the turn of the century, the most advanced deep-water dive suit allowed for a mission to two thousand feet. Using space technology and forged alloys created by NASA, an underwater exosuit was designed that revolutionized deep-sea exploration.
The teardrop-shaped helmet enabled the divers to have an extensive field of vision, especially down to their boots when walking on the ocean floor. The exosuit had its own self-contained life-support system that included two separate oxygen tanks providing up to fifty hours of recirculated air filtered by carbon dioxide scrubbers. Thrusters were installed at the feet and sides of the suit, providing the occupant maximum maneuverability.
However, for the exploratory diver, its best feature was the exosuit’s hands. The left hand resembled a V-shaped jaw, enabling the diver to grab bulky items. The right hand, or parallel jaw, was known as the five-pronged pretender that mimicked a human hand.
As much as Captain Toby wanted to be aboard the DSC-7 that day, his job was to feed information to the journalists who’d be selling the importance of his work to the world. Every research scientist knows the importance of raising money to keep their projects ongoing. The success of this discovery would ensure funding for his work at Woods Hole for many years.
Despite the complex technology associated with the DSC-7, its operation was remarkably simple. Descend. Monitor your gauges. Ascend following established protocols. It’s what happens when the HOV reaches the ocean floor and the exosuit is inhabited by a brave, untethered diver in the darkest parts of the planet that stress levels rise for all involved.
The three-person crew of this historic dive was led by Alvin Masterson, a former Navy diver who’d become known for exploring the wreckage of the Titanic. His first mate on the DSC-7, Andrea Koslov, was a Russian-born scientist who’d been on the crew of the ship that monitored the James Cameron dive nearly two decades prior. She’d come out of retirement to assist Captain Toby on this research mission.
Finally, a NASA astronaut was chosen as the third crew member in the event Masterson deemed the conditions safe enough to conduct an exosuit dive. Walt Ballard had been a frequent crew member of the International Space Station and logged many hours walking in space. When Project Artemis was being developed on the lunar surface, he’d helped supervise its construction operations. There were definite similarities between walking on the moon and using the exosuit for deep-sea exploration. Ballard was more than capable of venturing outside the DSC-7 if the situation warranted.
As Masterson piloted the HOV, the crew of the DSC-7 was filled with nervous excitement, as were those aboard the Sea Searcher I.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
One Hundred Seventy Miles off the North Coast of Puerto Rico
The Puerto Rico Trench
Depth: 27,840 feet
Fathoms: 4,640
The Deepsea Challenger 7
North Atlantic Ocean
Masterson wiped the sweat from his palms as he checked the depth indicator on the control panel of the DSC-7. Twenty-six thousand feet. Seven miles of water above their heads. He slowed the descent and studied his sonar. A more detailed view of the ocean’s surface revealed itself. It was remarkably flat, much like the world according to ancient mariners. He checked his atmospheric conditions. Inside the HOV, all indicators were right where they should be. Outside the DSC-7, seventeen thousand pounds per square inch of water pressure threatened to crush them.
Koslov, the cool cucumber who’d performed more deep-water excursions than anyone associated with the Sea Searcher expedition, called out the numbers as Masterson slowed their descent.
“Twenty-seven thousand. Illuminating external lighting.”
Ballard leaned forward between the seats like a little kid trying to see where his parents were taking him. Their submersible cockpit was surrounded by racks of computer monitors and electronics. A jungle of vine-like wires wrapped throughout the compartment like a bad case of overgrown kudzu taking over the side of a hill.
“Easy now,” muttered Masterson as t
hey reached twenty-seven thousand five hundred feet. “We’ll need clearance to maneuver.”
“Well done, Al,” said Ballard with an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
“Thanks, Walt. I kinda know what Buzz Aldrin felt like when he set the lunar module down.”
“Shittin’ bricks?” said Ballard, a Savannah, Tennessee, native.
Masterson laughed. “I took some Imodium before we boarded just to make sure that didn’t happen.”
Koslov adjusted the exterior lighting and then checked their global positioning coordinates. “We’re half a mile north of the wreckage. I’ll text the Sea Searcher and advise.” At this depth, voice communications were not possible, but advanced technology did allow the crew of the DSC-7 to reach out to the surface. Ballard fired off a text and jokingly wrote “the eagle has landed,” a nod to the historic lunar landing Masterson had referenced. He followed up with their location and advised they were half a mile away from the wreckage.
“Course charted,” announced Masterson. He released the controls and allowed the DSC-7 onboard computers to guide them to the coordinates of the wreck. Now, all three of them could wait for the external illumination to reveal the wreck that had led to this consequential dive.
Suddenly, they were engulfed in some type of furry green organisms.
“What the hell?” asked Ballard.
Koslov explained, “Impossible.”
“What?” Ballard’s question showed his concern. He didn’t believe in little green men; therefore space travel didn’t cause him any form of angst. However, the furry pelted worms covering their glass shield did.
“No worries, Mr. Ballard,” she explained. “Those appear to be Pompeii worms. It’s odd to find them in this location. They’re normally found in the hydrothermal vents of the Pacific Ocean. The furry pelt you see is a fleece-like covering over its back that insulates it from extreme heat and cold. There must be a hydrothermal vent nearby.”
“That’s where they live?” he asked.
“No, but the vents supply sulfur for bacteria to live off, which in turn are digested by the worms.”
Masterson glanced at the ocean’s water temperature. “Check it out. Seventy-six degrees.”
“There you have it,” said Koslov. “The vent is probably in the vicinity. In technical terms, they’re called hydrothermal megaplumes. These black smokers, as they’re referred to in seaman’s terms, spew out superheated mineral-infused water that can measure up to seven hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The water will rise to the surface and gradually cool as it encounters the freezing columns of seawater. Then it will achieve neutral buoyancy. That accounts for the unusual sea life found by the prior expedition.”
“Exciting beyond words,” said Ballard. He’d be more impressed with little green men. He pointed forward. The Pompeii worms were dissipating. Their departure was commensurate with the water temperatures dropping drastically toward the thirties. “Holy shit! Back it off, Al!”
Masterson reactively pulled back on the throttle, overriding the computer’s control of the submersible. The main propulsion slowed, but the stabilizers that maintained a steady two hundred feet above the ocean floor continued to allow the DSC-7 to hover safely. Even at this distance from the ocean floor, the forced air caused bits of floating sediment to float all around them.
The three of them were awestruck and sat in complete silence as their view cleared and they were able to observe their surroundings. A layer of greenish-brown silt covered their discovery, softening the outlines of debris forced off the ocean floor when the wreckage had found its final resting place. Several large dark fish swam through the light, uninterested in the presence of the newcomers.
The hulking ruin of the submarine emerged from the sea floor like the carcass of a megalodon in a sci-fi movie. Ballard reached behind his seat and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Masterson first, who then attempted to give it to Koslov. She waved her hand in the air, indicating that viewing the photo wasn’t necessary.
“It is a German U-boat. Type IX, most likely. And it is incredibly well preserved.”
“Seriously?” asked Ballard. “As in World War Two U-boat?”
“That’s the only kind, space cowboy,” quipped Masterson. “Let’s get a closer look.”
He dropped the DSC-7 toward the floor until he was barely fifty feet above the bottom. The HOV began to rock back and forth as if it had been caught up in some kind of underwater turbulence.
Koslov pointed to the ocean water temperature. “The wild swings are being caused by the hydrothermal vent emissions. See the rapid rise and fall of the numbers? It’s generating its own currents.”
“Control is difficult due to the unpredictability of the current,” observed Masterson. “We won’t be able to get the DSC-7 close enough to gather samples of the surrounding sand or any part of the U-boat for study.”
He approached the wreckage, giving them a better view. Sea growth, even at those incredible depths, had managed to consume the U-boat. Through the pitch-black waters, with the aid of the external lighting, they could see the rusty hull and the conning tower, which remained intact.
“We’ve gotta get a closer look at this sucker,” said Ballard as he removed his seat harness and stood hunched over in the compact crew compartment.
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Masterson.
“Come on, Al. You know it’s too dangerous to pull the HOV up next to this sub. The current’s too erratic. I’m pretty sure this fancy foam stuff would chip apart if it got bashed against the shredded hull of the wreckage.”
“He’s right,” added Koslov. “From what I can see, there is a clear opening to enter the wreckage just aft of the conn. The automatic recording devices contained within the exosuit will record all of his observations.”
“Right,” said Ballard as he started to walk backwards toward the separate, self-contained area containing the suit and the exit chamber into the water. “C’mon, Al. This is what I do and the only reason those smart guys asked me to come along. Let me do my thing.”
Masterson was responsible for the safety of the crew and the DSC-7. At the same time, this was the purpose of the dive. Otherwise, the people at Woods Hole would’ve dispatched a remote operating vessel to take photographs and video.
“All right, let’s get you on your way. But no risk-taking. Agreed?”
“Anchors aweigh!” Ballard replied with a thumbs-up.
Chapter Thirty
One Hundred Seventy Miles off the North Coast of Puerto Rico
The Puerto Rico Trench
Depth: 27,840 feet
Fathoms: 4,640
The Deepsea Challenger 7
North Atlantic Ocean
It took a certain kind of human being to walk in space. It was nothing short of a carefully calculated high-wire daredevil act without a net. The only thing connecting you to any possible rescue if things went south was a tether and a hook. As Ballard exited the DSC-7 in the exosuit, he compared the surge of adrenaline he was feeling to his first spacewalk. He was overcome with an incredible sense of freedom in which his entire life was solely within his control.
Now, alone, without a tether line or any means of returning to the relative safety of the HOV other than the operation of the thrusters that took a little getting used to, he was one man against the sea. He whispered to himself, “Bring it,” as he dropped to the ocean floor and began to slowly walk toward the wreckage of the U-boat.
He’d never examined a shipwreck before. In fact, he’d never performed an open-water dive using traditional scuba gear. Exploring the depths of the ocean in the exosuit was wholly different than the diving most people were familiar with. It was truly the same as spacewalking other than the totally weightless environment of space.
He could feel the buoyant nature of his suit wanting to pull him to the surface many miles above, yet the gravitational pull of Earth’s core kept his feet on the sandy floor. The scientists who’d designed the exosuit h
ad achieved the perfect balance to keep the diver where he wanted to be rather than fighting the two powerful hands of nature that were undoubtedly battling to take him up or down. As he contemplated his surroundings, he wondered, just as he had on his first spacewalk, what fool thought it was a good idea to undertake either one of these endeavors. Yet, there he was, taking a casual stroll in the deepest part of the Atlantic Ocean, in the midst of the Devil’s Triangle, to inspect a sunken U-boat. Fool times two.
Ballard smiled as he approached the hull of the sub. Moving along the ocean floor was easier than the skipping motion he’d used on the lunar surface. The thrusters, once he got the hang of them, made him feel like he was walking on a cloud. With the powerful light kit attached to his exosuit, visibility was outstanding.
He checked the screen staring back at him from the facial shield to confirm his cameras were recording. His exosuit vitals were right on target. Ballard, growing increasingly comfortable in his surroundings, picked up the pace as he approached the wreckage. He turned his upper body to record as much of the sub as the illumination would allow.
It appeared the U-boat had struck the ocean floor with the stern first. It was crushed and buckled. The bow then settled into the sand, displacing it as it slid down a slight incline to the deepest part of the Puerto Rico Trench.
He approached the conn. It was still solid. Then he used the downward slope to complete his examination of the sub by reaching the bow. It was completely intact except for a single hole near its normal waterline. The jagged opening was rusting and appeared large enough for him to pass through.
He moved closer and used the hull to brace himself against the occasional surge from the current. He searched for the sub’s identifying numbers. They must’ve been on the stern, he thought to himself. He came across what appeared to be a cartoonish drawing. An animated fish with a long bill that resembled a saw. A swordfish? Ballard didn’t know the history behind U-boats and their identifying badges. He just made sure the image appeared in the frame of his camera, and then he moved inside the hull.
