Clive Cussler - Crescent Dawn

A near century underwater had taken its toll on the World War I British cruiser. The vessel appeared as a tangled mass of rusted steel, sitting upright on the bottom with a heavy lean to starboard. Sections of the ship were nearly buried in sand, due to the effects of a scouring current. Summer could see that the superstructure had long since collapsed, while the teak decking had eroded away decades ago. Even sections of the hull plating had fallen in. The grand cruiser and survivor of Jutland was sadly just a shadow of her former self.

Dahlgren guided the submersible over the Hampshire ’s stern, hovering above it like a helicopter. He then piloted it across the ship’s length until reaching the bow, which was partially buried in the sand, the ship having augured into the seabed by her prow. He turned and guided the submersible several more times across its length, a video camera capturing digital footage while a secondary still camera snapped images that would later be pieced into a mosaic photo of the entire wreck.

As they returned to the stern, Summer pointed to a jagged hole cut into the exposed deck plate near an aft hold. Beside the hole was an orderly pile of debris that stood several feet high.

“That’s an odd hole,” she remarked. “Doesn’t look like it had anything to do with the ship’s sinking.”

“The pile of debris alongside tells me that some salvors have been aboard,” Dahlgren said. “Did somebody get inside her before the government protected the wreck site?”

“Yes, the wreck was first discovered by Sir Basil Zaharoff in the nineteen thirties and partially salvaged,” Julie said. “They were after some gold rumored to have been aboard. Due to the treacherous currents, they reportedly didn’t salvage a great deal off the ship. Nobody seems to believe they found much gold, if any at all.”

Dahlgren guided them over the curved surface of the stern hull until he found a pair of empty drive shafts protruding from below.

“Somebody got her big bronze propellers, anyway,” Dahlgren noted.

“The British government didn’t secure the wreck site until 1973. No one has legally been allowed to dive on the wreck since. It took me three years to obtain approval simply to conduct a photographic survey, and that only happened because my uncle is an MP.”

“Never hurts to have family in high places,” Dahlgren remarked, giving Summer a wink.

“I’m just glad your agency offered the resources to help,” Julie said. “I’m not sure I could have obtained the grant money necessary to hire a commercial submersible and crew.”

“We had the help of a couple of Cambridge microbiologists on our Norway project,” Dahlgren replied. “Brought some Old Speckled Hen with them. Darn nice people, so we were only glad to reciprocate.”

“Old Speckled Hen?” Julie asked.

“An English beer,” Summer said with a slight roll of her eyes. “The fact of the matter is, once Jack heard there was a shipwreck involved, there was no way we weren’t going to help.”

Dahlgren just smiled as he powered the submersible along a few feet above the cruiser. “Let’s see if we can find out where they struck that mine,” he said finally.

“Was it a mine or a torpedo that sank the Hampshire ?” Summer asked.

“Most historians believe she struck a mine. There was a fierce gale blowing the night she sank. The Hampshire attempted to sail with several escort destroyers, but they couldn’t keep pace in the rough seas so the cruiser continued on without them. An explosion occurred near the bow, which supports a collision with a mine. The German submarine U-75 was in the area and had reported releasing a number of mines farther up the coast.”

“It sounds as if it was a terrible tragedy,” Summer remarked.

“The ship sank in less than ten minutes. Only a handful of lifeboats were lowered, and they were either crushed against the ship or capsized in the heavy seas. Those men that were able to stay afloat were still doused by the frigid water. Most of the crew died of exposure long before reaching shore. Of the six hundred and fifty-five crewmen aboard, only twelve men survived.”

“Lord Kitchener not being one of them,” Summer said quietly. “Did they find his body?”

“No,” Julie replied. “The famed field marshal didn’t take to the lifeboats but went down with the ship.”

A reflective silence filled the submersible as the occupants pondered the sunken war grave visible just beneath them. Dahlgren steered along the port hull near the main deck, which had collapsed in some areas by several feet. As they neared the bow, Dahlgren detected some buckling along the hull plates. Then the underwater lights fell upon a gaping cavity near the waterline that stretched almost twenty feet across.

“No wonder she sank so fast,” Dahlgren remarked. “You could drive a pickup truck through that hole.”

He angled the submersible until its lights were pointed inside the blast hole, revealing a twisted mass of metallic carnage that spread over two decks. A large haddock emerged from the interior, staring curiously at the bright lights before disappearing into the darkness.

“Are the cameras still shooting?” Julie asked. “This will make for some great research footage.”

“Yes, we’re still rolling,” Summer replied. “Jack, can you move us a little closer to the impact?” she asked, staring intently out the view port.

Dahlgren tweaked the propulsion controls until they hovered just a foot or two from the gouged section of hull.

“Something in particular catch your eye?” Julie asked.

“Yes. Take a look at the blast edge.”

Julie scanned the jagged rust-covered steel without comprehension. In the pilot’s seat, Dahlgren’s eyes suddenly widened.

“I’ll be. The lip of that mangled steel looks to be shoved outward,” he said.

“Appears to be the case around the entire perimeter,” Summer said.

Julie looked from Dahlgren to Summer in confusion.

“What are you saying?” she finally asked.

“I think she’s saying that the Germans got a bum rap,” Dahlgren replied.

“How so?”

“Because,” Summer said, pointing to the hole, “the blast that sank the Hampshire appears to have come from inside the ship.”

Ninety minutes later, the trio sat in the wardroom of the Odin reviewing video footage of the Hampshire on a large flat-screen monitor. Dahlgren sped through the wreck’s initial footage, then slowed the viewing speed as the camera approached the port-side hole. Julie and Summer sat alongside with their noses to the screen, carefully studying the images.

“Stop right there,” Summer directed.

Dahlgren froze the video on a close-up image of the shattered hull plate.

“That view shows it quite clearly,” Summer said, pointing to the serrated steel edge that flared out like flower petals. “The force of the blast that created that had to come from within the ship.”

“Could it have been caused by Zaharoff’s salvage team?” Julie asked.

“Not likely,” Dahlgren replied. “Though they probably made use of explosives here and there, they probably cut their way into the interior spaces they were seeking. They would have had no reason to create such a massive entry point, especially this close to the main deck.” He hit the “Play” button on the video controls as he spoke. “We saw evidence of an internal explosion all around the opening, which wouldn’t be the case if Zaharoff had just tried to enlarge the existing hole.”

“How about an internal munitions explosion that might have been triggered by a mine or torpedo attack?” Summer asked.

“Not big enough,” Dahlgren replied. “From what we could view inside, there was plenty of internal damage, but it was all focused near the hull. If the ship’s munitions had gone off, it would have blown away major sections of the ship.”