“Is there a problem with its power supply?” asked Claussen. The gyrocompass was powered by alternating current electricity. The electric supply was produced by a motor generator, and most submarines were equipped with a backup.
The helmsman contacted the engineering room and ordered them to check the generator. They responded that there were no issues.
Throughout the frantic activities of Claussen and the helmsman, Müller stood to the side, calmly smoking his cigarette.
“You should surface, der Dommkopf.” Imbecile.
“Shut up!” Claussen yelled back.
Suddenly, the nose of the submarine lurched downward, throwing all standing onto the floor or into the control panel where the navigation crew were seated.
“Rise! Rise! Rise!” ordered Claussen as he found his footing and gripped a railing along the upper level of the conn.
Müller was relentless in criticism. “I told you, der Dommkopf.”
Claussen responded with his fist. He uncharacteristically spun around and leveled a right blow to Müller’s mouth, cramming the cigarette hanging between his lips into his chin.
Müller was startled at first and then retaliated. He charged at Claussen, lowering his head and driving the crown into the commander’s sternum. Both men fell to the floor of the conn.
Schultze tried to come to his commander’s aide. He grabbed Müller by the collar of his uniform and rolled him off Claussen, who was winded from the blow to his chest. Müller fought Schultze by kneeing him in the groin and then delivering a punishing blow to his throat.
“Herr Oberleutnant! She is not responding!”
“You have killed us all!” snarled Müller, who dropped to his knees to pummel Claussen. The commander’s face was bloodied and his nose was broken. Other members of the crew joined the fray. Within seconds, an all-out brawl ensued between Claussen’s men and those loyal to Müller. Gunshots rang out within the conn, and soon firefights broke out within the U-boat as the two sides attempted to seize power of the sub.
The young helmsman desperately tried to maintain control of U-1226. He was navigating blind as his control panel flickered and the gyroscope continued to spin wildly out of control.
U-1226 was off course, some one hundred miles northwest of Puerto Rico. It was also dangerously below its collapse depth. If it submerged any more, the immense water pressure would breach the hull.
While the fifty-six crew members of U-1226 fought for the right to control the submarine, the waters of the Bermuda Triangle claimed another victim.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aboard the Sea Searcher I
One Hundred Seventy Miles North of Puerto Rico
North Atlantic Ocean
The southernmost part of the North Atlantic Ocean between bewitchingly beautiful Bermuda with its pink sand beaches, the U.S. coastline lined with condominiums, and the north shore of Puerto Rico was one of the few places on Earth still wrapped in an aura of superstitious mystery.
The Bermuda Triangle, also known as the Devil’s Triangle, the Twilight Zone, the Limbo of the Lost and even the Hoodoo Sea, covered half a million square miles of the North Atlantic. It doesn’t appear on any world maps, and the U.S. Board on Geographic Names refuses to officially recognize the Bermuda Triangle as being a part of the Atlantic Ocean. But make no mistake, pilots and sailors alike will repeat the legends of unexplained occurrences dating back to the 1800s, which included ships swallowed by the sea and planes disappearing from the sky. In some cases, they reappeared again.
As was often the case when epic tales and folklore became popular, the naysayers worked overtime to prove the stories to be false or simply coincidental. There’s always a party pooper. Scientists used theories ranging from frequent tropical storm activity to a strong ocean current that often caused sharp changes in the weather. Others simply stated human error was to blame for the mysterious disappearances and that the shipwrecks or plane crashes weren’t out of the ordinary. Those who actually sailed the waters of the Bermuda Triangle and pilots who’d cheated death when in the area respectfully disagreed.
The early origins of the region’s mystical reputation dated as far back as Columbus. During his travels leading to the discovery and exploration of America, he frequently recorded his observations in his journals. There were the frightening screeches of the múcaro común, a rare owl indigenous to Puerto Rico, and the humanlike squeals of wild pigs that inhabited the islands. To the north end of the enigmatic waters, the cahow birds of Bermuda would circle ships that passed by. They were soon to blame for the terrifying shipwrecks that occurred along Bermuda’s treacherous stretch of reefs.
Over time, as American pop culture got into the business of defining and explaining the unusual events, everything from alien activity to sorcery became possible causes. Regardless, the mysteries had never been completely solved, and the fact remained that the Bermuda Triangle was responsible for more inexplicable maritime and aircraft disasters than any other stretch of ocean in the world.
Captain Tobias ten Brink was once a research geophysicist with the U.S. Geological Survey before being recruited as an adjunct scientist with the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, a nonprofit facility dedicated to the study of marine science. His study of underwater tectonic processes had led him to the deepest depths of the world’s oceans and made him a highly sought-after candidate to work with Woods Hole not only as a researcher but as a mentor for their next generation of marine geoscientists.
Captain Toby, as he was called by everyone, was an amiable person. He was known for his outgoing personality and willingness to engage in long conversations with anyone showing an interest in his research. On this particular expedition, undertaken in conjunction with the Ocean Exploration Trust, he was following up on the revelation of nearly one hundred newly discovered sea creatures existing in the Puerto Rico Trench, the deepest in the Atlantic Ocean.
He’d awaken bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that morning, as he liked to say, raring to meet another beautiful day on the sea. The sun was bright that late-July day as the Sea Searcher I sailed across the whitecapped waters of
