“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 had 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
