Crescent Dawn

“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.”

“Then that leaves an internal explosion,” Julie said. “Perhaps there is something to the old rumors after all.”

“What rumors would those be?” Summer asked.

“The death of Lord Kitchener in 1916 was a momentous event. He had been the hero of Khartoum in the Sudan two decades earlier and was considered a key architect for the eventual defeat of Germany in World War One. Of course, he may have been best known for his iconic recruiting poster, which displayed his image pointing an outstretched finger, urging you to join the Army. When his body was never found, wild conspiracy theories took root, suggesting that he had survived the sinking or that a double had been sailing in his place. Others claimed that the IRA had planted a bomb aboard the ship when it was overhauled in Belfast a few months earlier.”

“I guess this throws a new wrench into your biography,” Summer remarked.

“Is that why you wanted to survey the Hampshire , because of Kitchener?” Dahlgren asked.

Julie nodded. “Documenting the state of the Hampshire was actually suggested by my dean, but the driving force was certainly my biography of the field marshal. I guess I’ll have to return to Kitchener’s old estate near Canterbury and take another look at his archives.”

“Canterbury?” Summer asked. “That’s not too far from London, is it?”

“No, less than a hundred miles.”

“London is my next stop after we return to Yarmouth.”

“Yarmouth is our next port of call after we drop you at Kirk-wall,” Dahlgren explained to Julie. “We’re going to resupply there, then some of us are headed to Greenland for another project,” he added, giving Summer an envious look.

“I will be flying to Istanbul next week to join my brother on a project in the Mediterranean.”

“Sounds sunny and warm,” Julie said.

“You’re telling me,” Dahlgren grunted.

“Maybe I can help you with your research for a few days, before my flight leaves London,” Summer offered.

“You’d do that?” Julie asked, surprised at the offer. “Diving into some dusty old books is not the same as diving into a shipwreck.”