The Underground Voyage of the

     U-3036---Part I

     The boat slipped its moorings from the Lakefront Mall Pier on a clear, warm late September morning. A large crowd made up of the Mayor, local dignitaries, and people from the surrounding communities cheered as the submarine got under weigh and made for the northern point of the lake, while the University of Emmetsburg marching band thumped out a lusty rendition of Muss i' denn, muss i' denn, zum stadtele hinauss, and the six-inch guns of the cruiser Borealis fired a salute.

     When the cutlass-like prow of the sub was only 150 yards from the north lake shore, Kapitain Wassergott gave the order to dive. Crewmen and passengers scurried below decks as diving klaxons blared and hatches clanged down and were dogged shut.

     Wassergott well knew this was the tricky part. The lake was no more than fifty feet at its deepest point, and where she was heading was far from that area. The U-Boat risked running aground.

     But the National Geological Survey team, along with soundings and sonar scans indicated that a very large cave, perhaps one of the lake's sources, did in fact lie directly ahead. Forward scanning sonar and infrared confirmed that the lake-bed sloped downward at an angle of approximately 55 degrees, and a cavernous opening two hundred feet wide lay at the bottom of this slope.

     "I wish I'd known of this when we were first sent here," Wassergott mused aloud from his station on the bridge by the periscope. "You would've never found us."

     This reporter remarked that even so, he didn't think the U-3036 would have found much in the way of Allied shipping in the lake. The Kapitain merely shrugged, and ordered soundings taken every five minutes, and the boat's speed reduced to a bare three knots. Wassergott explained that he'd always evaded searching U.S. or Royal Navy destroyers at three knots, so he considered it a lucky speed.

     Continual sweeps and soundings confirmed the passage could easily accommodate the U-Boat, and forward scans showed the passage proceeding in a remarkably straight line. Scientific personnel speculated wildly about the tunnel's formation; some favoring a lava tube left over from some prehistoric eruption, others claiming it to be a subterranean river formed by glaciation during the Pleistocene period.

     Suddenly, the lead sonarman called out there was air above the water. When the Kapitain asked if he could surface the boat, sonar replied "Affirmative." Wassergott immediately ordered the boat to periscope depth. As compressed air being forced into the ballast tanks rumbled through the boat, she began to rise.

     "Battle stations! Action surface!" Wassergott ordered, an odd, gleeful twinkle in his pale Nordic eyes. His veteran crewmen assumed grave countenances.

     Dr. Stahl reminded Wassergott that although the boat's periscope was equipped with night imaging infrared, he doubted there would be enough ambient light to see anything. Wassergott acknowledged him with a curt nod, just as the helmsman announced periscope depth.

     "Action lights! Red!" Wassergott ordered. The normal lighting was instantly doused and the bridge was bathed in the eerie glow of red battle lights. "Ready attack periscope! Sonar, Conn. Any contacts?"

     "Nein, Herr Korvettenkapitain. Alles klär," replied sonar.

     Wassergott looked at his wrist chronometer, intently watching the sweep second hand.

     "What's he doing," Sgt. Major Skiles murmured in my ear. "Tracking the Lusitania?"

     "Schweig mal, bitte," Wassergott said evenly, without looking away from his watch. Then: "Up scope!"

     The periscope slid up from its well with a slight mechanical whirring. In one deft motion borne from years of practise, Wassergott shoved his visor cap farther back on his head, pulled down the scope's rotating handles, and glued his right eye to the eyepiece. He rotated the scope its full 360 degrees. He then stepped back from the periscope, and looked at me.

     "We're in a very big cavern," he announced. "I don't know how big, but it goes on for quite a ways both fore and aft."

     "The instruments will give us exact dimensions," Dr. Stahl patronized as if lecturing a freshman physics class. He then made to step to the periscope, but Wassergott restrained him, and, looking at me, indicated that I was to take the scope.

     I stepped forward while Dr. Stahl spluttered. It took a moment, even with the aid of the red battle lights on the bridge, to adjust to the periscopic view. "It is big," I agreed after rotating the scope. "Kapitain, it also looks like there's some kind of shelving or beach on either side."

     "Ja ," the Kapitain nodded. "Shall we take her all the way up?"

     "Sure," I replied. It was no skin off my nose. "The eggheads'll appreciate it."

     "Bitte, es tüt mir Leid, Herr Doktor," Wassergott interrupted. "Das ist nicht so." He then reached inside of his blue Kriegsmarine reefer jacket, and withdrew a sealed white envelope which, even in the dim red battle lights, bore the unmistakable seal of the Department of Defense. I removed a similar envelope from the breast pocket of my camouflage BDU blouse. We handed the envelopes to Dr. Stahl, who, perplexed, opened them and read them.

     "This is ridiculous!" Stahl protested. "I protest!"

     "Usual channels, Doc," I told him, retrieving my orders.

     "Campbell, how could they let an idiot like you... "

     "Want me to grease the Doc, Colonel?" Sgt. Major Skiles broke in. Stahl watched bug-eyed as the Sgt. major unflapped the holster at his waist which enclosed a Glöck .41 caliber semi-automatic pistol.

     "Oh," I put my hand to my chin, as if contemplating the question. "I dunno."

     Even in the red glow of the bridge lights, Stahl paled. He stepped back and made ready to run, although quick flight is difficult on a submarine.

     "Let me think about it." I turned to Wassergott. "It's your boat, Cap'n."

     Wassergott spun and snapped orders. Seconds later, compressed air blew water from the sub's ballast tanks with a groan. The boat rose, slowly on an even keel.

     "I told you she was a good boat," Wassergott nodded proudly.

     "We're on the surface," the bosun reported.

     "All stop! Dive planes level!" Wassergott shouted. The First Watch Officer, one of Wassergott's veterans named Marius Zündäpp, scurried up the steel ladder and undogged the locking wheel on the main hatch, and cracked it, one hand firmly holding his visor cap on his head. Hissing loudly, compressed air bled quickly from the interior of the boat. My ears popped, as did everyone else's.

     "I've always hated that," commented Dr. Stahl.

     "You get used to it in the Unterseebootwaffe ," said a smug Kapitain Wassergott. "If the internal air pressure wasn't kept higher than the external water pressure, we'd crumple like an empty can. And that, Herr Doktor, would really ruin your day."

     Sgt. Major Skiles asked if he should ready our own landing team.

     "No," I said. "Let the Weenies handle this one."

     In addition to the scientific people, we also had fifteen University of Emmetsburg ROTC seniors undergoing Ranger training ostensibly to provide security, although myself, Sgt. Major Skiles, and a real eight man SOG team were aboard should something really bad happen.

     "Send Elron with 'em, so they don't shoot each other or anyone else," I said. Never trust college kids with loaded weapons.

     The Sgt. Major nodded, and went off to get the junior John Waynes ready. I went up the ladder after Kapitain Wassergott, and followed by Dr. Stahl.

     It was dark in the cavern, and smelled damp, but a slight breeze blew.

     "There's fresh air coming from somewhere," Dr. Stahl observed before I could. Lights suddenly came on, momentarily blinding us. When I could see again, I noticed with approval that Wassergott's crew was on deck, readying three inflatable Zodiac assault boats. The science people were checking their gear, Dr. Johnson supervising them.

     "What do you think, Dr. Johnson?" I called down to him.

     He stopped and looked around before answering. "Damn big cave," was his reply.

     I had to agree. I went below for a cup of joe.

     The op went without a hitch. The eggheads didn't find anything.

     Day Three

     Past experience has taught me the value of patience on an extended ops. That experience came in handy now. There's just so much you can do to relieve boredom on a submarine. There is only so many times you can watch the Director's cut of Das Boot, or Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory; so many times you can attend graduate level Latin courses offered by Dr. Shapiro.

     I'd even given up verbally sparring with Dr. Stahl; yes, I'm the first to admit that he's a genius in his field, and had greatly assisted the US Government since the end of WWII, but his Germanic sense of humor kept him from any really good high reparteé.

     Kapitain Wassergott, on the other hand, never missed an opportunity to barb and bait his fellow countryman. If I hadn't already known there was bad blood between them, I'm really aware of it now.

     Day Four

     I had just dozed off in my bunk in the tiny cabin that my field rank warranted, when I was gently shaken awake by the Sgt. Major.

     "Sorry, Colonel," he apologized. "Cap'n Wassergott wants you on the bridge.

     "What is it?" I asked, sitting up and reaching for my side-arm.

     "It's real weird, that's what it is."

     Buckling on my pistol belt, I followed the Sgt. Major down the companionway the short distance to the bridge. There, I found Wassergott, Stahl, and the rest of the boat's scientific community gathered around the GPS console. As I entered, the group parted for me like I was Chuck Heston.

     "What's up?" I asked.

     "First of all, we are running submerged," Wassergott said. "Second, we are no longer underground."

     My mind, still somewhat fuzzy from the short snooze, focused.

     "Where are we? Are we in one of the lakes?"

     "Herr Oberst," Wassergott grimaced, "we're lost."

     "Huh?" I managed. Then I shifted my gaze to Dr. Stahl, who looked, I must say, profoundly worried.

     "He's right," Stahl replied with a humility that I dared not think he possessed. "Look at the GPS."

     The Global Positioning System screen was blank. Now I suddenly felt concerned. "Maybe its' broken."

     "No," said the operator. "I ran a complete diagnostic. The satellite downlink vanished twenty minutes ago."

     "Maybe the satellite's out," I suggested, not too convincingly.

     The GPS operator shook his head. "This system relies on four out of seven satellites. They're all gone!"

     "Radio?" I asked, growing alarmed.

     "No transmissions on any wavelength. All computer links are down. Even the cellphones are out."

     "What's it like topside?"

     "Water everywhere," Wassergott said. "Small islands scattered about covered with vegetation. Water depth beneath the keel is 250 metres."

     Again, I looked at Stahl. "Okay, Doc. What gives?"

     Stahl shrugged. He looked very unhappy. "I wish I could tell you."

     "Sonar has also reported several anomalous underwater contacts," Wassergott continued. "Biologicals."

     "Anything on video?"

     The Kapitain shook his head. I thought about this.

     "Where's the rest of the reporters?"

     "In the forward wardroom, watching Cabaret."

     "Good," I said. "Leave 'em there for now." I looked over at Dr. Stahl.

     "Okay, Doc. Do you have any suggestions?"

     His countenance suddenly became smug. "Orders state that you are in charge. This is your responsibility, Herr Oberst."

     "Fuck you very much too, Doc. Kapitain, I think we should surface and have a look around."

     "Mir auch," Wassergott concurred, and began issuing the orders. As the boat surfaced, the Kapitain once more ordered battle stations, action surface. I turned to Sgt. Major Skiles.

     "Get our people ready. Disarm the ROTC pukes and have 'em help the crew and the scientists."

     The steersman reported that we were on the surface; Kapitain Wassergott ordered all ahead slow. Although the gradual ascent to the surface had been gentle, the media folks in the for'ard wardroom were somehow alerted, and would have crowded onto the bridge had not Sgt. Major Skiles suddenly barred their way.

     Their vociferous protests about First Amendment rights and promised unlimited media access trailed away to silence at the sight of the M-16A2 with attached M-203 grenade launcher that the Sgt. Major held across his camouflaged chest.

     "Sorry, folks," he said with a none-to-friendly smile. "National Security matter. You'll have to wait in the for'ard wardroom. There'll be a full briefing in the near future."

     He then herded them off the bridge. As soon as I struggled into my Alice gear, I detailed one of the ROTC Weenies with an unloaded weapon to keep an eye on them.

     Once topside, I noticed that our surroundings were, well, weird as the people on the bridge had said. We were definitely above ground. The sky was blue in all directions, a very vivid blue, dotted here and there with fleecy white clouds. I noticed the air temp felt cooler than normal. A slight haze hung over the water. Birds---or something---soared high above.

     "Gents," I said. "Any ideas?"

     "Possible nuke strike," said Duke, one of my SOG team.

     "Nein," said Dr. Stahl. "We would've heard the war warning, and our instruments would have detected it. Besides, the rad sensors indicate lower than normal radiation levels."

     "None of that explains an inland sea where none should be," added Dr. Johnson.

     A low but fair-sized island was off the port quarter. "Dr. Johnson," I said after examining the island through my binoculars. "Put your people ashore on that island and see what you can come up with."

     "Belay that," snapped Wassergott, suddenly rushing up from below to the attack binoculars. "Herr Oberst, radar is picking up a large stationary metallic target off the starboard bow, bearing 018 degrees, range 800 metres. No IFF or radio identification request."

     "Oh?" was all I could manage.

     "For'ard torpedo room, Conn.!" Wassergott shouted in to his mike. "Load tubes one through four!" The Kapitain, who prided himself on being able to sink a charging destroyer with one torpedo end-on, was obviously perturbed.

     "These Mk-48s practically aim themselves," he said. Okay, maybe he wasn't that perturbed. But he wasn't taking any chances. One Mk-48 packed five times the explosive punch in its warhead than one of the torps he had fired 50 years earlier.

     After a hurried consultation, we decided that a closer look at the target was in order. Wassergott ordered the boat to a course of 018.

     "All ahead half," he concluded.

     As Radar chimed the decreasing range, tension increased as we closed on the contact. The light haze lowered visibility to about three hundred metres. Wassergott ordered the forward and aft 30 mm flak turrets locked, loaded, and made ready. He also ordered tubes one through four flooded.

     "Ship four points off the starboard bow!" one of the mast lookouts suddenly shouted, causing everyone on the conning tower to jump and look to the right.

     At first we could see nothing but mist and water grass. Then, a long, dull ship took substance through the haze. About three hundred feet in length, with a straight bow. What appeared to be several gantry-like objects projected from the deck aft of the bridge, some hanging at odd angles.

     "Conn., IR. We have definite heat source aboard target!"

     Korvettenkapitain Wassergott grabbed the mike authoritatively.

     "Open doors on tubes one and four! Marius, plot a firing solution to the target, and hold!"

     "Doors on tubes one and four opened, Herr Korvettenkapitain!"

     We were now extremely ready, and loaded for bear.

     "Mein Gott," Wassergott murmurred, peering through the attack binoculars. "It's...a wreck," he announced. "All ahead slow."

     The sub's reduction in speed was noticable by the reduction of it's bow wake. We were now less than 100 metres from the ship.

     I say ship , but I should really describe it as garbage. With her hull buckled out amidships and the upperworks collapsed onto the main deck, she looked as if she had been dropped from a great height.

     "We are closing on her stern," Kapitain Wassergott announced.

     The wreck lay aground on one of the small islands that dotted the area; it's stern in the water, it's bow driven deeply into a sand bank.

     We closed to within 75 metres of her. The stern was clearly visible.

     Dr. Stahl and I grabbed Zeiss binoculars and peered quite intently at the stern.

     "I make out. . . U . . . S . . . S . . . C . . . Y . . . ," Dr. Stahl intoned.

     Rust and corrosion obscured much, but I was able to finish.

     "O. . . P. . .S". I lowered the field glasses. "Cyclops. USS Cyclops."

     Dr. Stahl turned to Kapitain Wassergott. "We must send a party aboard. Naturally, I will accompany them."

     "IR reports heat sources aboard that vessel! Do you know what it is? Do you even know where we are?" Wassergott retorted. "If the safety of my boat and crew is in question..." and to back up this fact, he reached for the Walther P-38 holstered at his right hip.

     Having been in similar situations several times in my career as a US Army officer, I placed a gently restraining hand upon his gold-braided wrist, and winked at him. "He's right. Me and Sarn't Major Skiles'll lead it. In any case, your crew is more than capable of taking care of themselves."

     He suddenly turned on Dr. Stahl, waved the blued muzzle of the P-38 in the scientist's face and snarled bitterly. "This is how we were taken prisoner by a Civil War veteran in the first place. Thanks to you , Herr Doktor, and your meddling with the forces of nature!"

     "I was following orders!" Stahl stepped back, ran into the bulwark of the conning tower. "As were you!" He gave a weak smile.

     "Okay," Sgt. Major Skiles stepped between them. "Let's just be cool, okay?"

     The moment of intensity passed. Wassergott lowered the pistol. "Ja. Okay, Hauptfeldwebel. Kool. Herr Doctor, when we get back, you pay your bar tab. In Full!"

     This, I knew, was serious. But I had no choice but to let it pass. At the moment, I had more important things to worry about than aging Nazis threatening each other with handguns.

     Within twenty minutes, myself, Sgt. Major Skiles, Dr. Stahl and my eight-member SOG team were aboard three Zodiac assault rafts, heading for the wreck.

     Crouched in the front of our Zodiac, Sgt. Major Skiles leaned closer to me.

     "Colonel," he said, in voice loud enough for me to hear over the outboard motor but inaudible to the others. "You know me. I don't ask questions. But what the fuck is that wreck? I mean, you and Doc Nazi... "

     "Shane," I said. "The USS Cyclops was a fleet collier back when the Navy still used coal to fuel a lot of it's warships. She was reported missing near the area of the Bermuda Triangle in March of 1918."

     Sgt. Major Skiles relaxed somewhat. "Y'know, Skipper? Ever since I was assigned to your outfit, I kinda overlook shit like this. Well, if there's any really weird shit, we'll know what to do."

     To be continued...