The Underground Voyage of

     the U-3036: Part II

     We beached the boats on the island, determining that it would be a shorter climb up onto the wreck from the land. Close examination of the wreck revealed that she'd been there quite a while. The steel was rusted through in many places, her wartime grey paintwork was covered with rust.

     "Skipper, one of the gangway hatches is open on her landward side. It's only about six, seven foot up. We can rig an assault ladder."

     "Make it so," I commanded, and the ever loyal Sgt. Major began barking orders.

     The rope and steel rung ladder was made fast to the hatchway. There was some argument about whom should be the first aboard the relic. As expected, Dr. Stahl declined the honor. Skiles said he would, go, but I quickly put the kibosh on that. Regimental Gunnery Sgt. Majors are the backbone of our fighting military. I said I would go first.

     Before the good Sgt. Major could protest that I was in charge, and shouldn't be the first victim of a possible ambush, I had slung my CAR-15, and went up the ladder.

     When I boarded her, I was immediately aware of the smell of decay; old decay. Rot. And darkness. I flipped on the video light attached to my K-pot, and tried the commlink.

     "When you guys come on, " I said through the mike, "be careful. The footing's not that secure. Sgt. Major, bring 'em up. Leave three to hold the outside."

     I was immediately joined by Skiles, and the rest of the SOG team. They were followed by a reluctant Dr. Stahl, his eggheads, and the four U-Boat men that Wassergott had insisted we bring.

     We were in a companionway, a long corridor which ran along the #2 deck of the ship. The brainiacs checked their equipment.

     "The pilot bridge is that way," Stahl said pointing toward the bow. He peered at his TIR gear. "But thermal radar imaging indicate that there are two heat sources, one down below, amidships, and a larger one forward. It looks like there is a group of something just above the forward coal bunker."

     "Right," I turned to Skiles. "Okay. Sarn't Major, you, Godfrey. Cadfael, Jakobi, and the Doc, we'll check out the large thermal source. "Fatso," I turned to Sgt. Judson. "Take Duke and the Krauts and check out the smaller source 'midships." I spoke into my headset mike to the team outside. "Maggio, you, Warden and Ike see what you can find. If you get in the shit, sing out. Okay, people, lock and load."

     Sgt. Judson took his team down the companionway, careful of the rotting decks. We didn't notice when he went belowdecks, as we were busy heading forward.

     It was an incredible journey. Our progress was slowed somewhat by twisted and buckled decks and bulkheads.

     "How long d'you think she's been here, Doc?" I casually inquired of Stahl.

     "It is hard to say. She could have been here anywhere from fifty to a thousand years."

     I was at the point of yet again agreeing with him, when I stumbled across something rather unpleasant at my booted feet.

     I held up my right hand, signaling 'Halt', and bent to examine what lay on the deck. One look confirmed in my mind what I had trod upon. I motioned Sgt. Major Skiles to join me. He knelt, his visage grim with realization.

     "It's a squid," he said. "What's left of one."

     "A squid, you dumbfuck Nazi! " Skiles snarled. "A sailor. United States Navy. Look." He touched what had once been a white denim dixie-cup, a sailor's cap. It promptly disintegrated.

     The remains themselves were a jumble of bones that looked like a pile of rusty metal; there was very little left of the man's dungarees. All that was identifiable for sure were the shoes that lay where his feet had once existed.

     "How long has he been here?" I asked.

     "He should have dog tags, they're nickel and should have lasted," I told him, standing. "They won't be like ours, they're more circular."

     Skiles, gingerly probed through the neck area of the ancient mariner and discovered a set of WWI era identity discs. He tried to read the name, but I snatched them away and put them in the pocket of my BDUs. Skiles understood.

     "Doc, collect what you can of the body, quick. We still got work to do."

     On our journey forward, we encountered several more sets of remains.

     Maggio's voice crackled on the com-link saying he'd found what looked like a large farm propane tank configured as a submarine. I told him to secure it, and we'd pick it up when we left.

     We worked our way to the for bridge of the wreck, collecting dogtags from other encrusted remains until we finally came topside. There, we encountered what has to be one of the weirdest scenes I have ever encountered. And believe me, I've had my share.

     One of the forward coal-hoisting gantries had collapsed over the pilot bridge. As we moved forward to investigate, we came upon another set of human remains. Unlike the others, this one was a well preserved skeleton. His clothing was more or less intact; clad in what appeared to be a red union-suit, or 'long handles', as they called long underwear in those days. A once black derby-hat, now turned green from oxidation, lay next to its skull. An M-1911A1 semi-automatic pistol with three empty magazines, all heavily rusted, and green spent cartridge casings lay strewn around the body.

     "Doesn't look like he's been here as long as the others," the Sgt. Major observed.

     "He's been here just as long as the others, said Stahl. "Look at where he is: there is a lot of copper sheathing to protect the ship's compass from magnetic anomalies caused by the ship's steel."

     Stahl was about to examine the body, when Fatso Judson crackled in my headset:

     "Colonel, y'gotta get down here! We found a guy alive!"

     Just as I was acknowledging the radio call, a bluish-green flash sizzled above my head, striking a gantry-post.

     "Watch it, Colonel!" the Sgt. Major shouted. "Let's haul ass!" He put his modified M-16A2 on full rock an' roll and opened up as all hell broke loose...

     (Colonel Campbell's journal breaks off, no doubt edited for security reasons. It is hoped that someday soon, the Colonel will be allowed to restore this most exciting part to our record.---Ed.)

     "Dammit, that was a close call," I said, checking my spare mags, and hurrying with the others to the midships, where Judson and his team were awaiting us. Dr. Stahl kept a close eye on his thermal imaging tracker, to keep tabs on our unexpected company. I got on the horn to Maggio and told him to get the Zodiacs fired up.

     "Doc, how close are they?"

     Stahl checked his TIR. "They're now in two groups trying to outflank us."

     "Move, people!" I shouted. "C'mon, you lugs! Haul ass!"

     We gingerly but quickly reached the hatch by which we had entered. Sgt. Judson's team and the man they had found were already ashore. Once ashore, I ordered everyone to the Zodiacs, one of which had a strange, propane-tank like device in tow.

     "Colonel, just what the hell are those things?" Duke asked as we sped back to the submarine. I merely glanced at Dr. Stahl, and shrugged.

     I had no further time for discourse as more of the blue-green bolts hissed over our heads. Several of the team returned fire from their weapons.

     "Cease fire!" I ordered. "They're out of range!" The bolts hit the water around our speeding rafts, sending up gouts of hissing steam. I radioed Kapitain Wassergott, told him we needed suppresion fire in support. Wassergott acknowledged.

     The wreck was out of range of our M-16s, but not the M-203 launchers.

     "Shane! Four rounds of 40 mike-mike! Now!"

     Sgt. Major Skiles elevated his grenade launcher. Four 40 mm grenades popped from our raft. The first missed, the remaining three hit the wreck, bursting on the deck. Their fire slackened for a moment, then resumed.

     Then the four 30mm antiaircraft guns on the U-3036 opened up on the wreck.

     "Heads down, people! We got friendly fire incoming!"

     I followed the 30mm tracers arcing over our heads as they struck the Cyclops, blasting the wreck's decking into clouds of rust with each hit. The hostile fire immediately slackened again.

     "I wish we had some of those zap guns," said the Sgt. Major.

     "Sorry," I answered. "I didn't think we'd need 'em this trip."

     It was then that I got my first good look at the man that Judson's team had found on the ship, as he was now riding in our Zodiac.

     His hair and beard were unkempt and shot through with streaks of grey and white. His clothing appeared to be some sort of gray-green uniform. I say clothing, but it was more like a filthy set of rags with what appeared to be some sort of insignia on it. He reminded me of what Jesus might have looked like after a week-long bender.

     "Who's your friend?" I asked Sgt. Judson.

     "Dunno, sir," the Sgt. said. "We found him below deck in a sort of den in the middle of the wreckage. Coaxed him out with an MRE. Imagine being desperate enough to eat one of those things. The only thing we could get out of him was some gibberish that sounded like German."

     Something about him rang a bell in my head.

     Stahl leaned in for a closer examination. He nodded slowly. "His unifom is from the Second World War, not the First. That doesn't go with the period of the ship."

     I looked back at the tank that was being towed by the number 2 raft, then at our 'survivor'. That bell got louder.

     "Was ist ihr Name?" I asked suddenly.

     He suddenly looked wildly at me, and just as suddenly, gave a ghastly smile. I noted that however filthy he might have been, at least he'd taken care of his teeth.

     "Ich bin tot," he said quietly. "Ich bin tot."

     "I am dead," I translated without thinking. The man merely nodded. I learned from that he understood English.

     "Was bedeutet das?" Dr. Stahl snapped at him.

     The man merely smiled again, and shook his head.

     "Das hat nichts zu bedeuten," was his response. That doesn't matter.

     By this time we had reached the U-3036. It didn't take long to get everyone aboard and stow the rafts and gear.

     "Achtung! Schlacht aufstellen!" Wassergott barked.

     His crew began running for their battle stations. I joined him on the conning tower, followed by Dr. Stahl. I spoke brielfly to Wassergott who returned a broad smile. The submarine's diesel engines thrumming; we slowly backed away from the wreck. At a distance of about two hundred metres, Wassergott spoke into the mike.

     "Fire tubes one and four."

     The boat shuddered slightly. The First Watch Officer's voice came over the speaker: "Torpedos los!"

     We could see them; two spear-like wakes racing from the bow of the sub to the wreck. The 1stWO, Marius Zündäpp, came up on the bridge holding a stopwatch.

     "Impact in 12... 9... 7... 5 ... 4... 3...2...1...Impact now!"

     He was right on the money. Two geysers of water shot from the side of the wreck into the air; a scant second later, the sound of the explosions reached us, followed closely by the shock wave.

     Wassergott and his crew cheered. The wreck crumpled amidships, and collapsed in on itself.

     Then, the world was enveloped in a blinding light. I ducked behind the coaming, thinking: We set off a tactical nuke. We're dead!

     A second blast-wave swept over us. Much more powerful than the first. If we hadn't been end-on to the second detonation, we'd have likely capsized. As the glow and shock subsided, I cautiously chanced a look over the side. I noticed men on the deck of the sub had been blown off their feet. They were beginning to stir, to stand, to gaze at the wreck, at what they had done.

     Where the wreck had been, a dirty gray mushroom cloud shot through its base with fire, rose high into the air. Of the former USS Cyclops , there was nothing.

     "What the hell was that?" Wassergott hooted, his eyebrows slightly singed. "Those torpedoes were not supposed to have nuclear warheads!" He glared at Stahl, who had provided the torpedoes.

     "The warheads were conventional! I swear it!" Stahl protested.

     "Who knows what caused it," I said. "It may have been something that belonged to what we encountered. As long as it wasn't radioactive. It isn't radioactive, is it?" I shot a worried glance at Stahl, who quickly consulted his geiger-counter. After a few urgent seconds, he shook his head with relief.

     Wassergott ordered the boat returned to the area where we originally surfaced, and then we proceeded to the sickbay, where the unidentified man was being examined. I had ordered an armed guard placed on the sickbay. We went past them, and into the small cabin that served the boat as a medical dispensary.

     Now that we were inside, it was a crowded tiny cabin. The 'survivor' sat on a bunk, and was being probed and prodded by the Reverend Rabbi Bunny Shapiro, who is also an MD, the sub's 2nd Officer, and the boat's Medical Orderly. With the addition of Kapitain Wassergott, myself, and Dr. Stahl, there wasn't much room at all.

     The man was now cleaned up, and seemed more relaxed with the aid of some sedative. He was wrapped in a blanket, the rags he had been wearing were now lying on a small examination table. It was then I realized that he had been wearing a German Navy utility uniform. I'd seen enough of Wassergott's crew wearing the same, albeit in more pristine condition.

     "How is he?" Wassergott asked.

     "Who is he?" Stahl asked. "And why is he wearing a Kriegsmarine uniform?"

     "Perhaps he's Oberleutnant Markworth," the MO suddenly said. "Didn't we lose Markworth when we first arrived here?"

     "You senile idiot!" snarled the 2nd Officer. "I'm Markworth! Take your ginkoba!"

     "Well," said Dr. Shapiro in his English accent. "He's a bit dehydrated and a bit undernourished, but not severely so. He is in a severe state of shock. I'll have to perform more complete tests upon him in hospital."

     "But who is he?!" Dr. Stahl again demanded.

     Kapitain Wassergott suddenly reached over and picked up the battered German Naval officer's cap which had been retrieved from the propane tank-like device that even now was lashed to the after deck of the sub.

     "This is not an original cap," Wassergott sputtered after studying the cap. "It's a re-production!"

     "What are you mean?" I retorted.

     He pointed at the blanket-wrapped man huddled on the bunk. "It's Scudding! Was ist dein Vornäme? Maitland! Maitland Scudding!"

     The man on the bunk sat up suddenly.

     "Yes," he said in perfect English. "I'm Maitland Scudding." Then he sat back again.

     "Don't you read your own magazine, Harry?" Wassergott turned to me. "He built that minisub from a propane tank last month to explore that hole in the Mississippi River and he disappeared."

     At last, that bell gave one final triumphant clang in my mind. But then a realization struck me.

     "But, Scudding was in his late thirties." I pointed to the man on the bunk, now retreated into his own reverie. "This guy's in his fifties, at least."

     "Severe stress can produce premature aging," Dr. Shapiro stated.

     "So how long was he on the Cyclops?" I asked.

     Wassergott looked at Dr. Stahl.

     "Conference," the Dr. nodded, indicating that I and Wassergott were to follow him out to the corridor.

     "We'll go to my cabin," I said, "I need a drink."

     Before Dr. Stahl could protest, we were trooping down the companionway to my cabin, which was located forward in officers country, past several irate reporters.

     Sgt. Major Skiles awaited us there, sidearm holstered. He kept the media back while we went in and I dogged the hatch.

     "Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen," I said, reaching up to the top of the wardrobe that held my spare clothes and gear. I retrieved an almost full bottle of single-malt Scotch. In doing so, I accidentally knocked loose a pipe which ran across the overhead. I gave it a cursory glance, then uncorked the bottle and took a hefty pull, then passed it to Wassergott, who did likewise, and gave it to Stahl, who first gave the mouth a fastidious wipe before drinking.

     "Although Scudding's been gone nearly a month in our time," Stahl began in his most pompous lecture hall tone, "who knows how long he's been gone in another time."

     He then proceeded to discuss time anomalies and interdimensional rifts. I only half-listened having heard most of it before. It would all go into my secret report, anyway. But my eye was drawn to the pipe that I had dislodged from its join. I noticed what looked like paper, tightly rolled, peering out from the end of the pipe.

     "Kapitain," I interrupted Stahl's discourse. "What is this pipe?" I reached up, and eased out the rolled sheaf of papers.

     "It doesn't go anywhere," Wassergott answered. "We used it for secret storage of documents."

     I carefully unrolled the yellow-edged papers, and read the title page:

     "Kapitain," I showed the papers to Wassergott. "What is this?"

     Wassergott read briefly through the papers, and grinned sheepishly. "Ach, I had completely forgotten about those. It's Stahl's secret report on when Korvettankapitain Ristoff and I took the boat to the Antarctic in May of '44. We had a secret base there."

     "Give me those!" Stahl lunged for the papers, banging the top of his head on the overhead as he did so.

     "Now, now, Doc," I said, retrieving the papers from Wassergott while a stunned Stahl massaged the top of his balding cranium. "Finders, keepers."

     I carefully rerolled the papers, and put them in my briefcase. They would make most interesting reading, I thought, on the voyage home. It would also help fill us in on another gap in our knowledge as to what exactly the Germans had been up to during the war.

     Once the sub had submerged and began retracing its route, all the communication and GPS systems returned to normal.

     The return trip was quite uneventful for everyone but myself, especially after I had thoroughly read the papers. I knew the first thing I had to do was contact General Ostwinkle.