The Project 02 - The Lance

cracked leather weighed down the rooms. The house smelled stale, of shut in dust and old cooking. Dark brocade drapes covered the windows.
    It was like stepping back into the nineteenth century.
    The team gravitated to the kitchen and gathered around a large table. Lamont spread out a chart of the waters off the coast.
    He gestured at the chart. " This whole area is called the Argentine Sea," he said. He'd marked a small "X" where the British Admiralty report stated the sub had gone down.
    " The coastal shelf goes out a ways and then falls off big time, thousands of feet deep. Doesn't look like we're going to run into anything unusual, but we're dealing with the Falkland Current. It's strong. At that depth and fifteen miles offshore, it will be a factor."
    Lamont spread a large blueprint of a Nazi submarine over the chart. The U-Boat was huge, almost the length of a football field. The drawings showed one large deck gun forward and two twin 20MM antiaircraft guns mounted on the deck aft of the conning tower.
    " These plans are for a Type IX D. They were used as command vessels for the Wolf Packs in the early days of the war. After the Nazis took France, they built radio transmitters on the coast to take over command functions and most of the Type IX's were converted to carry cargo."
    He ran his hand over the plans. " The one we're looking for is a D2. It's the same as this, except the engines were better and the Germans took out the torpedo tubes to make space. There could be something in the aft or forward storage areas. Even if we find the sub, there may be no way to get inside. If we can, the best place to look for anything is the storage areas and the control room and captain's quarters."
    He tapped his finger on the drawing. The captain's quarters were a tiny space little bigger than a bunk, set off with a curtain for privacy. It was located next to the control room and aft of the conning tower on the port side.
    Ronnie frowned. "The Captain didn't rate a separate cabin?"
    "Nope. No privacy on a Nazi sub. It wasn't fun. The crew wore the same clothes the whole time they were out. Regulations allowed one change of underwear and one extra pair of socks. No one bathed for three months at a stretch. Their Navy issued cologne to cut the stink."
    " What are we looking for?" Selena brushed hair back from her forehead.
    Carter looked at the plans. "Anything that could tell us why the sub was in Antarctica. A log book or record of the voyage, or any cargo she carried. Someplace they'd keep important records, like a locker or a safe."
    He still thought this was a waste of time. Nothing on paper could have survived after all those years under water.
    "No way we'll get into a safe," Lamont said. "We don't even know if we can find the wreck, let alone get into it."
    "Maybe it's a little late to ask," Nick said, "but you sure you've got the gear you need for this?"
    "Yeah, we're set. F ull face masks with transceivers good to five hundred meters and voice activated mikes. The electronics on the rebreathers adjust the mix according to pressure and demand. We won't have to sweat oxygen toxicity."
    Ronnie said , "Oxygen is toxic? I thought you needed it to breathe."
    " You do, but at 50 meters, the pressure drives oxygen in the blood stream to toxic levels. The deeper you go, the less oxygen you need. Too much and you get oxygen narcosis. First thing you know, you're in trouble. That's one reason the full masks are good. You can't spit out the mouthpiece and drown if you have a convulsion. The gear will feed us the right amount of breathing gas as we need it."
    " Sounds easy."
    "Nothing's easy two hundred feet down." Lamont scratched his nose.
    " How long do we stay on the bottom?" Selena asked.
    "Deep is always dangerous. I think we ought to limit it. Say ten or fifteen minutes max. That will speed up the decompression stops also."
    Nick looked at them. "Anything else?"
    No one spoke. He looked at his watch. "Let's hit the rack. Long day tomorrow."
    They went to their separate rooms.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

    The harbor at Mar del Plata was big and crowded with bright yellow fishing boats. The waterfront was busy. Hundreds of screeching gulls circled and dived above the docks. The sea air smelled of fish and diesel and food cooking in stands and restaurants along the waterfront. The sun cast little warmth and the spring weather was clear and cold. Nick pulled up the collar of his jacket against the breeze sweeping in off the