Текст книги "Adventures of a Sea Hunter: In Search of Famous Shipwrecks"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

Соавторы: James Delgado
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Working at Pearl Harbor, which is steeped with the emotionally charged memories of that day of infamy, had a deep impact on me, an archeologist who hitherto had dealt with a more distant past. The tragedy of the attack and the sunken ships and the memorials reminded me that humanity is at core of what I do – archeology is far more than a scientific reappraisal or a recovery of relics. Lost ships, historic sites and sacred places like memorials are mirrors in which we examine ourselves. Human weakness, human arrogance, heroism, sacrifice and perseverance dominate the story of the Pearl Harbor attack. Diving on Arizonaand Utah, which had sunk in a handful of minutes as their crews were propelled from peace to war, and from the here and now to eternity, was a potent reminder of the human cost when nations collide.

CHAPTER THREE
SUNK BY THE ATOMIC BOMB

AT BIKINI ATOLL

We’ve been flying for hours over an empty ocean, far out in the middle of the Pacific. Now, the plane’s slow turn signals that we are approaching our destination. Leaning over to look out the small windows in the crowded cabin, we all scan the horizon. The dark sea is giving way to the greenish-tinged hues of shallow water. In the midst of these sparkling waters, the white sand of islands appears. A chain of islands, like pearls on a string, mark the top of a volcano’s rim, now submerged. The shallows of the atoll merge into darker water inside the ring, the drowned maw of the volcano, that now forms a deep lagoon.

This atoll, with its beautiful islands, beaches and a lagoon teeming with marine life, is a place with a famous name. It is Bikini, the setting for many American atomic tests between 1946 and 1958, including those of the first nuclear weapons. In July 1946, less than a year after Hiroshima, Bikini Atoll, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 4,500 miles west of San Francisco, was the setting for Operation Crossroads, a massive military effort to assess the effects of the atomic bomb on warships. The atoll’s 167-person native population was evacuated. The fallout from those first blasts miraculously fell into the sea and did little to contaminate Bikini.

My eyes are not drawn to the beauty of this tropical paradise, however. Abruptly, the rim of the atoll is interrupted by a dark blue hole. Nearly a mile across, it is the site of a vanished islet. It is also the site where in March 1954, the most powerful nuclear bomb ever was detonated on the surface of the earth by the United States. In an instant, an atomic bomb capable of incinerating an entire city vaporized the islet and cracked the reef. The pulverized coral and sand ejected by the 15-megaton blast traveled high up into the atmosphere, raining down as atomic fallout over thousands of square miles of ocean, nearby islands and ships at sea. Conducted in the name of science, the blast, code-named Castle Bravo, was a Cold War test of America’s new hydrogen bomb. It killed and sickened Pacific islanders, the crew of a Japanese fishing ironically named Lucky Dragonand left behind a horrific legacy.

Bikini is now a deadly place, its abandoned shores littered with rusting machinery and cables, its islands covered by thick concrete bunkers and regimented rows of decaying houses and replanted palm trees intended for the returning Bikinians, who are known as the “nuclear nomads” of the Pacific. Craters from nuclear blasts pock the bottom of Bikini’s lagoon. Inside the shallow dish of one of those craters rests the sunken fleet of Operation Crossroads. Like the debris on the islands and along the shores of the atoll, the sunken ships of Bikini are an archeological legacy of the beginning of the nuclear age. Our National Park Service team, about to land on the atoll, will be the first to survey this ghost fleet now that the radioactivity has diminished to a safe level. Looking down at the crater made by Castle Bravo, we all silently cross ourselves and wonder just what we will find and what other legacies may lurk in the water and the ships.

OPERATION CROSSROADS

Operation Crossroads was the result of months of inter-service rivalry and a postwar scramble to assess the military potentials and perils of the atomic bomb. The New York Herald Tribune, in a post-Hiroshima editorial, commented: “The victory or defeat of armies, the fate of nations, the rise and fall of empires are all alike, in any long perspective only the ripples on the surface of history; but the unpredictable unlocking of the inconceivable energy of the atom would stir history itself to its deepest depths.” Editorials suggesting that the advent of the atom bomb had forever changed warfare alarmed military officers, who did not like reading that “it should make an end of marching, rolling, and even flying armies, and turn most of our battleships into potential scrap.” The atomic tests at Bikini would test the truth of that argument.

The tests were appealing for more than technical reasons. They would demonstrate to the world, particularly the Soviet Union, the power and wealth of the United States. In April 1946, Admiral William H. Blandy, commander of the joint Army-Navy task force conducting the tests, told the nation in a live radio broadcast that the upcoming tests would “help us to be what the world expects our great, non-aggressive and peace-loving country to be – the leader of those nations which seek nothing but a just and lasting peace.” More bluntly, commentator Raymond Gram Swing stated that Operation Crossroads, “the first of the atomic era war games … is a notice served on the world that we have the power and intend to be heeded.”

The decision to use the atomic bomb test to destroy ships of the once-feared Imperial Japanese Navy would also emphasize America as the principal victor in the war. One newspaper account, accompanied by an Associated Press photograph of twenty-four battered-looking destroyers and submarines, crowed: “Trapped Remnants of Jap Fleet Face Destruction in United States Navy Atom-Bomb Tests.” The use of Japanese warships as atomic targets was a “symbolic killing” with the same weapon that had forced Japan’s capitulation. The battleship Nagatoparticularly fulfilled that role. The onetime flagship of the Imperial Japanese Navy and the scene of operational planning for the attack on Pearl Harbor, Nagatohad been “captured” as a bombed-out derelict on Tokyo Bay in September 1945. The capture, an event staged by military press officers, symbolized “the complete and final surrender of the Imperial Japanese Navy.” Sinking the same battleship with an atomic bomb would ritually “destroy” the Imperial Japanese Navy in a more dramatic manner than prosaic scrapping or scuttling at sea. The battleship’s intended fate was so important that, at Bikini, American support vessels were moored alongside Nagatosince “there was some danger that the captured Japanese ships … might actually sink… if they were left unattended.”

At the same time, military planners wanted to show that the United States Navy would survive in the coming nuclear age. According to Admiral Blandy, testing the bomb on warships would improve the Navy: “We want ships that are tough, even when threatened by atomic bombs; we want to keep the ships afloat, propellers turning, guns firing; we want to protect the crews so that, if fighting is necessary, they can fight well today and return home unharmed tomorrow.”

To further test the effects of the bomb, the military loaded twenty-two of the target ships with fuel and ammunition as well as 220 tons of equipment: tanks, tractors and airplanes; guns, mortars and ammunition; radios, fire extinguishers and telephones; gas masks, watches and uniforms; canned food and frozen meat. They also placed sixty-nine target airplanes on the ships and moored two seaplanes in the water near them.

The first test took place on July 1, 1946. The B-29 Dave’s Dreamdropped a 20-kiloton plutonium bomb on the target fleet, slightly to starboard of the bow of the attack transport Gilliam.Caught in the explosion’s incandescent fireball and battered down into the water by the shock wave, Gilliam, “badly ruptured, crumpled, and twisted almost beyond recognition,” sank in seventy-nine seconds. The blast swept the nearby transport Carlisle150 feet to one side and nearly wiped away the superstructure and masts. Carlislebegan to burn and sank in thirty minutes. The destroyer Anderson, hit hard by the blast, burst into flames when her ammunition exploded. Burning fiercely, Andersoncapsized to port and sank by the stern within seven minutes. The destroyer Lamson, its hull torn open, sank twelve minutes after the blast. The Japanese cruiser Sakawa, badly battered, caught on fire and sank the following day.

The second test took place three weeks later. The Navy remoored the target ships around a bomb lowered 90 feet below the surface. When the underwater atomic bomb erupted at 8:34 on the morning of July 25, a huge mass of steam and water mounded up into a “spray dome” that climbed at a rate of 2,500 feet per second and formed a 975-foot thick column. Its core was a nearly hollow void of superheated steam that rose faster than the more solid 300-foot thick water sides, climbing 11,000 feet per second and acting as a chimney for the hot gases of the fireball. The gases, mixed with excavated lagoon bottom and radioactive materials, formed a mushroom cloud atop the column. The upward blast crushed, capsized and sank the battleship Arkansasin less than a second.

The blast also created “atomic tidal waves.” The first wave, a 94-foot wall of radioactive water, lifted and crashed into the aircraft carrier Saratogawith such force that it twisted the hull. The falling water also partially smashed the flight deck, and Saratogasank within seven and a half hours. Nagato, its hull broken open, sank two days later. Beneath the water, the immense pressure of the bomb’s burst crushed three submarines that settled onto the seabed, leaking air bubbles and oil.

On the surface, a boiling cloud of radioactive water and steam penetrated the surviving ships. Radioactive material adhered to wooden decks, paint, rust and grease. For weeks after the tests, the Navy tried to wash off the fallout with water and lye, sending crews aboard the contaminated ships to scrub off paint, rust and scale with long-handled brushes, holystones and any other “available means.” In August, worried about radiation, Admiral Blandy cancelled plans for a third test and gave orders to sink badly damaged ships. As Operation Crossroads steamed away from Bikini, it towed the battered, irradiated fleet of targets to nearby Kwajalein, and then to Pearl Harbor, Bremerton in Washington, and Hunter’s Point and Mare Island in California. There, sailors stripped the hulks of ammunition and left them to rust.

Starting in 1948, the Navy began taking the Crossroads target ships to sea and sinking them. The explanation was that the sinkings were part of training exercises and tests of new weapons. That year, Dr. David Bradley, M.D., a radiological safety monitor at Bikini, published his journal of the tests in a book titled No Place to Hide.It stayed on the New York Timesbest-seller list for ten weeks. No Place to Hidewas a forceful book that told the “real” message of Bikini. According to Bradley, Operation Crossroads, “hastily planned and hastily carried out… may have only sketched in gross outlines… the real problem; nevertheless, these outlines show pretty clearly the shadow of the colossus which looms behind tomorrow.” Bradley’s metaphor was the target ships rusting at Kwajalein, many of them seemingly undamaged but “nevertheless dying of a malignant disease for which there is no help.”

The “cure,” being enacted as Bradley’s book was printed, was to sink the contaminated ships. In February 1949, Washington Postcolumnist Drew Pearson called the tests a “major naval disaster.” He reported that “of the 73 ships involved in the Bikini tests, more than 61 were sunk or destroyed. This is an enormous loss from only two bombs.” Pearson, like Bradley, pointed to what he viewed as a military effort to keep the true lesson of Operation Crossroads – the virtual destruction of the target fleet by radioactivity – from being fully apprehended by the public. Although the story had ultimately leaked out, it was downplayed by the government, and the credibility and patriotism of those who spoke out was questioned.

DIVING THE GHOST FLEET

I traveled to Bikini as part of Dan Lenihan’s National Park Service team in 1989 and 1990. Lenihan, Larry Nordby, Larry Murphy, Jerry Livingston and I were the first to visit most of the wrecks since Operation Crossroads, and we were undertaking the survey at the request of the U.S. Department of Energy and the Bikini Council. The Bikinians, in their exile on the remote island of Kili, far away from their contaminated homeland, were eager to work with the Department of Energy to see if the sunken “swords” could be transformed into tourism plowshares. The National Park Service had the government’s only team of diving archeologists at the time, and our park-oriented approach was not at odds with tourism. Since I was the NPS maritime historian, I easily wrangled my way onto Dan’s crew. As well, my proximity to the National Archives and my love of research meant that I could do advance work to learn about the history of the ships and the tests, and thus help the team to figure out just what we would be seeing in the blue depths of Bikini lagoon.

In 1989 the U.S. Navy did a magnificent job of surveying the lagoon’s 180-foot depths to relocate the sunken ships of 1946. There was no chart documenting the location of the wrecks, so the Navy started with nothing but the generally known location of the aircraft carrier USS Saratoga, whose mast rose to within 50 feet of the surface and whose grave is marked by oil leaking from its fuel tanks. Our first dive at Bikini was on Saratoga.

* * *

Anchored over the wreck of USS Saratoga, we bob in the slight swell as each diver checks his gear under the blazing hot sun. Rolling backward into the water is a welcome relief. Clustered together like a group of skydivers, we fall in unison onto Saratoga.The carrier is huge, its 900-foot length the largest thing I have yet seen underwater. The superstructure towers above the flight deck, and in the clear water, it feels as if we are flying down the side of a tall building. Open hatches and deadlights invite inspection, but for now, we focus on the gaping maw on the hangar deck. Landing on the flight deck, we pause, and then one by one, drop down farther into the hangar. The flight elevator, bent and collapsed, lies at the bottom of the huge shaft. I turn left and head into the dark cavern of the hangar, following Dan and Murphy’s lights.

Lying on the deck is a rack of 500-pound bombs. Wedged beneath their noses is a smaller depth bomb. I suck in a little more air and, inflating my lungs, float just a little higher to avoid going near them. The deck below me is covered with silt, and I try not to stir it up. In the distance, I notice that Dan and Murphy’s lights have stopped moving. As I swim up, I see why. They have halted at a plane. Sitting upright on its wheels, wings folded up for storage, is a Helldiver, a dive bomber introduced late in the war. The cockpit is open and the gauges on the pilot’s panel are clearly visible. The plane is ready to roll out onto the elevator, rise to the flight deck and be readied for combat. If that is not exciting enough, there are two more intact planes in a row behind the Helldiver. Saratogacarried planes on the deck and in the hangar when the atomic blast sank her on July 25, 1946. Since the flight deck above us is largely empty, the survival of these planes in the hangar is something we had not envisioned. Rather, we had figured that being picked up and flung across the water by a nuclear tidal wave had smashed everything inside Saratoga.Not so, and as if to underscore this fact, Dan floats up to a row of unbroken light fixtures.

^{James Delgado and Dan Lenihan drop down to the wreck of USS Saratogaat Bikini Atoll.}

^{© Bill Curtsinger}

We move on to a hole punched through the flight deck. Rising up through the hole, we pass scattered equipment lying on the deck and look for the lines dangling from our dive boat. We hang there, above the wreck, decompressing to quiet down the gas in our blood and prevent the bends. We are many miles away from a decompression chamber, so we’re being careful to avoid a dive accident that could cripple or kill us. Bikini is a challenging dive location, to be sure. There are the unexploded bombs, and the fear of residual radiation. And there are the risks of entering rusting hulks that might collapse on us. In addition, the ships are artificial reefs that attract hundreds of potentially aggressive white tip sharks. Then there’s the greatest danger, the depth. The wrecks lie on the bottom of a 180-foot-deep lagoon, with the shallowest depth at Saratoga’smultistory hull as it rises up from the seabed. These are beyond the limits for most divers, particularly when using regular air and not a mixed gas. In 1989–90, our team breathes regular air, all that is available at our remote location, and we decompress with pure oxygen to scrub our blood clear of the nitrogen bubbles that build up on long dives.

Thankfully, no one gets the bends, though we have a few close calls. One dive team member runs out of air and nearly panics until another diver assists with a spare regulator from his tank. A few days later, I carelessly go too far, fascinated by a deck full of test equipment, and turn back dangerously low on air. I make it back to the decompression line with an empty tank and the reminder that as fascinating as wrecks are, you can’t appreciate them when you’re dead.

Fortunately, the bombs turn out to be no danger at all. A Navy team disarms a bomb that looks menacing, and later I learn from the archives that the bombs carried by Saratogawere filled with plaster, not explosives. If marine growth and corrosion had not covered the bombs, we might have seen the stenciled message that I find on the photos of the tests – rows of big bombs marked “INERT.” But the sharks can be aggressive, as we discover when we get too close. They are not “Jaws” size, but they can still tear out a big chunk of flesh, so we usually avoid them. One day, a shark gets too close, but I lash out and punch him in the gills, a sensitive spot. It hurts and he backs off – as do I. Another time, a shark swims by and rips into a fish, tearing it in two. He glares at me, half a fish dangling from his mouth, as if he’s daring me to try and take it. “No, go ahead,” I mumble in my regulator. “It’s your fish.”

The only other close call on Saratogacomes years later, on a dive with Fabio Amaral, as we probe a passageway inside the wreck during a Discovery Channel filming expedition. Dropping down Saratoga’ssmall bomb elevator, we make our way to a hatch that we are able to squeeze through, into a long corridor running off into the darkness. Fabio has been here before and laid down a line to guide us back should the silt stir up. We follow the line to deep inside Saratoga.More than halfway down, we stop in alarm at the sound of a loud bang behind us. When I look back, my lights pick up a wall of silt racing towards us. Fabio and I grab each other by the shoulder and go mask to mask as the silt washes over us, blacking out the corridor. The powerful glow of our lights is useless in the turbid, muddy water. Holding my light up to my face, I can just make out Fabio’s eyes, wide open and doubtless a mirror of my own fear. Dive training takes over, though, and we grope for the line. Slowly tracing it with our fingers, we move back until we reach a mass of fallen rusty steel. The deck above us has collapsed, burying the line and probably trapping us inside the sunken ship.

Then we both get an inspiration. The deck above us has fallen down, but that means another corridor has opened up. We slowly rise up out of the cloudy silt and find ourselves in a murky but clearer passageway. Following it, we come up to a sealed hatch that must lead into the bomb elevator. Straining against rusty hinges, we push it open to find ourselves floating above a mess of bombs at the bottom of the elevator. After a “thumbs up” sign, we swim straight up and out, breathing a sigh of relief.

^{Larry Murphy approaching the wreck of the Japanese warship Nagatoat Bikini Atoll. Dan Lenihan, National Park Service}

The thrills of a close escape, however, do not compare with the emotional impact of looking at these historic ships and the dramatic damage wrought by the atomic bomb. Saratogahas a huge dent in the flight deck caused by the falling column of water and silt thrown out of the lagoon by the bomb. It’s just one dent, but it’s a big one: 230 feet long, 70 feet wide and 20 feet deep. It looks like Godzilla stomped on the flight deck. The battleship Arkansas, a quarter mile away, is in even worse shape. The armored hull is upside down, warped and smashed nearly flat. A hundred feet of superstructure, masts and turrets lie buried in the coral sand, with only several feet of clearance between the main deck and the seabed. The force of the blast flipped and smashed Arkansas, then hammered her down with such violence that she is nearly one with the bottom of the lagoon. The attack transport Gilliamis something else altogether. Caught in an atomic fireball and swept by extreme temperatures equal to those on the surface of the sun, the ship has partially melted. It looks like a child’s plastic toy left out on a hot sidewalk, thick steel drooping and deformed. A bulldozer from the ship’s deck, tossed off by the blast, lies nearby with its thick blade twisted into an “S” by the heat.

On our first dive on the massive Japanese battleship Nagato, Lenihan, Nordby, Murphy, Livingston and I realize that we’re the first to visit her since the 1940s. We swim around the stern, past the huge bronze propellers that are surrounded by a swarm of sharks. Dan Lenihan and I drop down to the seabed and slip under the overhang of the stern to make our way in the gloom towards the barrels of the aft gun turret. As we hover in front of the gun muzzles, we both think of our dives at Pearl Harbor. Japanese ordnance experts modified some of the 16-inch shells from Nagato’smagazines into the aerial bombs dropped at Pearl. One of the bombs punched through Arizona’sdecks and set off the magazine explosions that destroyed her. I can’t help think that this is a full circle for us, particularly Dan, who has worked very hard to document Arizonaand bring more of her story to the public.

That full circle feeling comes back on a later dive that we start aft from Nagato’sbow. As I slip out from under the deck, my eyes catch something ahead in the gloom. Dan and Murphy also see it, and we all swim forward at a fast clip. The entire superstructure of the ship, instead of being crushed like that of Arkansas, is laid out on the white sand. It’s the bridge; it’s the bridge of Nagato, where Admiral Yamamoto heard the radio message that the attack on Pearl Harbor was successful: “Torn, tora, torn!”It’s incredible. Sometimes, science be damned, you just get excited by what you find.

My last dive at Bikini Atoll takes place a decade after the National Park Service survey. With John Brooks, a former NPS colleague, and Len Blix, the assistant dive master at Bikini, I drop down to look at the destroyer Anderson.(Since our 1989–90 survey, Bikini has been opened to the world as a unique dive park for those with the skill and the cash to journey to what has been called the “Mount Everest of wreck diving.”) Andersonis a famous ship that fought in many battles, screening aircraft carriers in some of the greatest sea fights of the Pacific War, including the Coral Sea and Midway. She shelled Japanese shore installations at Tarawa and survived the war only to die beneath the dragon’s breath of the atomic bomb.

Andersonlies on her side in the dark blue gloom. We approach the stern, passing over a rack of depth charges that have tumbled free and lie scattered on the sand. The decks seem undamaged, except for a torpedo-launching rack that has fallen off. The bridge lies open, its hatches blasted off. When I look down into the bridge, the dark interior swarms with hundreds of small fish that have sought shelter inside this sunken warship. Moving forward, I see a subtle reminder of the power of the atom. One of the destroyer’s 5-inch guns has been twisted by the heat of the blast so that it points straight back to the bridge.

As I sail away from Bikini for the last time, I pause to reflect on all that I’ve seen there over the years. The crushed hulls, toppled masts and abandoned test instruments are material records that preserve the shocking reality of Operation Crossroads in a way that can never fully be matched by written accounts, photographs or even films of the tests. This ghost fleet is a powerful and evocative museum in the deep. It is a very relevant museum, too. Operation Crossroads and the nuclear age that followed have had and continue to have a direct effect on the lives of every living being on the planet. The empty bunkers and the abandoned homes of the Bikinians remind us of David Bradley’s 1948 comment that the islanders might not be the last “to be left homeless and impoverished by the inexorable Bomb. They have no choice in the matter, and very little understanding of it. But in this perhaps they are not so different from us all.” As I leave Bikini, I hope that it is a record of the past and not the harbinger of a terrible future.