Depth Charge by Jason Heaton (carter reed .txt) 📗

took it personally. With Vampire and her unique cargo lying wrecked on the seafloor, it would be months before they could attempt another test. That is, unless they could salvage the device before its metal casing and complex wiring were damaged by extended exposure to seawater.

The MAUD Committee, reputed to have been named for physicist Niels Bohr’s housekeeper, had been formed in 1940 by George Paget Thomson at the government’s request. It was responsible for overseeing “Tube Alloys,” Britain’s secret project to develop an atomic weapon. England was at the forefront of atomic research, with the discoveries of both the electron and neutron at Cavendish Laboratory in Cambridge. It was also there that the first successful nuclear fission was carried out. When British intelligence found out that the Germans were working on an atomic weapon in March of 1940, Tube Alloys was quickly made top priority.

Development of an actual bomb had been painfully slow, with the work spread out across four universities and enriched uranium sourced in Canada. Finally, in early 1942, a prototype was ready for testing. That’s where Havelock came in, based on his work at Cambridge and his experience pioneering weapons test protocols between the wars. It was his meticulous refinement of wind tunnel development that earned him a visit at Cambridge from Paget Thomson.

But an atomic weapon was something entirely different. Testing had to be not only safe, but also observable and discreet. Havelock’s solution had been to propose a test detonation in a remote atoll, where the weapon’s effects could be viewed from ships anchored at a distance and there would be little chance of discovery by the Germans. Thomson took it up with the Ministry of Defence, who found a reluctant but ultimately willing partner in the Royal Australian Navy. The site would be the uninhabited Monte Bello island chain 120 miles north of the western Australian coast.

The prototype bomb had been loaded onto the Australian Navy destroyer HMAS Vampire in Gibraltar under cover of night and sailed, well escorted, around the Cape of Good Hope to avoid the U-boat infested Mediterranean. The stopover in Ceylon was supposed to be a routine refueling. Unfortunately, it had coincided with the Japanese surprise attack on Trincomalee.

HMS Hermes, the second ship sunk along with the Vampire, was the world’s first purpose-built aircraft carrier, built in 1918 and would have been scrapped if not for the badly stretched Eastern fleet that made use of her flight deck to launch Fairey Swordfish biplanes. Both ships were fleeing Trincomalee harbor ahead of the Japanese attack, but were spotted and quickly pounced upon by a squadron of Mitsubishi A6M Zeros. Hermes took over 40 direct hits and went into a derelict circular limp before succumbing to her wounds and nosing beneath the waves, taking 309 souls with her. Vampire went down mercifully sooner, but with only nine crew aboard. The hospital ship, Vita, picked up survivors, while some managed to swim the eight miles to shore, where they were rescued by surprised villagers.

The Americans, who had suffered their own surprise attack only months earlier at Pearl Harbor, were now in the war and pressuring the British government to collaborate on an atomic “deterrent.” Havelock was vehemently against the idea of sharing secrets with the Americans. He was glad they had joined the war effort, but begrudged them for taking so long while England bore the brunt of the Axis Powers’ fury. He wanted Tube Alloys to remain a purely British endeavor. Call it national pride, call it official secrets—he knew once the Americans got hold of their research, Britain would be reduced to a supporting role. And with the sinking of the Vampire, this looked all the more inevitable.

Commander Colter stood and broke the silence in the room, his accent crisp, his tone clipped and perfunctory. “According to the last known position of Vampire and our own hydrographic charts, she lies in 50 to 60 fathoms.” Murmurs around the table as the committee members shook their heads and looked at each other. Colter continued.

“As you surmise, gentlemen, yes, this is deep,” he said. “More than twice as deep as the Laurentic, with which I am sure you’re all familiar.” There were nods around the table as he conjured the name of the famous wreck salvaged off the coast of Ireland for its government gold after the Great War. “And the southeast monsoon is still blowing in Ceylon, which will make things a bit more… sporty.” Havelock thought he made this sound like an afternoon of shooting clay pigeons. “But our diving unit has the latest in underwater technology, and we have brave men who we feel can carry out this operation.”

“Besides the obvious dangers of the diving,” Havelock asked, “how will you be able to carry out a mission in those seas, with the Japanese Navy about?” He liked Colter’s confidence but worried about yet another attack. “What if we manage to bring the bomb up, only to have it captured or destroyed by the Japanese?”

“It’s a risk we’re prepared to take,” Colter said, as if he’d rehearsed the line, or maybe said it a dozen times in his career. “With Hermes sunk and Trincomalee’s capabilities diminished, we’ve had to reroute two cruisers from the Eastern Fleet. The Australians are sending another destroyer. We assume we can load the cargo onto that ship for further transport to your test location.”

Havelock felt better knowing there would be additional naval support. He nodded and sat back in his chair.

“We should have our diving team in place within the week.” Colter said, and sat.

“Excellent, Commander,” Paget Thomson chimed in. “We wish your men the greatest of luck.” He looked around the table. “I suggest we reconvene next week when we’ve news of the operation’s success.” He gave a thin smile to Colter, who didn’t return it but nodded and stood up crisply.

The committee adjourned, and a few of the men lingered, pouring more sherry, as if toasting what they were convinced would be a