Deadliest Cargo

By Stephen C. Challis

The War of 25 years ago was brought to life when a fishing boat snagged the wreckage of a WW2 German Bomber on a sandbank off the East Anglia coast in 1965.  The memories were more eerie and frightening to some.  They instilled fear of a fresh nuclear catastrophe.  One of the fishermen was approached by a former high-ranking intelligence official from the Nazi regime for information on the bombers' past, prompting him to alert the British Secret Service counterpart in MI6.  During the Cold War, there were increasing tensions and secrecy was paramount.  The area was visited by MI6 who arranged for the dive, both agents posing as and wearing marine archaeology wear.

However, the bomb was not there, it had been removed by a group of terrorists led by one of the bombers former crew.  There followed a cloak and dagger chase through the picturesque Norfolk Broads to find the device, and capture or kill the group, whose target was no lesser person than the President of the United States, Lyndon B. Johnson.

Deadliest Cargo is a fictional work that draws on accounts, records, and testimony from personnel working on the A Bomb in 1944.  It is somber reading for those who still believe in fiction of the James Bond films.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen C. Challis
• Release date: Feb 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224726912

Stephen C. Challis

Steve Challis was born in 1948 in the United Kingdom.  Steve grew up in the rural Cotswold's where he learned shooting and hunting on the farm where his Father worked.  Following 5 years of service in the military (RAF), Steve joined the Hampshire Constabulary in 1969 and served as an officer for 21 years.  In 2006, Steve met his wife Eva via the internet, and then in 2007 they became engaged.  The following year in November, Steve moved to the USA and he and Eva were married in Ketchikan, Alaska. Now a permanent US resident, Steve is the author of several books on gun rights and historical fiction.  

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sunken Mystery

The Charlotte Rose came to a halt over a raised sandbar, 4 miles off Great Yarmouth on the East Anglian Coast.  As skipper, Dick Whiteman cut the engine, the six anglers on board cast their rods outboard.  The six were all members of The Gorleston on Sea, Sea Angling Club, and had chartered the boat for the weekend.  The skipper was not fishing today; he knew that it was important to give his guests a good haul of cod.  As that is what paid the bills.  There was a moderate force 2 to 3 blowing on the North Sea, and he had taken the chance to go further offshore today to try this sandbar.  The boat was equipped with echo sounder sonar that showed depth, and any fish between the boat and the sea bed.  Today he expected a good haul of cod and Conger eel, following 4 days of storms that had churned up the water and turned it a dirty tan colour inshore.  Out here, it was clearer. 

Dick had set the 45 foot vessel to drift over a wrecked WW2 freighter that had been torpedoed in the early years of the war.  It now lay half buried in the sand, but enough of it rose from the seabed to give a clear outline on the sonar read out.  Grey and red flecks around it indicated the presence of fish shoals.  Sure enough, two of the rods suddenly bent hard over, pulling their owners towards the gunwale.  Dick called for the remaining anglers to reel in, giving the two with fish on a clear run.  Within 10 minutes the fish broke surface, and dick reached over with the boat’s gaff and expertly snagged them, and pulled them inboard.  Both fish were over 20lb in weight, specimen cod.  Great for the first run of the day.  In the strong 4 knot tide the wreck and its fish were now rapidly falling astern.  The two fish were quickly consigned to the stern locker as Dick restarted the engine and swung the boat around for the second run.  The wind had slightly shifted, and therefore, he repositioned Charlotte Rose up tide at a shallower angle.  As the boat drifted lazily in the light swell, Dick watched the sonar screen.  Steady at 85 feet.  Then an anomaly showed on the sea floor, a black shape, less than half the size of the freighter.  They passed right over it.  There was some fish echo returns.  But not as grand as those of the freighter, which was now coming into view.  Again, the six lines and baits headed for the bottom.  But this time, no takers.  Meanwhile, Dick had noted the position of the smaller wreck, and also noticed it was not on his charts.  Judging by the echo, it was around 25 feet in length, and showed no appreciable superstructure.  That probably meant it was lying on its side; likely uncovered by the storm.  As it had not been charted, it was likely unknown, like most boat skippers, this was coveted information.  Uncharted wrecks were rarely, if ever, fished.  As the boat moved back into position, he called out to the club secretary.

Hey Phil, I’ve just picked up another small wreck about a third of a mile behind the main one.  It’s uncharted, so virgin territory.  Do you fancy a sweep over it?  It may be worthwhile.

There was a chorus of approval from the rest of the anglers.  Dick swung the boat back up the tide and did a powered run over the area again.  As the wreck appeared, Dick again checked the position and programmed it into the sonar’s memory.  Satisfied that he had the coordinates locked in, he repositioned the boat.

Set depth for 80 feet that should bring you diagonally over it.  Sonar is showing multiple returns at 6 to 10 feet off the bottom. 

Two rods immediately made contact.  As the other anglers reeled in, one of the two successful ones was clearly having problems.  His reel jammed, and the line drew taught.  He yelled to Dick

Hang up; I’ll let it have line.

He pulled off the drag lever on the Penn Multiplier and the line screamed away.  Quickly, two others joined him.  Three pairs of hands on the rod should prevent him being pulled overboard.  The line again tightened, and the angler reapplied the break and waited.  Either the line would snap, or less likely, it would pull clear.  For a minute, nothing happened, and then the line began to pull free, gradually in jerks.  The three men held firm, the pole still bent almost double, the line finally pulled free, and started its journey to the surface.  With the line now clear of the wreck, the angler’s companions moved aside and looked down into the water as the tackle and its load were pumped up toward the surface.  A flash of yellow, and then a large piece of aluminium strip with broken pieces of Perspex attached.  Snagged and half torn was a section of yellow canvas life jacket, the jagged edge of the material showing where it had torn loose from the wreck.  There was some faded lettering on the material.  One angler recognised what he was seeing.  Twenty five years before, he had seen similar wreckage during the Battle of Britain.  Roger Lawson was an ex RAF crew chief who had been deployed at RAF Biggin Hill during the war; a sector station on the front line. 

It’s a Jerry bomber, the life preserver is the same type issued to the Luftwaffe.  A lot of them crashed into the North Sea during the war.  It could be a war grave.

Dick was not too happy.

If so, the MOD will put it off limits, so bang goes our fishing hole out here.

Dick shook his head. 

Maybe, but then again, maybe not.  I have an idea.  In the meantime, take the life jacket and see if you can find out anything about it.  We will carry on fishing the big wreck today, and I’ll let you know in a few days, whether we will be OK to carry on fishing.        

Dick stowed the twisted metal in the wheelhouse and repositioned the boat for another run.

..................

That evening, Dick met up with two fellow mariners at The Dock Tavern at Gorleston, just off the harbour. 

His companions were not fishermen, but members of a sports diving club.  They also had often chartered the Charlotte Rose, and knew Dick well.  Over a couple of beers, he related the details of the new wreck, and the problem he may face, if he did not report his find to the receiver of wrecks as required.

The club had not dived on any wreck this far out before; the North Sea was unpredictable at the best of times.  But this did present a challenge.  It would give the club the chance to dive on a new unexplored wreck, at no charter cost, as Dick would be paying for the fuel and expenses.  And Dick would have the chance to have two wrecks to his target list in the same area, which should pay dividends in increased bookings.  The deal was cemented by another round of beers.

Meanwhile, crew member Roger Lawson was carrying out some preliminary work on the life jacket remains.  The distinct design of multiple pockets filled with kapok; the only id was a faded label inside, containing a production work number and the date, 1944.  That was not too much help.  It was of a design only used on bombers and transport planes due to its bulk, which made it too restrictive for the cramped fighter plane cockpits of the era.  Further identification would have to wait for a diver's inspection.  Roger had provided a list of requirements for the dive. 

Identify aircraft make and type.

Any fuselage markings, especially squadron codes.

Any data plates loose, or easily removable.

And most important, any human remains present.  The last item would determine the next moves.

Chapter 2

First wreck dive

Two weeks had passed since the discovery of the wreck, and The Charlotte Rose was now approaching the sandbank location four miles off Great Yarmouth.  Dive club leader Russell Coats had some good news.  He had secured the loan of a small ROV (Remotely operated underwater vehicle) camera for use on the dive.  A live camera feed would convey pictures back to the operator on the Charlotte Rose.  The Unit was home built using second hand parts.  However, it contained a new Sony C-2000 video camera that was operated by a switch that could be turned off and on by the means of an attached waterproof cable.  The owner and builder, Wendy Winters, had tested it in a swimming pool, and a small lake to a depth of 50 ft.  The results were promising, and the dive team had agreed to bring Wendy along as an operator, and to fix any potential problems.  Roger had also prepared a set of pictures of likely German bombers that fit the general profile of the bombers known to be active over the UK during the war.  He had joined the dive trip as an assistant to Dick and as his technical advisor.  Using the boat’s sonar, Dick positioned the Rose 200 yards up tide of the wreck and dropped anchor.  The dive team were already suiting up.  Russell and two others would make the dive, while the remaining 3 would remain suited up on deck as safety crew. 

Anxiously, the team watched as Wendy checked the camera and seals around the glass tank that encased it.  A thin metal outer cage encompassed the tank for protection from rocks.  Wendy had studied the design of the French designed poodle unit that resembled a torpedo, and was far more sophisticated.  However, hers was a fraction of the price, and she hoped success would allow her to get some corporate sponsorship to develop it.  Finally, she was ready, and with the assistance of Coates, she lowered the unit over the side.  Slowly, the unit sank, carried down by the current.  Dick had calculated the position of the wreck and the rate of drop.  He nodded at Wendy and called out. 

Now.

Wendy threw the switch and held her hand up with fingers crossed.  After another 50 feet of cable had been let out, they began to retrieve the unit using an electric winch to assist.  After what seemed an age, the square unit broke surface.  Dick used a large landing net, normally used for large flatfish, to lift the unit aboard.  Carefully, Wendy examined it.  There appeared to be no leaks, though the glass had misted slightly.  It took her 5 minutes to unfasten the 10 wing nuts that held the tank cover in place and gently break the seal.  She removed the camera from its housing and pressed rewind, then play, and the built in monitor lit up.  It showed bubbles and a darkened shape.  The aircraft was big.  Despite the shaking and buffeting from the unit as it slowly passed over the wreck, it was obvious that the aircraft was almost intact.  As the unit passed over the main wing, it struck an engine cowling and bounced upward.  The ballast in the bottom of the tank righted it in time to catch an oblique view of the damaged front of the plane and a smashed and crushed large Perspex nose.  Then the camera moved on, filming a large cod and some smaller whiting, much to the cheers of the divers.  Dick also smiled. 

Meanwhile, they surrounded Wendy congratulating her, and asking her about the construction of the unit. 

Dick now approached Roger.

Any ideas?

The historian had been studying the video and had his prepared laminated plates. 

Well, it’s big, and a twin engine plane and that narrows the field.  The JU 88 has a similar glazed front, but I think it’s too big for a JU 88.  It may be a He 111, if so; it’s a pretty common find. 

Dick checked the gear, and after another look at the sky, gave the all clear to Coats. 

Clear to dive, Russ.  We have around 20 minutes of slack water coming up.  So you’ll have a brief window.

Roger then hoisted the ‘Diver Down’ flag as a warning to other boats, but it seemed unnecessary.  The only vessel in sight was a ferry, the Prins Beatrix, out from Harwich, and in route to Europe.  She was around 4 miles away.  Dick watched as the 3 divers sat on the gunwale, and one by one, fell backwards into the water.

Once below the surface, the three divers made steady progress using the anchor line as a guide.  True to Dick’s prediction, the current was easing.  He hit the soft sandy bottom, stirring up some mud traces.  Russell looked ahead.  The lighting was not good, but at 30 meters, he could make out the dark shape rising from the sea floor.  He immediately began taking photographs.  As he approached, the other two divers moved out to his left and right.  He could see the flashes of their cameras through the murk.  Ahead was one of the wings, its tip buried in the sand.  He could barely make out the black cross on the fuselage under a thin film of green and brown algae.  As he swam up and over the wing tip, he noticed a large inline engine, just outboard of the main fuselage.  There was only one.  The buried tip was too tapered to house a second; a twin engine bomber.  He glanced at his wristwatch; he had been down almost 10 minutes. 

Now he moved towards the front of the plane.  It was badly crumpled with most of the Perspex gone, after 20 odd years on the seabed, there was a good deal of barnacles and weed coating the wreck, but far less than he would have expected for a bomber that had been there for that length of time.  Another diver approached from his left and pointed at the nose cone where a torn yellow portion of canvas was still hung up on the aluminium framing.  Russell nodded and carefully approached.  He shone his flashlight into the cockpit interior, relieved to see no trace of the crew.  He also noticed the retaining harnesses were unbuckled; meaning the seats were likely empty when the plane hit the water.  There was, however, one item that could be useful, a mud stained manual jammed in the seat pocket.  Another check on his watch. 15 minutes had elapsed, and he could see the movement of mud and sand on