It was vital when wearing these positive pressure helmets to remain vertical or else they would fill with water. Stanwick was panting with exertion and with each breath, he was pulling in lungfuls of toxic, compressed oxygen. Where was Rausing? Through the tiny porthole, his eyes searched the gloomy darkness for his partner. But he was nowhere in sight.

Angus Rausing had landed forward of the ship’s superstructure, touching down almost directly on a searchlight near the starboard railing. The ship was in eerily good condition. The grey paint reflected back his torchlight and he could see that most of the windows on the pilothouse remained intact. Bubbles emanated from the wreck’s bowels, even one week after her sinking. But there was no time to take in the scenery. Rausing knew from the engineering sketches he’d been shown that their target was aft of his current position by at least 20 yards. He had to make his way back along the wreck, no easy feat in his lead boots and heavy suit. He took pains to control his pace and breathing so as not to become hypoxic. The cold of the deep ocean penetrated his suit and woolen undergarments and the sweat on his back from his time at the surface began to chill him.

When Rausing got to Stanwick, the Newcastle man had already blacked out and was lying on his side, his helmet full of water. Rausing called into his helmet’s telephone transceiver, but got back only static. He then tried to right Stanwick and purge the helmet, but he was aware of his own exertion and knew there was little he could do to revive Stanwick. He thought about giving the “four tugs” signal on Wick’s rope so the tenders could start to pull him up, but then decided not to. They might also pull him up, and he still had a chance to find his target and that was his strict instruction. Official secrets and all. No hope for Wick anyway, he coldly thought. Might as well get on with the job.

In the dim yellow cone of his dive torch, he left Wick behind and made his way across the now vertical rear deck of the stricken destroyer to the bulkhead door leading into the bomb room. Everything not attached to the deck now lay below him on the sea floor. Rausing wondered if he would see any dead bodies. Probably not, he guessed. With only nine lost in the sinking, he doubted any would be this far back, in the bomb room, during an aerial attack.