He had to go, but first made sure the red light on the GoPro was still flashing. He hoped the little camera had captured the scene despite the low light and sediment. Just as he started to ascend through this macabre chamber, a distinctive shape caught his eye. It looked like a small, fat rocket, with four fins on the tail and a bloated, bullet-shaped head. A series of what looked like valves or ports clustered around the midsection, with twisted piping connected to them.

It was a bomb alright, but not like any he’d seen before in the holds of B-29s sunk in the Pacific. This one was much bigger and fatter. It looked less aerodynamic. It was bolted to what was left of a badly decomposed wooden skid. Was the Vampire transporting munitions to the Pacific theater? Trincomalee was a major Royal Navy base during the war so this wouldn’t be unusual. But only one, and way back here in the stern? Two limp yellow lift bags hung off of a pair of rings on the bomb. These were clearly modern. He could made out the JW Automarine logo on one of them. It was all starting to make sense in Tusker’s muddled brain.

A loud clanging shook him from his thoughts. Sam. It was time to go. He gave a last look at the bomb and drifted upwards towards the opening, where he could see the light of Sam’s torch flicking to and fro, searching for him. He aimed for her and found the inner lip of the hole in the hull, reminding himself to be careful on the way out. Something brushed his arm. Had Sam come inside to find him?

He angled his torch towards whatever it was. A man was looking back at him, screaming, six inches away. Tusker gasped and violently pushed away, back down into the hold. He was breathing hard. Sam was still clanging on the outside. He aimed his torch again and sure enough, there he was. A man, white and half naked, was pinned against the inside top of the ship. His eyes were open and bulging, his mouth a round “O”. It was, Tusker reflected grimly, the look of abject terror, the moment of death.