1 Chapter 1: The Wealth of the Aegean Sea

In the autumn of 1915, the fires of war raged fiercely across the European continent. The ambitions of Germany, the determination of France, and the resolve of Britain were mired in an unprecedented stalemate on the Marne River front in eastern France. Millions of soldiers, surrounded by cannons, machine guns, barbed wire, and a maze of trenches, found themselves in a seemingly endless wait in the muddy trenches. The attritional warfare unfolding in this confined area was a monumental test of manpower, resources, and patience for both the Allied and Central Powers.

On the other side of the European continent, the surface of the beautiful Mediterranean appeared calm, but beneath the surface, turbulent currents stirred. Here, the naval powers of the Central Powers—the independent navies of Germany and the Ottoman Empire—coexisted with the formidable fleets of the Allied powers—such as the powerful British Mediterranean Fleet, the French main fleet, and the recently engaged Italian Navy. In contrast to the deadlock on the continent, the Allies enjoyed absolute superiority in the Mediterranean. The naval fleet of the Austro-Hungarian Empire was firmly suppressed by their Italian adversaries in the Adriatic Sea, while the Ottoman Empire struggled to fend off attacks from the British and French naval forces on land and sea. Their feeble navy could only maintain a passive stance behind the Dardanelles, where their opponents couldn't breach.

This power imbalance created an unusual tranquility in the Mediterranean, but at least until the arrival of autumn, vessels of the Allied and neutral nations could traverse the region without hindrance. The routes from the Suez Canal to the Strait of Gibraltar were even busier than in peacetime, as Britain and France continuously transported troops and supplies from their colonies in Africa and Asia. The only real threat came from the lurking submarines of the Central Powers accustomed to prowling beneath the waves. However, both the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Ottoman Empire possessed only a handful of submarines. Therefore, for most Allied captains, the likelihood of being hit by a torpedo from a Central Powers submarine in the Mediterranean seemed exceedingly slim—they joked that such an event would only occur on a Black Friday...

September 25, 1915, a Friday.

In the waters between the island of Crete and Kasos, a steamship with three funnels was sailing from south to north. Though not as massive or luxuriously adorned as the Titanic, it boasted a speed worthy of pride in these waters. While it lacked any large guns, a formidable flag fluttered proudly atop its mast. There was no one on this planet who wouldn't recognize it—it was a symbol of the might and dignity of the world's foremost naval power, the only flag that remained bathed in sunlight twenty-four hours a day.

"To this fine weather and our pleasant journey, cheers!"

In the most spacious and lavishly decorated room aboard the ship, a bearded man wearing a captain's hat and a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman stood by the window, each holding a glass of wine. After the satisfying clink of their crystal glasses, the bearded man, downed his glass of wine, crimson as blood, while the gentleman merely took a sip.

"Excellent wine! Excellent wine! Truly the finest Bordeaux red!" the bearded man exclaimed.

"Captain, we still have a dozen hours or so until we reach Athens, don't forget our purpose amidst this fine wine!" The gentleman's tone was indifferent, which clearly irked the captain, but he couldn't forget that this clean-shaven fellow was his esteemed benefactor. With this in mind, the captain couldn't help but chuckle.

"Mr. Fingal, rest assured! Who in Cairo doesn't know John White and his ship that can outrun torpedoes? Do you know why the navy doesn't requisition my ship for troop transport? Because my ship is simply too fast, fast enough to leave the entire fleet in its wake!"

"Is that so?" There was a meaningful smirk on Mr. Fingal's lips. While the ship was indeed fast, its capacity was quite small. Aside from customers like himself who needed to transport valuable cargo, who would pay a hefty price to charter a ship that could only carry a few thousand tons across the Mediterranean?

"Well, we'll see when both men and goods safely arrive in Athens. That's when I'll pay the remaining sum!" Mr. Fingal raised his glass to eye level, allowing the sunlight to refract through the red liquid into his eyes. Red wasn't just the color of blood and wine, and clarity wasn't solely the domain of glass. In the safe in this room, a collection of jewelry made up of red and crystal-shaped gemstones was worth millions—something that John White, and even the entire Fingal family, took immense pride in. Over a hundred years ago, only the most prestigious women in India were qualified to wear such jewelry on important occasions, around their beautiful necks.

"Of course!" The captain didn't seem concerned. He grabbed the bottle of wine with a French label from the table, confidently pouring more into his glass. "Pirates vanished from the Mediterranean a hundred years ago. Besides those damn Germans and Turks, who would dare to offend our British Empire's ships? Even if the Goeben came, we could still leave it far behind!"

"The Goeben? Hmph!" Mr. Fingal's disdain for the name was evident. To him, it was just a warship with a talent for fleeing. Now, with the main forces of the British and French fleets gathering at the mouth of the Dardanelles, it probably didn't even have the courage to leave Istanbul, let alone venture into the Aegean Sea for a leisurely cruise.

"Regardless, caution is never amiss! And, Captain, I don't want to see any of your men recklessly approaching my door. If anything goes wrong, I won't be held responsible!" Mr. Fingal glanced at the sturdy safe in the corner of the room. Compared to the redwood furniture and 500 barrels of whiskey brewed from top-grade wheat in the cabin, this was the real "cargo" he was transporting. But don't think he was fish on the chopping block on this ship—anyone wanting to enter this room had to ask the four stern-looking men at the door and their quick guns first.

"Mr. Fingal, rest assured, I'll make sure they remember that!" The captain finished the remaining wine in his glass in one gulp, stuffing the half-full bottle into his coat pocket before leaving. "You just rest easy. Lunch will be brought to you, goodbye!"

"No need for an escort!" Mr. Fingal said unkindly. If it weren't for the fact that all the luxurious passenger ships in Cairo had been requisitioned by the navy as troop transports, he wouldn't have chosen such a captain who was addicted to alcohol and such a ship that could only run blindly.

On the deck of the ship, the stokers who weren't on duty were leisurely enjoying the warmth of the spring sun. For these sailors who spent their lives at sea, going ashore for fun was naturally something they longed for, but during the voyage, listening to old sailors tell stories was a pleasure that didn't cost money and passed the time.

In 1756, the British East India Company was at the height of its power. They were making profitable deals in India, establishing their own army, and training Indians to fight for them. In order to station troops and store valuable goods, they built a massive fortress in Calcutta. Think about it, who would allow foreigners to build such a fortress in their own land? So, this quickly sparked discontent among the Indians. After the protests against the British East India Company by the Nawab (equivalent to a governor) of Bengal proved ineffective, he ordered an attack on the fortress. At that time, there were only 900 British soldiers in Calcutta, along with fewer than 3,000 Indian soldiers they had trained, while their opponents numbered 70,000!

"Did they win?" a small Egyptian sailor interrupted.

"Damn it, Jim, stop interrupting..." Another sturdy stoker waved his fist.

"Cough! With 3,000 against 70,000, could they win?... Of course not!" The old sailor shook his head, eliciting a sigh from the group. Judging from the facial features and characteristics of these people, except for the old sailor and the small Egyptian sailor who were typical Europeans, the others should all be locals from Egypt.

"Don't worry, don't worry. A head-on battle like that couldn't be won, but our East India Company had other means!" The old sailor teased, and proudly adopted the term "we." Seeing the anxious faces around him, he continued calmly:

"So, we spent a lot of money to buy off the Nawab's officers. When we fought the Indian army again, they started infighting, and even the Nawab was killed by us! Our army took the opportunity to march towards the treasury of Bengal. When they opened the treasury gates... Oh my God! It was full of gold, silver, and jewels, dazzling to the eyes! With just one cry of 'loot'! This scene immediately got out of control, with everyone desperately stuffing jewels into their pockets, boots, and even hats! Do you know what the British commander said later?"

"What did he say?" The sailors were both envious and curious, leaning in to hear.

"He said: 'Oh, I was so foolish. I was surrounded by gold, whole crates of gold bars, bags of all kinds of gems, but I only took away £200,000!'"

"Ah..." The sighs around them varied in tone, expressing regret, envy, and jealousy.

"A fortune worth over £58 million in total!" The old sailor emphasized when he mentioned this number, "The officers and soldiers looted £21 million, and the rest went to the East India Company!"

"Ah..." These fortunes were still astronomical figures today, and the sailors' eyes widened, regretting not being born over a hundred years earlier. Even if they were just ordinary stable boys, they would have joined that exciting battle for wealth.

"But don't be discouraged!" Suddenly, the old sailor spoke in a mysterious tone, "Gold and jewels are not only found in India! For example, the bottom of the Aegean Sea is buried with countless treasures!"

"Hey, Old Jack, are you trying to scare us?"

"Yeah! Old Jack, where would treasures come from under the Aegean Sea?"

"Don't you know?" The old sailor searched the faces of his audience, but no one could answer.

"During the heyday of the Ottoman Empire, the Aegean Sea was the inner sea of the Ottomans. Large numbers of merchant ships traveled along this route between Athens, Cairo, and Istanbul. A pirate attack or a storm would be enough to sink countless wealth to the bottom of the sea! Do you know how much there is in total? How much?" The old sailor's gaze swept over the listeners, but no one could answer.

"Countless!" The old sailor sighed deeply, "Every year, many treasure hunters come with hope, but the sea is vast, and most people end up empty-handed!"

"Oh..." The sailors sighed in amazement.

"But some people find one or two sunken ships. Some are worthless, but some find tens of thousands of gold coins and various gems! Perhaps... perhaps there's a sunken ship full of treasure chests right below us, but who knows?"

The sailors sighed again at this suggestion.

The old sailor looked proudly at the Egyptian sailors who didn't understand much. In fact, what he knew was just from a few ships he had been on. As for how much was true, even he didn't know.

Just then, a sailor standing near the ship's side suddenly shouted:

"Look, what's that?"

The sailors ran over to see, while the old sailor remained indifferent.

"What's there to be so excited about!"

"It's a big fish!" The big Egyptian sailor gave an imaginative answer.

"A fish?" The old sailor glanced in the direction indicated by everyone. At that look, he almost collapsed in shock.

"Sub... sub... submarine!" It took him two or three seconds to catch his breath before he yelled, "Captain... submarine... there's a submarine to our right front! 500... no, at most 450 yards!"

What's 450 yards? One yard equals 0.9144 meters, so it's just over 400 meters. In the vast expanse of the sea, such a distance doesn't even require binoculars to clearly see the other side. But what made the old sailor even more terrified was that the submarine quickly raised a flag on its conning tower, a flag that filled all British people with deep hatred: the black vulture cross of the Imperial German Navy!

"Germans, they're Germans!" This shout made everyone on the ship panic. In the propaganda posters of the British government, Germans were portrayed as a group of bloodthirsty demons! As for why a German submarine would appear here, the sailors didn't know and didn't have time to investigate.

Just then, a somewhat unsteady English message came from the German submarine, amplified by a loudspeaker, so that every person on the ship could clearly hear the content:

"Stop the ship! In the name of the Imperial German Navy, we command you to stop immediately. You have been captured by the Imperial German Navy! Stop immediately, or we will use cannons and torpedoes!"

This was no lie. In the ship's control room, the bearded captain could see through his binoculars that the crew on the German submarine was removing the waterproof canvas from the deck gun at the bow. Although these deck guns were not very powerful and had limited range (during World War I, deck guns of various countries' submarines usually had a caliber of less than 100 millimeters), they were more than enough to deal with a defenseless civilian ship like theirs.

"We can't stop!" The ship's employer, a well-dressed gentleman, suddenly appeared in the control room and shouted at the captain, "Charge at it! Ram it!"

"Are you crazy?" The captain was very clear-headed when it came to matters of life and death. "We'll be blown to pieces!"

"No, its guns can't sink us right away, but we can ram it! At this close distance, that German submarine won't have time to dive again!" The gentleman's tone left no room for discussion, and just as the captain was about to object, he saw the gentleman pull out a revolver and aim it at him.

"Do as I say, it's the only way we can escape safely!" The gentleman said, but in reality, he didn't want to hand over the contents of the safe to the Germans. If they stopped the ship in this situation, the Germans would board and plunder it, then leave a few lifeboats for the crew and passengers before sinking the ship with cannons or torpedoes. This was information the gentleman had obtained from British newspapers, although it was not entirely reliable, he clearly didn't want to risk his fortune.

"Madman! He's a madman!" The bearded captain muttered angrily, but the current situation didn't allow him a moment's hesitation. He pushed aside the first mate who was steering and took control of the helm himself. With the distance between the two ships so close and their own ship already at high speed, he didn't need to order an increase in speed. Instead, he just needed to turn the helm sharply, and soon the bow of the ship was pointing directly at the much slower German submarine. Because the two ships had been traveling parallel to each other, the merchant ship was now charging at the submarine, and if they collided like this, the vulnerable German submarine would surely be the one to suffer.

The Germans seemed to have noticed the situation, and a flash of fire appeared on the deck of the submarine, followed by two thunderous bangs in less than a second. A shell accurately hit the starboard side of the ship. In the hail of flying shrapnel and splintered wood, several crew members fell into pools of blood before they could react.

"You bastards... We'll fight to the end!"

Although several panes of glass in the control room windows were shattered and pungent smoke poured in, the bearded captain became more determined at this moment. He glared red-eyed at the German submarine ahead. 250 yards - he could see the German crew busy loading shells into the deck gun; 200 yards - he saw a German officer wearing a white cap on the conning tower, what was that German thinking? How would he respond?

Boom...

Another shell exploded, this time hitting the bow of the ship, but the bearded captain smiled contemptuously. Germans, did you think you could sink my ship like this?

150 yards - the bearded captain noticed that the submarine was also turning, but not to aim its bow at them, instead it was turning its stern towards them. As this action progressed, the deck gun on the German submarine quickly lost its firing angle.

"Wanna run? A bunch of German pigs!" The bearded man sneered, knowing full well that unless the Germans could fully submerge in a very short time, their submarine was no match for his ship with such a high speed. But suddenly, he noticed a bubble of water popping up from the front and back of the submarine, what was that? Signals from the submarine's propeller turning? Or...

"It can't be!"

The bearded man said to himself, "No one would launch a torpedo at this distance, because the torpedo would pass under the ship's hull, and even if it hit the target, it would also cause enormous collateral damage. Unless... unless the other side is a lunatic!"

But he was mistaken. Just a few seconds later, accompanied by a deafening roar, the entire ship was almost blown sky-high — it was a highly powerful German Type T torpedo, something even heavily armored warships would desperately avoid, let alone a steel-hulled wooden cargo ship like this one.

The Captain, with no chance left to ponder why this was happening, found himself amidst such a violent explosion that all 42 crew members and passengers aboard were lost in mere minutes, sinking along with the vessel to the ocean floor, leaving nothing but floating debris and scattered belongings on the surface.

However, the Captain did manage to guess one thing correctly: the commander standing atop the submarine's conning tower with a cold, indifferent expression was indeed a "madman." His name was Hessen, the captain of the German U-21 submarine, a name and vessel well-known in the German naval circles. In that spring of the same year, this brave captain led his U-21 into what the British considered sacred waters of the Irish Sea. Despite the sea bristling with patrols and underwater anti-submarine mines, he managed to sink three British ships, even daring to shell a nearby British military airfield on the coast one night. It was such audacious acts that earned Hessen the nickname "Madman of the Seas."

Yet, Hessen's madness went further. Facing the fierce onslaught of the British and French forces, the Turkish government sought support from Germany, prompting Germany to dispatch a batch of submarines to the Mediterranean, including the U-21. After a long journey of 4000 nautical miles and passing through layers of blockade set by the Allied forces at the Strait of Gibraltar, Hessen commanded his submarine to silently slip into an anchorage near Cape Matapan, Greece, held by the Allies, where he managed to sink the British battleships "Triumph" and "Majestic," achieving a significant military feat (this is historical fact).

Compared to the two powerful British battleships, this small British cargo ship was hardly worth mentioning. Despite the floating remnants on the sea surface, Hessen showed no signs of victory or joy on his face. After all, in such distant waters from home, every torpedo was exceptionally precious. He had initially thought to use two shells to scare the British into abandoning ship, then send crew members aboard to find valuable items like fresh vegetables, meat, and fresh water, before setting explosives in the ship's hull, a common practice among German submarine commanders.

When he noticed the cargo ship attempting to ram his submarine, Hessen promptly ordered all his crew to the forward compartments of the submarine. Only in a slightly elevated position at the stern of the submarine could a torpedo launched from the rear torpedo tube have any chance of hitting a ship at such close range.

Another point: this commander had a peculiar habit. Whenever his submarine left port, he always made sure the crew loaded a smallest depth-setting torpedo into the rear torpedo tube. Until that day, nobody knew why he did so.

Although U-21 suffered some damage from the close-range explosion, Hessen wasn't worried. His well-trained crew quickly dealt with the faults one by one, and he habitually recorded the time, location, and rough details of the attack in his navigation log.

After recharging the batteries, Hessen and his submarine submerged once again, continuing their hunt for prey...

Several weeks later, in an inconspicuous corner of the London Times, a notice was published: a fast boat named "Flying Fish" went missing on its journey from Cairo to Athens, along with the renowned jeweler Stephen Fingal and his jewelry valued at over £2 million. Any information leading to the recovery would be handsomely rewarded by the British authorities!