WesWorld

Some background information first, then the good stuff. I'm keeping this story set appart from other Italian news due to the time periods it bounces between. The events begin as such. It is 1978 and a young woman is working on her Doctoral History thesis surrounding the loss of a ship (I have not decided what ship this will be or what the cause is). The ship was lost over one of the deepest parts of the Adriatic, and has only been briefly visited once before. She and her soon to be husband (one of the submersible pilots) are part of a expedition to the wreak site, due to the favor of one of her professors. By that same favor, the ships last captain is also along for the expedition to provide some first hand insight, if tarnished by the years past, to what transpired.

Some music for the mood.

I didn't know what to expect bringing him along. The way I saw it at the time, it was just another accommodation we had to deal with in the submersible. Another pain in my backside. Another thing that could go wrong. I do not know how I could have been so far from the truth and naive, but I do know that the dives we did that trip changed how I think about what we do. Sometimes you loose the human connection, he brought it back.
-Beppe Aleppo


May 18th, 1978. Above the South Adriatic Pit on board the seabed exploration ship Carmen Cesarina.

Despite the years that had passed since he left the Navy, the sea still felt the same under Ilario Amerighi's feet. The smell of fresh sea air invigorated his old frame and took what he reckoned to be years off his tired joints. Closing his eyes, he let is slowly fading memories carry him back to the days long past. Not all the memories were happy from those times, and the ones that came bubbling to the surface of the last time he was in these waters were some of the darkest of all. Rushing water, acidic smoke, and screams of dieing men pushed at the edges of Ilario's mind. The pain of those hours had never quite gone away, but this was the closest Ilario had come to being overwhelmed by them in years. He felt his breaths thicken as he mentally pushed back against events long resolved. Eventually all that remained were faded faces, with names he had never forgotten, silently asking "Why?". Ilario had lived with those faces for a very long time, and he once again felt raw anguish begin to boil. The sudden sound or wrenching drew in back to reality, the faces fading and taking the acuteness of feeling out of his swirling memories. "Michelina, have you gone to see the ship's doctor yet?" he inquired of the twenty-something woman who's head was hanging over the side.

"Not yet Mr. Amerighi." Michelina Nasato replied. "We are almost to the dive site and I know from experience I will be fine once we go under. Just something about the sea today." She looked up and gazed longingly at the two small submersibles hanging above the quarterdeck.

"I hope we will reach it soon, for your sake." Ilario said "As to that," he pointed at the submersible "Im still a bit apprehensive. Old fears die hard, you might say."

Michelina took a few minutes to make sure that what remained of her lunch had settled down, then went back inside the Carmen Cesarina, leaving the old man to continue reminiscing alone. Turning a corner, she ran strait into Beppe Aleppo. "Sorry Beppe!"

"Its fine Michelina" Beppe replied "sick again?"

Michelina nodded "Better now. He was out on deck again. Wonder what he is thinking about."

"I have not one gram of a idea." Beppe replied "All I know is we need room in the submersible for three and not two. Would be no fun with that old man." This was accompanied by a wink and another, more obscene, gesture.

Michelina hit Beppe playfully "You would think about doing it in the submersible. Sometimes I wonder if you will wait until we get married. Its only another few weeks."

"Indeed my special fiocco di neve," Beppe replied in a highly dramatized romantic voice "there will be much time for that later. Now, go see to your charts and such, we dive in a few hours." With a kiss, Beppe spun around Michelina and made his way outside bent on attending to his submersibles. Ilario was still standing on the quarterdeck, once again lost to memories of times long since past.

Several hours later, the three were sealed up inside the submersible. Beppe sat at the conning station, Michelina at a secondary technical station, and Ilario in a observation seat. The submersible was designed for four, but since this was a shallower dive and they had a second submersible along with them, there was no need for the fourth crewman so the three fit comfortably inside. Ilario was visually nervous, his old sailing instincts coming back. As the submersible began is slow decent to the bed of the Adriatic, Michelina saw something that must have fallen just short of pure, unfiltered, and unbridled terror engulf Ilario's eyes. She half expected him to panic. As the submersible passed further beneath the waves without incident, Ilario began to regain his calm and replaced it with wonder. The high point was having a shark swim by the submersible at about 15m down. As the submersible sank deeper and the light grew poor, Ilario became more reflective. Finally he broke the silence. "I don't know how I feel about seeing her again." his tone was very meditative "I feel like I'm about to visit a grave of a family member, which in some ways I am. But it is very different, considering I mourn not only the men who lie in rest here," he crossed himself "but what they lie in. Loosing a ship you command, almost feels like loosing a lover, a lover who the bond is so strong with you never feel the same after she has left you. I know you have read the stories of what happened to my ship, and the official reports. But you are to young to really know what happened, what things were like." Michelina reached out for Beppe's hand, who had turned around after setting the automatic controls. Her other hand found a audio recorder. Turning it on, she looked to Ilario for approval.

Ilario nodded, and with a soft electric buzz the recorder came to life. "Please, indulge this old sailor and listen to the story of a man and his ship, his crew, and a broken soul that has never quite healed."

A most interesting idea. Can't wait to see more of this. It's been some time since we've had a retrospective storyline like this.

Lieutenant Commander Ilario Amerighi is herby transfered from the Francesco Ferruccio upon the beginning of her refit to the Destroyer Bersagliere as commanding officer.
-Official Italian Naval Archive.

April 4th, 1944. Orlando Taranto Naval Yard

Lieutenant Commander Ilario Amerighi sat in one of the most uncomfortable chairs ever devised, no matter what he did there was no position that did not cause aches and pains. Luckily, the weather was mild and the temperature of the loby he sat in was bearable. The other officers he was suppose to be meeting with as of, he looked at his watch, 15 minuets ago had still not arrived. As he shifted in the chair for what felt like the hundredth time, the door finally opened and two men walked in. Rapidly rising from the chair, he came to attention. "Lieutenant Commander Ilario Amerighi reporting as ordered sir!"

Both men returned the salute, "At ease Commander" the higher ranking of the two officers said. "I am Capitan Marco Aleppo, and this is Commander Teodoro Aquino. It is a pleasure to meet you. I trust the train was pleasant?"

Ilario nodded. "Quite sir, even arrived somewhat early." This was a little white lie, he did not want to give away just how late both Aleppo and Aquino were.

"Well, I'm sure you are quite though with sitting, shall we walk?" Capitan Aleppo asked "Besides, I don't think you you have seen your new command before."

Ilario nodded again. "Indeed I have not, the Francesco Ferruccio always seemed to just miss her when we called here." He held the door for the two senior officers as they stepped out into the shipyard proper. The day was growing old, and most of the civilian staff had departed for the day. In the distance, work could still be heard from some ships in for maintenance and refitting. Along the pier, ships of all sizes were moored, with others anchored offshore. Ranging from small mine warfare ships and MAS boats to the massive Marcantonio Colona, the full spectrum of the Italian navy was on display. The officers talked as they walk by several ships until they finally stopped. Before them the destroyer Bersagliere bobbed gently up and down with the waves. A few men were out on deck doing some menial task or another, but the ship was mostly barron.

Aleppo turned to Ilario and extending his hand said "Not such a bad ship for a first command. Congratulations Commander Amerighi, I know you will do us proud."

May 18th, 1978. The Adriatic Sea
"That day is still one of my proudest memories." Ilario said above the soft noise of electronic equipment. "I would imagine it compares to having your first child or getting married, but seeing as I never did I cannot draw a comparison." He sighed "That was also the day I met your professor. He was on the deck when I first went aboard. He has aged much better then I have." Ilario's gaze shifted from Beppe and Michelina to the water outside the viewports. "Over the next several months, we would grow very close as would the rest of the crew. We accomplished much. It is a true shame that so many young lives would be put to a end. After the fateful cruise, we were scheduled to attend our Chief Engineer's wedding. Instead those of us that were left watch as many heartbroken families, both established and those never to be, buried empty coffins." Tears began to trickle down Ilario's weathered cheeks. "So much potential, destroyed."

On the day of the Bersagliere Incident, the ship was scheduled to conduct Anti-Aircraft exercises with a Air Defense Force Squadron based out of Venice. Such exercises had been conducted and would later be conducted by ships of the same class and others without incident. Therefor, the Bersagliere Incident must be assumed to be one of Human Error on some level.
-Official Italian Naval Archive, Bersagliere Court-marshal hearing transcript.

July 20th, 1944. Venice, Italy

The destroyer shrugged loose her mornings, guided by a small tug. Ever larger snakes of smoke curled with escalating intensity out of the smokestacks, hinting at the pent up power building in the hull. Her attending tug scurried away at a snail's pace, seeming faster as the water around the destroyer's stern became more and more disturbed. Propellers dug into the sea, and the lone ship approached the mouth of the harbor. Some small craft darted around like small fish fleeing the path of a shark, but the way was always clear for the destroyer. Appreciative salutes were returned in kind, until finally open water was all the remained in her path. With the pent of energy of thousands of horses, the stern dough hard into the water being churned into a foamy white by the now unleashed propellers. Leaving the shore and city behind, the crew franticly scurrying over the deck as the emergency drill reached its climax, the ship was all but truly alive. The weather was prefect, with only gathering clouds on the horizon foretelling any change. For all the life the ship showed, death stalked it. Soon death's wrath would be felt on the Adriatic, its pending victim blissfuly unaware of how rapidly the clock was ticking.

July 21st The Adriatic Sea

Lieutenant Commander Ilario Amerighi watched the skies, waiting for something. "Signals, do we have contact from the aircraft yet?" He shouted above the air warning alarm, who's earsplitting screeching tore the silence apart Around him, men ran to action stations. Tho it was only a drill, the call to action was a change of pace from what normally happened during Anti-Aircraft gunnery drills. Four fighters based out of Venice we coming to simulate a air attack. They had towed target flags that would be used for gunnery practice in addition. The drill had been planed in advance, part of the many they were running on there way to a foreign port call.

"Yes sir!" came the response from the signals officer on duty "They are approximately one minute out, they have not informed us of the attack paten, as requested."

It was then Ilario spotted them. Four G.55 Centurio fighters of the Italian Air Defense forces, the bright orange flags they towed behind them gave away there presence. The sleek fighters approached and wigged there wings in salute, then with what must have been a very loud snarl from the big Alfa-Romero engines they pealed off and committed to there there attack runs. Ilario observed as the ship's Anti-Aircraft guns began banging away. He followed the vector of attack of one of the G.55s, the squadron number 82-3 emblazed on its side, as it dove in low over the wave tops for a pass aft of the Bersagliere.

The gunnery chief for the rearmost Anti-Aircraft battery followed the same aircraft, and watched as his gunners engaged the bright banner it towed behind it. The pilot was coming in very low, most likely doing a bit of showboating on his designated run. The chief saw one of the light guns tracking the target depress far to low. All to quickly, he realized something was wrong, the mount was not suppose to depress that far. That arc now lead right into....he realized just how bad this was going to be. His cry was hardly formed in his lungs before the spray of cannon shells walked right into the aft depth charge rack.

Orbiting above the destroyer, awaiting his own attack run, Flight Commander Luigi Gladus Vespucci followed the G.55 on the low attack run with his eyes, keen on picking out how best to approach the destroyer. Suddenly, the stern of the destroyer was engulfed in a explosion, the fireball rising into the air. Luigi saw the ship tilt wildly forward, its bow digging into the water, before settling into a slow turn with the stern beginning to settle into the Adriatic. Fires raged aboard, and Luigi saw men dragging hoses to combat the flames. He reached for his radio. "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is Flight Commander Vespucci, there has been a major accident on board the Bersagliere during live fire drills! The ship is on fire, send emergency craft!" The message hammered the airwaves, delivering the chilling news that none wanted to ever hear.

Ilario picked himself up off the deck of the bridge, ears ringing from the after effects of the explosion and the now blasting fire alarms. "ALL STOP! GET MORE HOSES OUT!" The orders came from instinct, his mind still flailing. What happened? Billowing smoke and flame from the aft portions of his ship told him enough to shout Launch the torpedoes over the side! before heading after to see what befell his command. As he arrived at the formost torpedo tubes, their carriage being trained over the side as fast as possible, the full scale of the devastation greeted him. Men were everywhere, some working hoses over the fires, others were hauling those to inured to move themselves away from the blaze, still others screamed terrifying sounds as pain engulfed the very fiber of there beings as fire consumed parts of there bodies or hunks of twisted metal skewered them like hunks of meat. Ilario saw far to many who would never rise again, there forms contorted at unnatural angels or chared beyond identification. As the images engrained themselves forever into Ilario's memory, a engineer drenched in a mixture of seawater, lubricants, and blood ran up to to him.

"Sir!" He shouted, but it failed to tear the Capitan's attention away. "SIR!"

Ilario turned around. "Yes?"

The engineer replied "You are needed in the engine room right away." Having delivered his message, he ran off in the direction of his post. Ilario followed him, mind still unable to process what had happened to his ship and his crew.

May 18th 1978. Below the Adriatic

"The Navy later determined that it was a 25mm tracer round that impacted one of the depth charges sitting on the stern rack that caused the explosion." Ilario continued "Luck would have it that the rack was not fully loaded, whether that is good or bad is fully dependent on how you view what happened afterwards. The man behind the gun was found guilty of negligence of upkeep and unwarranted removal of safety equipment due to the removal of the guides that should have prevented the gun from depressing so far. He would have faced prison time should he have lived."

An interesting though unfortunate circumstance; but a very interesting story line.

I think its time to continue this...

May 18th 1978. Below the Adriatic
The pain on Ilario's face grew more pronounced. "The carnage that greeted me in the engine room was horrific. But alas, there was still worse to come at my own hand."

July 21st, The Adriatic Sea
The Chief Engineer looked like a creature out of a horror story, covered almost head to foot in black oil. "Sir." that was end of the formalities. "We have heavy damage to the prop shaft on the port side. Water is coming in quite rapidly and if we don't start making forward progress soon I don't feel the pumps can keep up." The water sloshing around his ankles added more weight to the words.

"Can you restart the shaft?" Ilario asked.

"I think we can" The engineer replied "I'm just not sure how much we can put on the shaft." A low mechanical growl accompanied his explanation as something turned over without the aid of lubrication. "Permission to restart the shaft?"

"Permission granted" Ilario replied without hesitation "but just enough to get the flooding under control." He watched as the sailors shifted the prop shaft into gear and it slowly began to turn with much more resistance then normal. The mechanical screeching did not subside, but grew louder. Something is not right Ilario though. Then, the shaft froze. Frantic shouts sent men diving for cover and someone tackled Ilario into the oily water. With a fantastic clash of metal being wrenched to bits, the transmission and turbine tore themselves free of there mounts as part of the hull near the prop shaft opened to the sea. Bits of shattered gears and turbine blades impaled everything and anything in there path, turning men into what would have looked at home hanging from a butcher's ceiling. Seawater and steam pored into the compartment as the serving men ran for the bulkheads and exits. Ilario picked himself up of the deck and reached for the arm of the sailor who had pushed him down to help him up. What followed the arm was a shredded bit of torso, a few entrails ran into the water which ran red. Stunned, Ilario dropped the limb and began moving to the hatch the lead up to the deck.

The scene on deck was far worse then before. The end of the stern was almost underwater, and the oil on the surface had ignited. Out of instinct, Ilario moved forward until he finally reached the bridge, telling everyone he found that it was time to abandon ship. He went to the radio room and found the operator still at his post, frantically sending distress calls. "It is time to abandon ship, sound the alarm."

The radio operator nodded, and the alarms that had not stopped changed tone.

Ilario and the radio operator exited the bridge. With a sudden massive boom, the deck buckled under them and both were thrown from the ship. Ilario felt his body slam into the water, then everything went dark.

May 18th 1978. The Adriatic Seafloor
"Improperly sealed bulkheads, most likely damaged by the shaft tearing loose, let seawater hit the boilers at a rapid pace and one of them burst." Ilario's account was wrapped in a funeral like depression. "Fortunately for the survivors, it threw most of them clear of the burning oil slick. As for me, the radioman was not knocked out and was able to somehow keep me afloat until he got something that floated under me. I own that man my life."

Beppe broke his meditative silence. "We should be coming up on the Bersagliere soon." He squeezed Michelina's hand and then returned to the controls as the seafloor slowly passed underneath

Ilario nodded, and set his gaze out the portal next to his seat.

Michelina was the first to spot the form of the destroyer where it lay on the bottom of the Adriatic. The submersible was approaching from the port side of the wreck, and the two gaping holes created by the shaft and burst boiler were clearly visible. "There she is." The simple statement cut the silence in the cabin. Michelina looked at Ilario and saw tears rolling silently down his cheeks.