I Hear Dead Soldiers Voices
Ghosts at the bottom of the sea
I fell backward from the blue and white covered panga’s swaying edge, my right hand gently pressed against my facemask, my left, cradling my pressure gauge and dive computer to my chest. Peacefully, I began sinking through the pond-like, aqua blue water.
Without thinking, my ungloved finger and thumb pinched my nostrils, quickly equalizing the building pressure in my sinuses.
Our World War II shipwreck scuba dive had finally begun.
My heart rate slowed, matching the calm, steady rhythm of my breathing. Meditative, long, calming, measured inhales followed by slow, steady exhales — sinking, in slow motion as the dive unfolded before us like a Hollywood movie.
I flashed a quick ok signal toward Dave, my dive buddy, who calmly returned the gesture. I instinctively reached for my depth gauge, swinging it slowly into view; it read eighty-eight feet through its round, high-pressure glass window.
The lagoon’s visibility was at least seventy-five feet, allowing a healthy portion of the five hundred thirty-five-foot Japanese warship, Heian Maru, now forever entombed in its watery grave, to come into view.
A sudden chill coursed up my spine and across my neck, even though the water temperature was a…
