Yesterday M asked me if I wanted to join a group of divers on a summer expedition to the wreck of U-853, a German submarine depth-charged with all hands lost, oddly, one day after the war with Germany officially ended. It rests upright on the bottom of the Sound some 120 feet down. The vessel was badly ruptured allowing divers to swim throughout the cramped interior. Despite being a rather inexperienced diver, and this being over twice the depth I've ever descended, I said yes. And already I've begun experiencing horrible nightmares of being trapped inside the twisted hull. Closed inside Davey Jones' locker, stuck in narrow spaces, pinned under corroded steel deep in the murky green water surrounded by the bones of her crew. Panic. Perhaps I should reconsider.