Shadow of the Dragon

30

“Your request must be denied out of hand!” Captain Tian snapped, pulling the second, and then the third folded paper out of the cup in Commander Wan’s hand. “I need you here, by my side. These are incredibly important decisions that must be made. If, by some chance, any of us survive this, it should be you. You are the future of our Red Star, Blue Water Navy.”

Wan kept his voice low and even, knowing full well that he would never win an argument with the captain. The man simply did not argue. He would discuss, he would listen to reason, but if for one moment he believed that someone was arguing with him, he would, as the Americans said, pull rank, or, more often than not, simply walk away.

“I understand,” he said. “But if I may, you have said many times that you depend on my counsel. I humbly give you that counsel now. You know how important the Mirage drive is. I am in full agreement with you that if there is any way to save it and Professor Liu, then we should attempt it. Honestly, the chief engineer would have been the best candidate. He was extremely fit, and knew more about the drive than anyone besides the professor. But, sadly, he did not survive the fire. Considering our options dispassionately, I am the next logical choice. I am older than almost any of the submariners, so I am less likely to panic, and in much better physical condition than any of the more mature division chiefs. I swam competitively in secondary school and am a trained scuba diver, accustomed to the water.”

Tian took a long breath, puckering, as if smelling his top lip — it was what he did when he thought and was often copied by the men, though never in his presence.

“This is a suicide mission,” he said. “A one-way trip. No return. One way or another, you will die when you leave this boat. No question about it. In all likelihood, your lungs will rupture during ascent, or you will drown, hopelessly trapped beneath the ice. If you reach the surface alive, there is a better-than-average chance that you will be ground to flotsam by jagged pieces of floating ice. If, by some miracle, you are able to drag your broken body onto the ice and make the call, rescuers may save the ship, but the chances of anyone arriving in time to save you are almost nonexistent.”

“So,” Wan smiled, “there is hope?”

“You will eventually freeze to death.”

“If we do nothing, we all die. It would be my great honor to give my life for the crew and for China.” He shrugged, hoping it looked humble rather than haughty. “And I have heard that dying from cold is not at all unpleasant,” Commander Wan said. “They say one falls asleep.”

“A pleasant way to die indeed, unless your slumber is interrupted by a passing polar bear.” The captain pursed his lips again. “Soviet cosmonauts were issued shotguns to take into space for the eventuality that their capsule landed in Siberia when it returned to earth.” He shivered, trying to shake a memory. “I once saw the body of a man who had been partially eaten by a bear, in Siberia. The beast had broken the poor man’s neck and then eaten his kidneys. I believe he was alive during—”

“With all due respect,” Wan said, smiling, “I would just as soon die as imagine such horrible things.”

The captain took him by both shoulders, tears of pride welling in his eyes, calling him by his given name. “Xiuying, it has been my great honor to serve as your captain…”

“Thank you, sir!”

Tian stepped away. “But if we are to do this, then we should do it without delay. I am sorry that there is no more time for you to prepare.”

“I assure you, Captain,” Commander Wan said, “I would rather not linger. I was prepared from the moment I wrote my name on the papers.”

The PLAN Submariner Academy in Qingdao ran every student through egress exercises. Wan still remembered his experience putting on the full-face mask and “horse-collar” flotation aid before crawling into the modified torpedo tube and waiting for it to flood. When the hammer clanged three times on the hatch, he opened the flooded tube and kick-floated his way through a few feet of slightly cool water to the surface, into the arms of waiting instructors who wore scuba equipment to save him if he got into trouble.

This was not going to be like that.

The ungainly orange suit was a Chinese copy of the Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment, or SEIE, suit, designed and manufactured by RFD Beaufort Limited and utilized by, among others, the U.S. Navy. The operation was relatively straightforward. He would enter the lockout trunk wearing his suit, and attach the tube from his suit to an air connection that, when the time came, would fill the enclosed hood and provide him with flotation and breathing air on the way to the surface. The function of the trunk was exactly the same as that of the training tube in Qingdao, with the exception that this one was much larger, to accommodate several Special Forces divers, should the need arise. There were no Special Forces divers on this trip, or one of them would have had this honor.

Because of the unpredictability of the ice after it was broken — if it broke at all — it was decided that Commander Wan would enter the lockout trunk and flooding would begin as the Yu-6 torpedo was fired. Coordinates were plotted and the 880’s fire control guided the fish via its trailing wire umbilical, sending it as close to straight above their heads as possible.

Sweating profusely in the waterproof suit, Wan opened the escape trunk’s inner hatch. He saluted the crew, who had crowded into the forward torpedo room, and then hung the rubber pack containing the satellite phone around his neck, clipping it to a belt around his waist to keep it from becoming an entanglement hazard.

Captain Tian stepped forward, gave him another pack with a short shotgun inside.

“The chief sawed off the barrel, to make it easier for you to carry.” The captain pursed his lips again, patting Wan on the shoulder. “I would hate for you to see a polar bear.”

At that, the captain nodded to the assistant medic, who’d had little training but for what he got on the job. He carried a long steel needle. “The medical manual suggests submariners egressing from depths perforate their eardrums prior to leaving, to avoid a more violent tear during rapid ascent.”

“Very well,” Wan said. He did not know if puncturing an eardrum would hurt, but he thought having one ripped apart by pressure might render him incapable of making the decisions he would need to make at the surface. He pushed the SEIE suit’s hood back to expose his ears. “Please go ahead.”

“Me?” the seaman stammered. “I had thought…” He held up the needle with an unsteady hand.

Wan smiled, rescuing the young man by taking the needle from him and deftly popping both his own eardrums, quickly, one after the other, before he had time to think. It smarted, but, to his surprise, it was not excruciating, and he could still hear.

He returned the needle and entered the escape trunk. The heavy door closed behind him with a resounding metallic thunk, muffling the sound of the cheers coming from the crew.

Almost immediately, seawater began to flow in around his feet, filling the metal box, the rising pressure causing the holes in his eardrums to hum.

He did not hurt — yet.