Only the day before, while they were deep beneath the Arctic ice pack, Guan had come across two young sailors engrossed in the midst of a philosophical discussion. This spirited conversation concerned the value of getting to know one’s true inner self before taking on an enemy. The two lads were but junior seamen assigned to the reactor compartment, and Guan realized that the subject of their discussion was right out of the pages of Sun Tzu. For such sailors to have lofty thoughts like these was most refreshing. Guan sensed the great influence that their new captain was exerting on them.
“Thick ice … thick ice … thick ice,” broke in the monotonous voice of the navigator for the dozenth time that watch.
Guan was abruptly called back to thoughts of duty. He dared to once more check the bulkhead clock. Four precious minutes had passed since his last inspection the outlook for surfacing further dimmed. “I thought that once we passed eighty degrees latitude, it would be easy for us to surface and get off our transmission,” ‘ remarked Guan as he impatiently joined the navigator beside the plotting table. “The way it looks now, we’re soon going to miss this opportunity, with the next window another twelve hours distant. Admiral Liu will surely think us long sunk; perhaps he’ll cancel the entire operation.”
“So I understand, Comrade Commissar. But what else can I do?” returned the perplexed navigator. “As you can see for yourself, these charts the admiralty gave me show that the pack ice should have ended hours ago.
Yet here we are already passing by the western shores of Spitsbergen, and look at the pattern our ice machine’s continuously sketching.”
The device the navigator was referring to was set into the bulkhead beside the plotting table. Designed much like a seismograph, the so-called ice machine was in reality an upward-scanning Fathometer that printed out its findings on a spool of paper, mounted on a rotating, cylindrical drum.
For almost seventy-two hours, the pattern had been the same: jagged lines and sharp inverted spikes, indicating a solid sheet of ice above, with the spikes showing the positions of dangerous, inverted pressure ridges.
Guan knew that this predicament wasn’t their navigator’s fault, and he softened his tone. “I’m sorry for taking my frustrations out on you, comrade. Everything until this point has gone so splendidly. I can’t wait to share our progress with the admiral.”
The navigator accepted this apology. “It’s hard to believe the unknown seas we’ve already sailed and the great distances we’ve traveled. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I’d be called upon to be part of such an historic operation.”
“It’s a great honor all right,” returned Guan. Sailors as honorable as the navigator tempted him to reveal the true reason behind this history-making voyage; it would be their due.
“Depth one hundred and ten meters, course one-eight zero true, speed three-two knots,” reported the steady voice of the diving officer from his position behind the helm.
In the background the current OOD could be heard repeating this operational update. Guan absorbed this rote chatter and focused his attention on the bathymetric chart that was spread out on the plot. A red pinprick of light that was being projected from the interior of the automated table showed their current position to be in the Greenland Sea, halfway between the western shore of Spitsbergen and Greenland’s northeastern coast.
“Comrade navigator,” said Guan curiously. “I know nothing about our upcoming route. To get to our destination in the most direct manner, what course are you planning to steer?”
“That depends on a variety of factors yet to be determined. The most direct route would continue to take us almost due south. At our current speed, that should bring us to Jan Mayen ridge in approximately twenty-four hours. This is where our transit of the Greenland-Iceland-United Kingdom gap begins.”
“Ah, the much vaunted GIUK gap,” Guan observed. “While studying in Leningrad, I read an excellent Soviet Naval Institute white paper on the West’s SOSUS line, a permanent line of moored hydrophones. Its original purpose was to monitor the former Soviet Union’s submarines before they reached the open Atlantic, but from what I understand, the GIUK gap’s underwater microphones were shut off years ago, shortly after the breakup of the USSR.”
The navigator reached beneath the plotting table and pulled out a large scale chart showing the islands of Greenland and Iceland, and the western shores of the United Kingdom and Norway. He then pointed to the two strategic channels of water that lay on either side of Iceland, and responded to Guan’s comments.
“We still have no concrete proof that the hydrophones have been deactivated, Comrade Commissar. My guess is that the paranoid U. S. Navy wouldn’t dare shut off the entire array. And that means we’ll have to initiate our course change to the southwest with the utmost circumspection.”
“You mentioned previously that our exact course depends upon a variety of factors yet to be determined,” reminded Guan. “Perchance, could one of these factors be on which side of Iceland we’ll be making our transit?”
The navigator highlighted the two channels of water while answering.
“Excellent observation, comrade. The safest route is the eastern channel, between Iceland and the Faeroe Islands. Here the deep waters surrounding the southern extension of Jan Mayen ridge should protect us from any elements of SOSUS that might be operational.”
Guan picked up a clear-plastic ruler and positioned it on top of this chart. He carefully laid the ruler’s top edge on their current position, then aligned it with a distant point in the mid-Atlantic. The most direct course to this spot, halfway between Nova Scotia and the United Kingdom, extended straight through the tight channel of water flowing past Iceland’s western shore, prompting the commissar to question once more.
“What’s wrong with the western access channel, comrade? It looks to me that it affords us the most efficient route to our destination.”
“There’s no doubt that your observation is correct,” replied the navigator. “The western channel you’re referring to is known as the Denmark Straits. Unfortunately for us, the Greenland ridge divides this shortcut roughly in half. Not only are the waters here dangerously shallow, but it is in this vicinity that SOSUS is suspected to have a major presence.”
Guan shifted the ruler in order to sketch out the alternative course extending through the eastern channel. This route necessitated a substantial detour.
“With a little more than sixty hours left to get into the North Atlantic, can we afford such a time-consuming detour?” Guan asked.
“That’s going to have to be the captain’s ultimate decision, Comrade Commissar. As far as I’m concerned it’s a simple choice between the need for speed and the importance of picking a route that will most likely guarantee our non detection Guan shifted the ruler to return to the western channel and pointed toward the waters of the Denmark Straits.
“If I know our captain, expediency will be worth the risk. Remember how he took charge of this plotting table when we began our dangerous transit of the Bering Sea?
Why, the Lijiang sped through those shallow waters like a race horse!”
“Tell me about it,” added the navigator. “My heart was beating so fast I feared it would burst. Never have I seen such a remarkable job of navigation. It was almost eerie watching Captain Lee calling out those quick course changes. All I can say is that the man must have the gift of second sight, because he didn’t get us safely over those reefs by relying solely on our inaccurate charts.”