Guan grunted in response to this strange observation and looked up from the plotting table, his glance halting on the upward-scanning Fathometer. The illuminated dram could be seen slowly rotating, with the stylus in the process of sketching out a flat, constant line, a vast contrast to the irregular, spiky pattern recorded previously.
“The ice machine!” Guan exclaimed.
The navigator wasted no time directing his attention to the Fathometer’s rotating dram. He excitedly called out his findings to the rest of the control-room’s crew. “Thin ice! We’ve got thin ice above us!”
“Thin ice, aye!” repeated the OOD from his watch station on the nearby periscope pedestal. “All stop! Quartermaster, inform the captain that I’m preparing the Lijiang to surface and initiate our pre scheduled radio transmission.”
As the quartermaster rushed past the navigation plot to personally carry out this order, Guan intercepted him. “Comrade, I believe that Captain Lee is in his stateroom. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be the one to inform him of this much-anticipated news.”
The young quartermaster almost looked relieved as he replied. “Of course, sir.”
Guan briefly met the expectant glance of the navigator before hurriedly exiting the control room by way of the forward access way He passed the shut door of the sonar room on his left. The locked entrance to the radio room lay opposite. He ignored both of these vital compartments, choosing instead to climb the adjoining stairwell to the deck below.
This put him immediately outside the wardroom, with the closed door to the captain’s cabin across the empty hallway. Guan took a second to catch his breath before squaring back his shoulders and softly knocking on the door three times.
The only noticeable response generated by this knock was the muted sound of music coming from the other side of the doorway. Guan picked out the steady beat of a drum and the barely audible strains of string instruments.
Since the captain had made a habit of listening to cassettes while resting, Guan wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear this music. Yet time was wasting and he once more rapped on the door.
When this firm series of knocks failed to generate a response, he could think of no alternative but to try opening the door himself. He slowly eased the door open and peeked inside.
He could see nothing but blackness at first. The music was clearly audible. Guan identified the hypnotizing, rhythmic tune as being some sort of Buddhist chant, complete with a melodious male choir, twanging sitar, and deep, pounding tab las The sweet, aromatic scent of sandalwood incense could be discerned, and Guan dared to step inside. It was as he shut the door that he spotted a flickering candle on the far side of the stateroom. The thick, partially consumed white taper sat on top of the cabin’s small, fold-down desk, with the flame illuminating the immobile figure of the Lijiang’s commanding officer seated contentedly on the nearby mattress.
It was apparent that Guan had caught Lee Shao-chi deep in meditation.
His bare feet were folded beneath him in the position known as full lotus — with back perfectly straight, hands palm up on the upper thigh, and closed eyes staring straight ahead to where Guan was standing. His breaths were deep and even. Guan noted that Lee was dressed in a white martial-arts robe. He had a black belt cinched around the waist and a blood-red bandanna, decorated with bright yellow dragons, tied around his forehead. The long jagged scar lining the entire left side of his face looked particularly sinister in the candlelight. Guan had trouble finding his voice as he summoned the nerve to break this trance.
“Captain Lee,” he muttered. “Comrade, are you awake?”
Guan took a tentative step forward. His words seemed to have no effect, and he decided he’d try one more time before being forced to actually shake the man awake.
“Captain, the upward-scanning Fathometer shows thin ice above!”
Lee Shao-chi’s eyes snapped open, with the abrupt suddenness of an electric-light switch activating. The dark riveting pupils locked themselves on Guan, and for a frightening second, the portly political officer felt as if he had just been hit by a small electric shock.
“Do I sense fear, Comrade Commissar? When you are at one with the Way, make your presence known with true purpose, like the fierce west wind.”
“The fierce west wind?” repeated a confused Guan. “As in the Chairman’s poem?”
“West wind fierce, immense sky, wild geese honking,” recited Lee, with a calm, silken tone. “Yes, comrade.”
Guan wasn’t certain what Lee was driving at and he attempted to redirect the conversation. “Sir, I saw the ice machine with my own eyes. At long last, we can surface and make contact with Admiral Liu!”
Lee responded with the barest of introspective grins. “Did you know that Admiral Liu fought at Mao’s side during the entire Lu Mountain Pass campaign? Chances are good that he was with the Chairman on the morning when “West Wind Fierce’ was penned there.”
Guan realized that it was useless to resist this man’s will, and he replied respectfully, “I’ve been fortunate enough to have heard Admiral Liu tell his stories of the Long March. It was truly a defining moment in the PRC’s history.”
“Do you realize that we are presently in the midst of a journey that could have implications even greater than those of the Long March, Comrade Commissar? Much like the founders of our republic, whose own march for freedom lasted three hundred and sixty-eight days, covering some eight thousand miles at a cost of over seventy thousand men, women, and children, we too are on a mission to save China from destruction.”
Lee suddenly fell silent, shifted his weight, and slowly unfolded his long legs from the lotus position. As he stood, he looked at Guan and whispered:
“Tough Pass, long trail like iron. Yet with strong steps we climbed that peak; green mountains like oceans, setting sun like blood!”
“Captain’s in the control room,” informed the alert quartermaster as Lee Shao-chi briskly strode through the forward access way
The captain was still dressed in his martial-arts robes, and he wasted no time climbing up onto the periscope pedestal and calling out forcefully, “I have the conn. Comrade navigator, what are our surface environmentals?”
“It looks like we have a large open lead directly overhead, sir,” informed the navigator from the plotting table.
The captain swept his practiced gaze over the dozens of gauges and dials mounted into the bulkhead before the two seated helmsmen. As his glance halted on the numerals displayed on the digital clock, Guan Yin breathlessly ducked through the forward access way The boat’s commissar proceeded at once to his customary position beside the vacant weapons console where he just had time to grab onto an overhead hand hold as the captain’s voice rang out.
“Blow forward-and-aft ballast tanks and bring us up to thirty meters.”
“Blowing forward-and-aft tanks, at thirty meters, aye, sir,” repeated the diving officer.
The boat’s ballast pumps activated with a muted, whirring growl. As tons of seawater were subsequently purged from the ballast tanks, the now lightened vessel began to ascend.
Gradually at first, then with rapid regularity, the digital depth counter dropped from 110 meters. As it flashed by the sixty-meter mark, the diving officer reached forward to address the ballast-control panel.
His job was to precisely gauge the amount of ballast needed, so that the Lijiang would attain its ordered depth and ascend no further.
All eyes were on the depth gauge as it passed fifty meters. The sound of the ballast pumps could be heard once more in the background, followed by the distinct roar of seawater flowing back into the tanks.