This delicate balancing act was intended to trim the boat and control its rate of ascent.
“Thirty-five meters, Captain,” reported the diving officer, whose eyes were now glued to the digital numbers of the still-descending depth counter. “Thirty-three, thirty two, thirty-one …”
The depth gauge froze on thirty-one. After the slightest of adjustments to the ballast-control panel, the diving officer coolly observed, “Thirty meters and holding, sir.”
“Up scope,” ordered Lee.
There was a loud hiss and the hydraulically operated periscope lifted up from its well. Lee crouched down low to keep the scope from fully deploying, and he pulled down the hinged grips and peered through the rubberized eyepiece.
“Activate exterior sail lights,” he instructed.
While the quartermaster carried out this order, Guan softly addressed It. Wu Han, who, as OOD, remained on the pedestal beside the captain.
“Comrade Wu, what in the world does the captain hope to see down here?
We’re still a good ten meters away from attaining periscope depth.”
“Why don’t you come up here and see for yourself,” offered Lee Shao-chi, adjusting the hinged grips and continuing to peer out the eyepiece.
Guan somewhat reluctantly released his tight grip on the overhead hand hold and climbed up onto the pedestal. He wasn’t as limber as the captain, and was forced to squat down awkwardly beside the scope.
Only after Lee completed a hasty 360-degree scan did he back away from the scope and beckon Guan to take his place. The commissar did his best to nestle up against the eyepiece. After taking some time to focus the lens, he was rewarded with a totally unexpected sight. Filling the entire lens was a glittering, crystalline wonderland, the nature of which the captain described to the control room’s hushed occupants.
“Comrade navigator, I thought you said that we had a clear lead topside.
Unless I’m hallucinating, or our scope’s malfunctioning, I’d say that there’s a good thirty centimeters of solid ice above us. Do you concur, Comrade Commissar?”
Guan replied while pulling back from the eyepiece and stiffly standing.
“Though I can’t estimate the thickness of that ice floe above us, I can definitely attest to its translucent beauty.”
“I’m sorry for misinterpreting the ice machine, Captain,” apologized the navigator.
“No matter,” said Lee, his mind already made up on how they would proceed. “Down scope. Sound the collision alarm. Prepare planes for surfacing in ice conditions.”
A steady electronic alarm began ringing in the background and Guan took this opportunity to return to the weapons console. It was apparent that even with the presence of ice, the captain was intending to use the Lijiang’s sail like a battering ram. This unorthodox maneuver was a dangerous one. Pack ice is a very unforgiving medium. If they were to mis gauge its thickness, the resulting concussion could damage their vulnerable sail-mounted hydroplanes, or worse, split open their hull.
To protect the sub’s all-important diving planes, the diving officer was in the process of having the planes man hydraulically rotate them so that they were positioned straight up. In this manner they would hopefully slice through the ice like a knife, though there was always the risk that they could end up permanently jammed in this useless vertical position.
“Let’s get on with it, comrades! If we wish to contact Command, we’ve got a mere ten minutes to get topside and meet the current broadcast window,” reminded Lee, his deep voice oozing with confidence.
Guan had all but forgotten about the reason for this risky ascent. Well aware that their mission’s success depended upon the Lijiang reaching the North Atlantic without serious damage, Guan was set to voice his concerns, when Lee interceded, convincing him to hold his tongue.
“Vent ballast and take us up!” he ordered.
With the collision alarm blaring in the background, the control room filled with the gurgling sound of venting seawater. The Lijiang began drifting upward.
“Twenty-eight meters,” reported the diving officer, an anxious strain in his voice. “Twenty-seven … twenty six Guan braced himself for impact his legs spread, his hands tightly gripping the overhead hand hold. On the adjoining periscope pedestal, the captain calmly stood beside the forward rail, stabilizing himself with a single hand, his eyes glued to the dropping depth gauge.
“Twenty-four meters … twenty-three … twenty two.”
They were rapidly approaching periscope depth. Guan figured that it was only a matter of a few more meters before the sail made contact. A bead of perspiration rolled down his forehead in anticipation of this collision, as the diving officer informed them that they had just passed twenty meters.
“Brace yourselves, comrades,” Lee warned.
A second later, the Lijiang’s sail crashed into the ice with a gut-wrenching crunch. The deck vibrated wildly, and Guan’s knees buckled while his palms painfully bit into their hand hold.
“Depth gauge indicates that we failed to break through the ice,” revealed the disappointed diving officer.
“Then we’ll just have to take her down and have another crack at it,” Lee impassively ordered. “Chief, flood her down to fifty meters.”
Guan could hardly believe the captain’s obstinacy. The compartment once more filled with the gurgling roar of seawater. Oddly enough, none of the other officers present had spoken out in protest, and Guan feared that he’d be labeled a coward if he did so. As it was, the line officers doubted his operational competency, being a commissar, but he dared not show the least hint of anxiety.
He did his best to take a step back into the corner, where he removed a handkerchief to pat dry his soaked forehead and neck. There could be no ignoring the tight knot that had gathered in his stomach. His throat was so dry he would have given a day’s pay for a single sip of tea.
“Forty-five meters and continuing to descend,” reported the diving officer.
“That’s deep enough, comrade,” Lee replied. “Lighten our tanks to surface.”
It only took a single turn of the wrist for the diving officer to send tons of seawater ballast back into the depths. Guan grasped for an overhead hand hold, his eyes locked on the rapidly descending depth gauge. The thirty meter mark passed in a heartbeat, and Guan flinched as the counter whisked past twenty meters.
Another bone-jarring collision followed, this time causing the compartment’s lights to flicker momentarily. The terrifying sound of rushing water drew Guan’s frightened glance to the periscope well, where a good-sized stream of liquid was pouring from the ceiling. Lee took this flood in stride and calmly reached up into the well with a wrench, as the diving officer informed them that they still hadn’t made it to the surface.
“It’s most obvious that the ice is thicker than we anticipated,” dared Guan. “Since the time left for us to broadcast is rapidly dwindling, I say let’s postpone the transmission for another twelve hours.”
“Nonsense!” retorted the captain, his white martial-arts robe completely soaked by the seawater leak he had just managed to stem.
“There’s a good five minutes left to get off the signal, and I say let’s give it another go. Take us back down, Chief. And this time, blow the main ballast to give us an additional hundred tons of positive buoyancy.”
The Lijiang sank once more into the silent depths, much like a repeating nightmare. Guan had all but given up hope by this point, with his worst fear being that the captain’s stubborn persistence would lead to the death of every one of them. Concerned more by the fear of dying than a loss of face, Guan did his best to prepare himself to meet his fate. It was not the way he ever imagined sacrificing himself for the motherland.