Wu sat stiffly at the control panel, his backbone straight, chest extended. He was thinking. Not about the mission now but about Senior Captain Chien. Perhaps he had been the wisest of them all.
The Guoanbu operative was doing nothing but trying to breathe, and that poorly. Each breath was shallow and barely sufficient. Despite his best efforts his teeth were clattering. The last series of concussions had lowered the submarine, the temperature, and caused fluids in the battery casing to finally freeze. Ironically, as Biao had explained, the distilled water was in there to keep the battery from overheating. Hark was attempting to drain it, but the batteries were difficult to reach. Intentionally, as irony would have that as well, so it would not be compromised if the compartment flooded.
The captain was beside Wu, writing a log entry by flashlight; the lights had been turned off to conserve the fading battery power though the radio was left on, in case the Americans would—or even could—respond. Watching Biao make what might be his final entry, Wu thought about his own imminent death and about Chien’s sacrifice. The senior captain had saved the submarine—for what he probably suspected would be just a short while—and in the process had died with dignity. That small, quiet man now seemed so large and overpowering, while Wu felt entirely the opposite. Yet it was not just failure that weighed on him now. It was seeing his own force used against him. Wu Lin Kit had decisively dismissed the senior captain. The officer had used that power to assert his superiority. Shame was everywhere his mind went, and Wu did not know how to help himself.
The radio suddenly became active again. Biao stopped writing to take the message. He did not seem excited. Perhaps he didn’t have the energy. He jotted down the wattage number by number. It was a longer message than usual. He handed his log to Wu, who wrote in the English-language characters. He was surprised by what he read. It must have registered in his expression.
“What do they want?” Biao pressed.
“Do we have waterproof electrical wire?”
“We do. Why?”
“They want to know how much.”
“Maybe ten or fifteen feet in each torpedo tube to open the outside scuttle,” Biao replied.
“Voltage capacity and temperature,” Wu said. “They want to know that.” Each word came with some effort.
“The wires have three-hundred-volt capacity and I expect they are asking for temperature tolerance,” Biao replied. “Tell them the wire has been tested to minus ten degrees.”
Wu nodded. “There are two more words. ‘Out periscope.’ ”
Biao thought for a moment. Then, suddenly excited, the captain went on the intercom. “Hark?”
“Sir?”
“Stop repairs and have everyone report forward. Bring all the tool kits you can find.”
“At once, sir.”
Biao rose slowly. He spoke in breathy exhales. “I think. . .I understand. If we can snake. . .the cable out without letting water in. . . the Americans may have a way of retrieving it.”
“But they. . .are trapped as well.”
“Perhaps help. . .is coming for them,” Biao said. “A submersible could also evacuate. . .my crew.”
Wu heard clattering, grunts, and stumbling. The exhausted, oxygen-starved crew moved forward with the two remaining flash-lights. Their spirit was inspiring. But it was not enough. The Guoanbu operative didn’t think he could feel lower than he had just a few moments ago. He was wrong. There was no greater loss of face than to be beholden to your enemy. Wu did not have the right to prevent the others from being rescued. But for himself he saw nothing but the honor of the solution Senior Captain Chien had selected.
Yet perhaps taking your life is not the best answer, he thought. There was still the mission. And as Chien had demonstrated, what better way of completing it than by using your opponent’s own actions against them.