This time he came in clear. “A couple… minutes, sir.”
“Hurry. We may need it.”
There was a pause. The chief said with some irony, “Colonel, last time I looked, our bow pointed straight at ice. An explosion at forty yards, the concussive power, could crack us open. And even if I get power, I’m not sure we can fire or program the fish. Controls might be damaged in the torpedo room.”
“One thing at a time, eh? Electricity first.”
The Chinese captain had positioned his sub perfectly. I envisioned his open torpedo tubes beneath the waterline, enormous snouts. Inside lay finned missiles. He wouldn’t even have to guide them, as we lay straight ahead. The ones destined to destroy our sick and wounded would be wire-controlled, so as to curve left upon launch.
I tried to reach Major Pettit as, on the ice, Andrew Sachs skied toward me, waving his arms and moving faster and abler, I noted, than he had while getting here. A fast learner? Clinton Toovik had exited a tent, and was also coming. So was Peter Del Grazo. All the homing pigeons converging to help.
Or is one of them coming for a different reason?
Pettit’s crackly voice came back, via his neck mike. “I see it, Colonel.”
“Turn the evacuation over to the chiefs. Don’t fire. Get more men over here! Can you find any cover?”
“Negative, sir. We’d need axes to break up the ice.”
“No hummocks, ridges, something to get behind?”
“Flat as a pancake if you want us close. Plus, no way to move the sick out yet. They’re not loaded.”
Bobbing thirty feet away, the Chinese Zodiac’s fur-hatted passenger turned out to be an officer who spoke English, his language skills one more Arctic ability that our party lacked. The man smiled and waved and knew not to try to get up on deck, but he tossed up to Lieutenant Speck a ziplock package containing a handheld Chinese radio. He seemed like every Good Samaritan ever to arrive at the scene of an accident. His captain wished to help, he said. But the goodwill on his face was marred by the threatening bulk of the sub behind him.
The officer said, “We understand that you are in trouble. My captain wishes to speak with you, sir. I will translate.” He explained the operation of the radio. It was similar to our Motorolas, handheld or neck-mounted, encrypted and probably equipped with automatic frequency jumping to discourage monitoring or jamming. Good at short range, in good weather, lousy at long range, in any weather. They could cut off reception on the set remotely, when they wanted. And like our models, if you wanted to share conversation, all you had to do was instruct everyone else with similar sets to tune to the same mode.
I had a feeling more than one person would be monitoring what came next. Maybe someone all the way in China.
Is it possible he can reach home, but we’re blocked?
The green light on the unit glowed on, meaning that the figure on the bridge of the other sub, waving, was ready to talk. I wasn’t. I turned it off. I pretended to speak into the unit. I shook it, as if it was not working right. I kept the red light on, pressing a gloved finger firmly over the mike, in case the thing was transmitting anyway. With my other hand, out of sight, I activated my Motorola, raised my voice, and pretending to address the Chinese set, spoke loudly to Pettit over the other line.
The Chinese Zodiac below had pulled back, too far away to hear. I turned my head, in case they had a lip reader.
I told Pettit, “Move the sick behind the pressure ridge, out of the line of fire.”
“I’ll tell the chiefs, but they’re still loading.”
“No shooting. No sudden moves. Easygoing, right?”
“Yeah, Colonel. Easy.”
Assistant Deputy Secretary of State Andrew Sachs reached the mass of tumbled boulders abutting the hull, discarded his skis, and began a clumsy ascent toward the bridge, slipping back, scrambling up. He was a wild card. But the presence of an important U.S. official, even when communication was out, might give us some leverage. I let him come.
Sachs shouted up to me, “Let me talk to them. I speak Chinese.”
You do?
No way would I give Sachs a radio. But maybe he could translate snatches of Chinese if any came over the thing.
Clinton came up behind Sachs and began a slower, but steadier, ascent. I could use him when it came to predicting ice behavior.
Del Grazo knew electronics so maybe he could help Chief Apparecio below. I waved him up also.
I couldn’t delay the parlay any longer. Heart thumping, I pressed the right-hand button on the Chinese unit. A twinkle of green came on.
“I am Captain Zhou Dongfeng,” the translator said cordially on our three-way loop. “I am sorry that we meet under such terrible circumstances. We picked up your distress signal and can share food and medical supplies. I have an excellent physician on board to assist.”
The accent was more British than American, and the command of English excellent. Andrew Sachs reached the deck and headed for the tower. I gestured Del Grazo to go below. Captain Zhou repeated, “My medical officer is at your disposal.”
Yeah, to grill our guys while he works. No thanks.
I told Zhou Dongfeng, trying to sound gracious, “Thank you for coming, Captain, and for risking your ship in this terrible storm. I’m happy to say, though, that we’ve gotten the situation under control. We’ll be moving our injured to our icebreaker. It is close. As for the medicines, we’d sure appreciate those.”
Sachs, coming up to me, reached for the set, miming, Let me talk to him. I shook my head.
Zhou’s voice was all sympathy. “Ah, sorry to tell you, but perhaps you are unaware that the Wilmington is stuck and cannot move. Actually, it has drifted further away from you, since you started off.”
Christ, how does he know that? Or is he lying?
Zhou added, “Colonel, my doctor is well trained in treating burn victims.”
Now he’s telling me he knows my rank, too.
Sachs reached for the radio again. I shook my head and told him to make sure I got a real translation of Zhou’s words, and to also translate any errant bit of Chinese — in the background — that came through. Perhaps Zhou might talk to someone else on the other tower, with the unit on. You never know.
Sachs stepped toward me, unused to being ordered. “Colonel, I expressly—”
My expression stopped him dead. He actually backed away a step. He held up both gloved palms, as if to say, Okay, have it your way. But I don’t like it.
Three hundred yards, I thought. A torpedo, launched at three hundred yards, would require less than fifteen seconds to reach a target. We’d never hear the whoosh of discharge. We’d never hear the hum of the motor coming on. Without sonar, we’d never hear the torpedo tube doors opening, that is, if they were still closed. Perhaps we’d see a small wake through the falling snow.
That captain would be risking blowback from an explosion that close to him. It was chess with human beings as pieces. I suggested to Captain Zhou that he send the medicines ashore, where we’d take them over, and Sachs nodded, as if telling me he approved. Asshole, I thought.
Zhou Dongfeng countered with, “Very good. Also, I’ve been instructed to put our fine lab facilities on the incoming Snow Dragon at your disposal. My physician can take samples of blood, and perhaps this will help you identify the illness.”
Sachs nodded, as if to urge me, Why not?
Did I imagine a long sigh coming over that radio when I declined? Or was it static? Zhou’s voice grew firmer, losing the overtly helpful note. “Very well! I will send the drugs, and the other offer stands, Colonel. Meanwhile, if you will kindly exit the sub, I will send over a damage assessment crew and hook you up to tow you from harm’s way. You are in danger of being crushed by ice. And your reactor has been weakened by the fire, most certainly.”