Chapter 14 — The Cable Splicer Beneath the Sea

Before Entering the Diving Bell

In the preparation compartment, Sơn spread out a drawing of the location of sandbags and protective shields on the work table, marking with a red marker each specific point along the new cable section, from the flat sandy area to the edge of the unstable cliff.

"The blue area, more than three meters from the cliff, is my part," Sơn pointed to the drawing and spoke to Thư, his tone completely changed to a professional teaching tone, without any hesitation. "Place the sandbags at the correct distance marked, no need to rush, prioritize accuracy over speed. The yellow area, closer to the cliff, is Bách's part, much more difficult because the working space is narrow and there is a risk of falling rocks."

"What about the red area?" Thư asked, pointing to a short distance right at the foot of the cliff, where two large stone slabs lay on top of each other.

"I'll go down and handle that area myself if necessary, it's not your job," Sơn replied decisively. "It's the most dangerous place, and I don't want anyone else approaching it unless absolutely forced to." Bách nodded, remembering that boundary as a non-negotiable command. Thư also nodded, although a bit of curiosity flashed in her eyes as to why Sơn was so determined with that boundary, a determination that went far beyond what was necessary for a normal work assignment.

Chu Tuệ Lam walked in and did a final check on the vital signs monitoring devices that would be attached to all three people, including a brand new set for Thư that she had prepared separately the night before, in case she needed to participate in the actual diving.

"My heart rate is slightly faster than normal resting rate." Lam commented when he finished attaching the electrodes to Thư's chest. "It's normal, everyone does this before their first dive. Just breathe slowly, focus on each step, don't think about the entire dive at once."

"I will try," Thư replied, trying to smile even though her hands were shaking a bit as she refastened the chest strap.

Sơn noticed that trembling, took a step closer to her, lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear in the noisy space of the preparation compartment. "Fear is normal," he said. "The person who isn't scared before their first dive is the one I'm worried about. That fear, if you know how to use it properly, will be what keeps you careful, not what holds you back."

"Are you still scared, after all these years?" The letter asked, the question popped out naturally, without having time to consider whether it was appropriate to ask at this time or not.

Sơn was silent for a moment, his hand unconsciously touching the metal link on his wrist. "Have," he answered honestly. "Every time before going into the water, especially cases like this, I'm still afraid. But I've learned to let that fear go with me to the bottom of the sea, instead of trying to pretend it doesn't exist. Pretending not to be afraid is the real danger." Thư nodded, feeling part of her tension ease, not because her fear disappeared, but because she realized she didn't have to pretend she wasn't afraid to be considered competent.

"One more thing," Sơn added, his voice becoming more serious. "If while diving, you feel anything unusual, no matter how small, even if you're not sure if it's a real problem or not, report it to the comm immediately. Don't try to judge for yourself whether it's worth bothering everyone or not. Let me and Bách decide that, not you, not on this first dive."

"I remember," Thư replied, her voice was now much more certain.

Bách, who was standing nearby checking the spare air tank, interjected with a relieved smile to lighten the solemn atmosphere. "Don't worry, I'll be right next to you throughout the dive, not going anywhere far. Consider it the most closely supervised internship in the history of diving." Thư laughed, the laughter helped relieve some of the remaining tension in her body. "Thank you."

"There's one more thing," Sơn said, his voice suddenly changed to a different tone, almost mischievous, different from his seriousness all morning. "Before every difficult dive, I have an old habit that I forgot for a long time, but now I remember and want to use it again. A question that has nothing to do with work."

Bách looked at Sơn in surprise, having never seen him do anything similar during his two years with the team. "What's the question?"

"If this dive ends sooner than expected, what's the first thing you two want to do when you get on the ship?" Sơn asked, looking first at Bách and then at Thư.

"Sleep for a long time, don't dream of any sandbags or stonebags," Bách replied immediately, making all three laugh lightly, a necessary laugh amid the tense atmosphere of the morning.

"What about you?" Sơn asked Thư.

"Call your parents, just like you said last night," Thư replied, smiling. "And you, is your answer still the same?"

"Still the same." Sơn nodded, his voice became softer. "Call Duy's mother. Maybe today is the day I actually do it."

Lam wrote down the last few lines in the tracking file, folded it, and put it on a shelf near the door for easy comparison when all three people became more. "All indicators are ready," she announced. "The rest is your job."

Outside the preparation compartment, the sound of the wind had completely changed to a continuous howling sound, with no short interspersed silences like the previous hours. Hòa appeared at the compartment door and gave a brief announcement. "Eleven thirty minutes left. The diving bell is ready."

Sơn rolled up the drawing, clipped it to the tool bag on his side, his eyes scanned Bách and then Thư, a look that did not require words but contained everything he wanted to convey: trust, responsibility, and an implicit promise that he would do everything in his power to bring both of them back to safety.

On deck, the wind gusted so strongly that the untied ropes began to flutter, hitting the ship's walls, creating a series of chaotic sounds. Hòa stood near the crane to lower the diving bell, his hands holding the helmet tightly on his head, his eyes observing every movement of the ship to ensure the time to lower the bell into the water was as safe as possible between waves.

Trung stood a few steps away, saying nothing, just watching the three people prepare to enter the diving bell with a concentration that was almost holding his breath. When Sơn passed by, he suddenly spoke up.

"Mr. Sơn," Trung called, his voice had a rare hesitation. "I know it's not the right time to say this, but I want you to know, no matter the outcome of this dive, I will never forget what your team has tried to do over the past three days." Sơn stopped for a second and nodded at him. "Thank you for speaking out," he replied. "But don't talk like we're about to fail. We'll finish this shift."

Bằng stood in the ROV control room, the door slightly open so he could hear the air outside on deck, his hand already on the control lever, preparing to guide the three people with light and visual support as soon as they hit the water. Next to him, Chu Tuệ Lam stood in front of the vital signs monitoring board, three sets of indicators displayed in parallel, all stable.

"All parameters are met to begin with," Lam announced via general contact. "I will constantly monitor, any unusual signs I will speak up immediately, without waiting for anyone to ask."

Sơn looked at Thư one last time before entering the diving bell. There was no trace of doubt in his eyes about his decision to let her participate in this diving shift. "Remember what I told you," he said, simply but firmly.

"I remember," Thư replied, took a deep breath, then followed Bách into the narrow diving bell compartment, where the LED lights along the side of the compartment cast familiar light streaks on all three people's faces that now made Thư no longer feel as strange as the first day.

The diving bell door closed with a decisive pneumatic hiss. Through the small glass window, Hòa looked inside one last time, seeing three faces behind the glass of the diving helmet: Sơn was calm as always, Bách was confident with a bit of unusual seriousness, and Thư, although there was still some tension in her eyes, was no longer the surprised technician of the first morning.

"Lower the bell." Hòa gave orders, his voice echoed through the ship's deck speaker system, cutting through the howling wind.

The crane began to move, slowly bringing the steel block containing three people down to the surface of the raging water, preparing to sink into the deep darkness where the real race against the storm was about to begin.

On the countdown clock temporarily mounted in the corner of the cockpit, the number eleven twenty-seven minutes appeared, then began to inch down, minute by minute, unable to ask for more, unable to delay, unable to wait for anyone who was not ready, and no one on the ship had time to ask whether they were really ready or not.