Chapter 16 — The Cable Splicer Beneath the Sea

Umbilical Cord Stuck

"Bách, answer me!" Sơn called a second time, his voice no longer remained absolutely calm as usual, although it was still not at the point of panic.

The buzzing sound lasted for another two seconds, then Bách's voice rang out, urgent and with something unusual in the timbre. "My umbilical cord is stuck. The stone slab above just moved, pressing down on the slit I was working on."

The entire cockpit of the ship paused for a moment of silence, long enough for each person inside to feel the weight of the sentence that had just sounded, a sentence that almost completely repeated a memory that only Hòa and Bằng, who had been here before, could truly understand its full meaning.

"I'm seeing images," Bằng spoke up immediately, the ROV controller moved the camera closer to the area where Bách was trapped, trying to penetrate the layer of sand still floating in the water. "The stone slab is pressing on the pipe about half a meter from the main gas tank. It hasn't reached your body yet, but the pipe is bent and the gas flow may be decreasing."

"Bách, check your main air pressure." Sơn ordered, his voice now regaining control, even though inside his chest, a terrifyingly familiar feeling was welling up—the feeling of this very moment, three years ago, only different from the name of the trapped person.

"The pressure is decreasing, slowly but steadily," Bách replied, trying to keep his voice calm even though his breathing became faster. "The backup tank is still intact, I haven't switched it yet."

On the train, Hòa rushed to the communication console and stood next to Bằng, his eyes glued to the screen. Trung stood back a step, not daring to speak, just looking with the expression of someone who understood that he had no role in these moments other than not being allowed to interfere.

"What is Bách's remaining gas reserve time if current consumption levels are maintained?" Hòa asked Lam, his voice was sharp, all traces of personal emotions were temporarily suppressed to make room for command reflexes.

"If I switch to the backup tank now, about twenty-five minutes." Lam quickly calculates on the parameter table. "If you try to hold the main tank more, it's difficult to say exactly, it depends on the degree of further bending of the tube."

"Twenty-five minutes," Hòa repeated, looking at Bằng. "Enough time?"

"If Sơn comes down now, it might be enough," Bằng replied that he did not dare to make a more certain promise than that, because he himself did not know for sure.

"Don't rush to move right away," Sơn said, decisively. "Thư, where are you?"

"About eight meters away from Mr. Bách, moving towards him," Thư replied, her voice tense but not panicked, following the instincts she had trained even just a few hours before. "I'll be there in about thirty seconds."

"Are not," Sơn interrupted, his voice sharper. "Stop, at least five meters away from Bách. Don't get closer to the cliff until I determine whether the rock is stable or not. If you get close and another rock moves, we'll have two people stuck instead of one."

There was a short silence, then Thư's voice rang out, a bit reluctant but still accepting the order. "Okay. Stop, keep a safe distance."

In the diving bell, Sơn looked through the small glass window, his hand on the lower compartment door lock, every instinct in his body was screaming at him to rush out immediately, swim straight to Bách, use his own hands to remove the stone slab like he tried to do with Duy three years ago. But he stopped, forcing himself to take a deep breath through the air mixer, letting consciousness override instinct.

"Bằng, give me the clearest picture possible of the corner of the slab pressing on the pipe," he demanded, his voice now steady again, though a beat slower than usual, like someone who was deliberately forcing himself to walk slowly so as not to miss any details. "I need to know the exact direction of pressure before deciding how to remove it, not guessing."

"Sending close-up images," Bằng replied, his fingers tapping rapidly on the console, adjusting the ROV camera angle to get the most detailed image possible through the still murky water.

On the screen in the diving bell, an image appeared: a stone slab weighing about more than a hundred kilograms, tilted about thirty degrees, pressing on the umbilical tube at a point about forty centimeters from the main connection lock. The pipe was not torn, just folded under the pressure, but the angle of pressure showed that if the slab moved even a few more centimeters, it could completely cut off the main gas source.

"Bách, can you back out of the gap yourself, even though the tube is still stuck?" Sơn asked, considering a simple option before considering more complicated options.

"Impossible," Bách replied, his voice clearly tense. "I tried, my body fit through but the tube couldn't, the gap was too narrow compared to the tube diameter." Sơn looked back at the image again, calculating in his head with the speed of someone who has repeated the same calculations hundreds of times throughout his career, but this time each number carried a different weight, heavier than any number he had ever calculated before.

There was a part of him, the part that had lived for the past three years in the shadow of a wrong decision, that wanted to rush out immediately, without waiting for another second of analysis. That was the same instinct that made him, three years ago, try to pry the rock with his bare hands before fully assessing the situation, an action born of love but lacking the necessary alertness. He found himself standing in the middle of that exact moment again, only this time he had a few more seconds, and he chose to use them.

"Bách, I need you to listen carefully," Sơn spoke, his voice slow and clear, each word considered. "Switch to the backup gas tank now, before the main tank drops further, don't wait until you have to. I want you to have the maximum margin of safety while I work on the slab, not when you've run out of main gas."

"But if the backup tank also has a problem..." Bách began to protest, worry evident in his voice.

"Then I'll be there before that happens," Sơn interrupted, his voice so firm that it left no space for argument. "Move now, that's an order, not a suggestion."

There was a short silence, then the sound of the air valve switching came over the intercom. "Switched to backup tank," Bách confirmed, his voice softening a bit as he felt the aura stabilize again.

"Good." Sơn nodded, even though no one saw that gesture. "Now stay in position, don't try to remove the pipe yourself anymore, avoid making the slab move further. I'm coming."

"I'll go down," he said, unlocking the compartment door under the diving bell. "But not alone. Thư, you still keep a safe distance but are ready to assist when I need a second pair of hands to deliver the tools. Bằng, keep the ROV light fixed at this right angle, don't move unless I ask. Ms. Lam, closely monitor Bách's breathing and air pressure, notify me immediately if there are any unusual signs, no matter how small."

"Clear." Three voices rang out almost simultaneously over the intercom, each ready for their role in a system that Sơn had built not just in the past few minutes, but over three years of preparing for this very moment, without ever knowing in what form it would come.

Sơn slid into the water, carrying a small, specialized hydraulic pry bar, a tool he had asked Bách to add to his spare bag before this dive, a superfluous preparation that no one on the ship dared to call superfluous anymore. He swam towards the rocky crevice, at a steady pace, not in a hurry, although with each passing second he could clearly hear Bách's rapid breathing echoing through the comm, a sound that reminded him of another sound, from a long time ago, that he had never truly forgotten.

The current was still strong, pushing his body to one side a few times along the swimming path, but he continuously adjusted, keeping the calculated trajectory to avoid areas that might still be at risk of other landslides. Through the diving helmet glass, the ROV light above clearly illuminated the path, a streak of white light cutting through the water that was gradually settling down with sand.

"How much further, Mr. Sơn?" Thư asked through the contact, her voice was tense even though she still maintained the required safe distance.

"About twenty seconds," Sơn replied, not taking his eyes off his destination. "Be prepared, when I need an extra pair of hands, you will step forward but only when I give the signal, no sooner."

"Clear," Thư replied, her hand already holding the bag of extra tools, her body tense like a guitar string waiting for the signal.

Sơn arrived and saw Bách for the first time with the naked eye instead of through a camera screen: his body was half-lying, half-tilted in the narrow rock crevice, one hand still holding tightly to the bent pipe, his eyes behind the diving helmet glass reflected a mixture of fear and relief when he saw Sơn appear.

"Here we are," Sơn said, his voice was reassuring but not careless, his eyes began to scan the entire stone structure from a close distance to confirm what the camera had recorded before.