Chapter 18 — The Cable Splicer Beneath the Sea

Pull Up

The diving bell was pulled out of the water less than half an hour after the three men went back inside, the crane screeching in the strong wind, the bell's body swaying violently before being securely fixed to the support on the deck. Through the glass window, Hòa was the first to see all three faces behind the glass of diving helmets, tired but intact.

"Compartment connection." He gave the order as soon as the bell was fixed, his voice unable to hide the haste that rarely appeared in a person who always maintained absolute composure.

The locking system connecting the diving bell and the saturation chamber on the ship fits together with a solid click, the pressure between the two chambers is equalized before the door opens. Sơn, Bách and Thư took turns moving through the connecting pipe, returning to the main living compartment where the pressure remained at a level equivalent to the working depth.

Chu Tuệ Lam was waiting, immediately attaching vital signs monitoring devices to all three people before they could remove all their diving suits. "All three's heart rates were higher than normal, but that is the expected reaction after such an incident," she announced via intercom to the cockpit. "There were no unusual signs requiring urgent medical intervention."

Through the observation window, Hòa looked inside, his eyes lingering on Sơn longer than anyone else. "Good job," he said, just three simple words, but carried the weight of someone who rarely complimented anyone easily.

"It's not just me," Sơn replied, took off his diving helmet, looked at Bách and Thư sitting next to each other. Both were still in shock but had begun to regain their normal breathing. "It's the whole team."

On deck, the news spread quickly to the rest. Trung stood silently for a long time in front of the glass window of the saturation chamber, looking inside where the three people had just experienced one of the most dangerous moments of the entire journey, before turning to Bằng.

"How's the cable signal?" He asked, his voice still shaking slightly because his emotions hadn't completely subsided.

"Completely stable," Bằng replied, pointing to the attenuation chart on the screen, which had now flattened into a steady straight line, no longer oscillating like before the reinforcement. "The new cable has been firmly protected, I can be confident it will withstand the pressure of the storm."

Hòa stepped out onto the deck and looked up at the sky, which had now turned completely dark gray. The low clouds were closer to the water than at any time during the journey. The wind had now reached such a strength that even standing on deck became a real physical effort.

"How long is the countdown timer?" He asked Bằng.

"Six hours and thirty minutes before the storm actually hits the area," Bằng replied. "But seafaring conditions have exceeded the safety threshold for any activity other than moving the ship to shelter."

Trung stood next to Bằng, looked at the stable signal chart on the screen, then pulled the satellite phone out of his pocket, his hand shaking slightly as he dialed the number. "Can I call yet?" He asked, his voice choked with nervousness.

"Bandwidth was stable enough for voice calls and even short videos." By confirmation, nodding in encouragement.

Trung walked to the leeward corner of the deck and pressed the phone to his ear. A few seconds of waiting passed before the phone was picked up, and an older woman's voice rang out, faint but clear. "Hello? Is that Trung?"

"Mom, it's me," Trung said, his voice cracked, no longer able to maintain the composure of a regional technical director, leaving only the voice of a son who for the past two days did not know whether his mother was okay or not. "Are you okay, Mom? Is the dialysis machine still working well?"

"Mom is fine, don't worry." The old woman's voice rang out, warm through the distance and the remaining noise. "Your aunt takes good care of me. It's just that she hasn't been able to call you for the past two days. I'm also worried about how you're doing out there in the middle of a storm like this."

"I'm fine, mom," Trung replied, a tear rolled down that he didn't bother to wipe away, even though there were still a few people around on the deck. "I'm on the ship repairing the cable. I'm about to return to a safe place to shelter from the storm."

The call lasted less than two minutes before the signal began to flicker again, but for Trung, those two minutes were enough to relieve the burden he had been carrying since the first night the cable line was broken. He stood still for a moment after the call ended, looking out to sea, letting the strong wind wash away the emotions he didn't want anyone else to see.

"Then our work here is done," Hòa said, a statement rather than a question. He turned to the internal radio and ordered the entire crew to prepare for withdrawal. "Move out the dynamic positioning anchor and switch to moving mode. We're heading to the nearest storm shelter, about five hours away by boat."

In the saturation chamber, Sơn lay down on the familiar narrow bed, feeling the fatigue that was really coming to him now, after the adrenaline from the recent incident had completely dissipated. He looked at Bách, who was sitting against the compartment wall, eyes closed but not sleeping.

Chu Tuệ Lam checked the parameters one last time before leaving the cabin, stopping next to Sơn for a moment. "You did exactly what needed to be done," she said, her voice was rarely so soft. "Not only in terms of technique. Also in terms of how you command the situation, not keeping everything in your head like before."

"Are you watching that closely?" Sơn asked, half joking and half serious.

"That's my job," Lam replied, closing the file. "And I have to say, these past three years I've been wondering if the day would come when I'd have to sign another medical report like that one. Today I'm confident that won't happen again, not because of luck, but because you've really changed the way you make decisions." She left the compartment, leaving Sơn alone with his own thoughts for a few minutes before Bách spoke up to break the silence.

"Thank," Bách spoke softly, not opening his eyes. "Not just for getting me out of that crack in the rock. Because of the way you handled the whole situation. I used to think your caution was a sign of someone who had lost his old bravery. Now I understand, it was never a loss of bravery. It was a different kind of bravery, one that I wasn't experienced enough to recognize before."

Sơn was silent for a moment, feeling those words touch a part of him that had been closed for the past three years. "Thanks for speaking out," he replied, his voice carrying a relief that was hard to describe in words. "I also thought I would never hear that from anyone on the team."

Thư sat in the corner of the compartment, her hands still shaking slightly as she took off the rest of her diving suit, but on her face was a transformation that she hadn't fully recognized: the eyes of someone who had just crossed a line of no return, from a technician reading data on a screen to someone who had actually touched the work with her own hands, in a situation where every theory she had ever learned was tested by the harshest reality.

"Are you okay?" Sơn asked, realizing she was unusually silent.

"I'm fine," Thư replied, looking up at him, a tired but genuine smile appeared on her lips. "I'm just trying to remember everything that just happened, every detail, because I think this will be the day I remember most clearly in my entire career, even though it's only been a few days since that career started."

Outside the ship's hull, the sound of the engine began to roar louder as Vạn Lý turned, turning the waves toward the shelter of the bay, leaving behind a waypoint in the middle of the sea where a new cable, firmly protected by sandbags and shields that had just been laid down in the most dangerous of circumstances, now lay silently waiting for the coming storm, carrying within it the slender but persistent stream of light connecting an island to the rest of the world.

In the saturation chamber, the lights were dimmed so everyone could rest, although none of the three actually fell asleep immediately. The sound of the ship's engine rumbled through the steel hull, mixed with the increasingly more intense pounding of the waves outside, creating a familiar background music that the three had learned to live with over the past few days. Sơn lay looking up at the cabin ceiling, his hand gently turning the metal chain on his wrist, not with familiar pain, but with a feeling of relief he had never felt in three long years. He closed his eyes, letting his tired body finally be allowed to fully rest, if only for a few short hours before the storm truly arrived, bringing with it the rest of the ordeal that the ship had not yet been able to relax its guard on.