Chapter 439 The Shadow of Antarctica

Old Sun slammed the telegram on the table, the pages slipping off and falling to the floor. "The Xiangyanghong is a small boat of two thousand tons, you want it to brave the Antarctic ice sheet? One wave there could smash it to pieces."

He Yuzhu didn't speak, but bent down to pick up the telegram. The telegram contained only three lines: Approval has been granted at sea; the Xiangyanghong will set sail on February 25th, with Yang Xiaobing aboard. He folded the telegram and put it in the drawer. "If the ship doesn't go, we'll never know what the Americans have dug up under Antarctica."

"What business is it of ours what they dig up? That's Antarctica, not the Yalu River."

He Yuzhu looked up at Lao Sun, his eyes deep and serious. "They're training biological warriors there. After adapting to the extreme cold, their next step is the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau. Can you hold the Yalu River, can you hold the Himalayas?"

Old Sun opened his mouth, but said nothing more. He bent down, picked up the telegram from the ground, folded it carefully, and put it back on He Yuzhu's desk.

The wind was strong on the dock, making it hard for people to stand steadily.

Yang Xiaobing, wearing a faded cotton jacket and carrying a canvas backpack, stood beside the gangway. The scars on his face gleamed dark red in the sea breeze. He glanced at He Yuzhu, then at him again, his lips moved, but he didn't utter a sound.

He Yuzhu pulled a folded nautical chart from his pocket and handed it to Yang Xiaobing. "The coordinates of the American base on the west side of Alexander Island are marked on this. The ship can't get close, so use a telephoto lens to take a picture. Don't get too close; they have radar."

Yang Xiaobing folded the nautical chart and carefully placed it in his pocket. "Director He, is there anything else?"

He Yuzhu was silent for a few seconds, then reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Come back alive."

Yang Xiaobing grinned, a smile more like a grimace. He turned and climbed the gangway, walked to the ship's railing, and waved back at He Yuzhu. He Yuzhu waved back, his palms red from the cold wind.

The ship's horn sounded. The ship pulled away from the shore, seagulls circling on the mast. He Yuzhu stood on the dock, watching the ship grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared below the horizon. He stood there for a long time, so long that the driver behind him honked twice before he turned around.

Ten days after the Xiangyanghong set sail, Yang Xiaobing sent a telegram: Crossing the equator, the wind and waves were huge; I've been nauseous for three days. On the fifteenth day: Entering the Roaring Forties, waves were eight meters high; the port side railing was damaged. On the twentieth day: Entering the ice zone; speed dropped to five knots. And then, nothing more.

On the twenty-fifth day, there was no signal in the communications room.

On the thirtieth day, He Yuzhu went to the communications room three times a day to ask, and each time the duty officer shook his head. He began to suffer from insomnia. Lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, his mind was filled with the telegram from Yang Xiaobing, who had vomited for three days on the ship. Vomiting was one thing, but at least he was still alive. Now, he didn't even know if Yang Xiaobing had vomited at all.

On the thirty-fifth day, Old Sun knocked on the door in the middle of the night. He Yuzhu sat up in bed, his heart pounding. When he opened the door, Old Sun was standing in the hallway, holding a piece of paper in his hand, his face pale.

"The Xiangyanghong is frozen in ice. Yang Xiaobing sent a distress signal using a shortwave radio, but the signal was very weak. We only deciphered its approximate location—68 degrees south latitude, 73 degrees west longitude, 40 nautical miles from the Antarctic Peninsula. The ice layer is more than a meter thick and is still thickening."

He Yuzhu took the paper, his hand trembling slightly. He glanced at the telegram, his voice calm. "Where's the icebreaker?"

"The nearest one is in the Chilean Strait, and it takes twelve days to get there."

Twelve days. He Yuzhu did the math in his head. 1.2 meters of ice, more than a meter thick, could the Xiangyanghong withstand it?

"Notify the icebreaker to depart."

Old Sun remained standing. "Director He, the deployment of the icebreaker requires the Navy Commander's signature—"

"I said, notify the icebreaker to depart. I'll handle the signing."

Old Sun turned and ran away. He Yuzhu returned to his room, turned off the light, and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't sleep; he sat there until dawn.

On the fifth day after the icebreaker set sail, the Xiangyanghong sent its second telegram. The signal was intermittent, and it took the codebreaker over an hour to piece together the complete message: the ice was 1.8 meters thick, the ship was making a loud banging as it was being crushed, but it was not yet damaged. The crew was in good condition. Through binoculars, they observed planes taking off and landing in the direction of Alexandria, at a high frequency.

He Yuzhu read the telegram three times. The ice was 1.8 meters thick, and the Xiangyanghong's limit was 1.2 meters. The ship wasn't damaged yet, but it could break at any moment. Yang Xiaobing still had the mind to observe the American planes, which meant the crew was still holding on.

On the seventh day, there was still no news.

On the eighth day, there was still no news.

On the ninth day, He Yuzhu received a telegram from the icebreaker in his office: the Xiangyanghong was 20 nautical miles away, the ice was too thick, and progress was slow.

He Yuzhu gripped the phone receiver, his knuckles turning white. "The ice layer there is two and a half meters thick. Can your icebreaker get through?"

"I'll give it a try," the icebreaker captain replied with only three words.

He Yuzhu hung up the phone and stood by the window. The northwest wind rattled the window frame.

In the early hours of the tenth day, Lao Sun rushed into He Yuzhu's office. This time he didn't knock, but pushed the door open, holding a telegram in his hand, his eyes red-rimmed.

"It's out! The Xiangyanghong has come out with the icebreaker!"

He Yuzhu took the telegram, his hands trembling, but he managed to control them. "The ship is damaged but navigable. No casualties. Yang Xiaobing's photos have also been brought out." He put the telegram down, sat down in a chair, and looked out at the gray sky. For forty days, he hadn't had a full night's sleep. Now he could sleep. But he didn't. He picked up the phone and dialed the kitchen. "Have the mess hall add two more dishes; everyone should have a good lunch today."

Two months later, Yang Xiaobing stood in He Yuzhu's office. He had lost weight, his cheekbones were prominent, and his eyes were sunken, but he was in good spirits. He took out a stack of photos from his canvas bag and spread them out on the table one by one.

First image: A cluster of gray buildings lies on the edge of the ice sheet, like a lurking beast.

Second picture: The runway stretches into the distance, with several small planes at the end.

The third image shows a figure running across the snow with ridiculously large strides, each step covering several meters. There are almost no footprints in the snow—not that there aren't any, but they are too shallow, and the soles of the feet stay on the snow for too short a time.

He Yuzhu picked up the third photo and pointed the magnifying glass at the figures. "Bio-warriors."

"They train every day, from eight in the morning to ten at night." Yang Xiaobing pointed to the figures in the photo. "I waited for three days to observe their routine. During the polar day, there is no distinction between day and night, but they set their own training schedule."

He Yuzhu put down the magnifying glass. "What equipment have you seen them use?"

"The rifle is larger than usual. It might be an electromagnetic weapon. There's also an exoskeleton, covered by a white camouflage suit, so you can't see its structure."

How many photos did you take?

"More than eighty sheets. More than sixty of them are usable."

He Yuzhu gathered the photos, put them in a kraft paper envelope, sealed it, and placed it in a drawer, effectively transferring it to his system space. "Send one set of these photos to the sea, one set to the General Staff Department, and one set to the Ministry of Public Security. Yang Xiaobing, you were frozen on the ship for forty days; did you ever consider the possibility that you might not come back?"

Yang Xiaobing was silent for a while. "I thought about it. One night, the ice was pressing against the ship's hull, making a sound like thunder. A young soldier who had only been on board for six months was so scared that he cried, trembling and clutching his blanket. I sat with him all night, telling him, 'It's okay, the icebreaker will be here soon.' Actually, I didn't know when the icebreaker would arrive."

He Yuzhu looked at him without saying a word.

Yang Xiaobing stood up. "Director He, if there's nothing else, I'll head back now. I haven't showered in forty days, I smell terrible."

He Yuzhu nodded. Yang Xiaobing walked to the door, stopped, and turned his back to He Yuzhu. "Director He, that young soldier later asked me a question—'Team Leader Yang, do you think the country will remember us if we die?'"

"What was your answer?"

I said, "Yes."

Yang Xiaobing pushed open the door and went out.

He Yuzhu sat alone in his office, retrieving the sixty-odd photos from the system space and examining them one by one. Gray buildings, white camouflage suits, footprints so faint they were almost invisible. Americans were training superhumans under the Antarctic ice sheet.

The phone on the table rang.

"Dean He, the superconducting ring has been repaired. The high-temperature superconducting cable has been replaced, and the magnetic field can reach forty Tesla. When will the second experiment be conducted?" Lin Jianguo's voice came through the receiver.

He Yuzhu glanced at the photos spread out on the table and stored them all in his system space. "Wait for me to come back. Tomorrow I'll be in Jiuquan."

He hung up the phone, stood up, picked up the manila envelope from the table, and walked out of the office. The lights in the corridor were on, and he walked slowly. At the stairwell, he bumped into Old Sun.

"Director He, have the photos been sent out?"

"They've been seen off."

Old Sun followed behind him. "A call came back from the sea saying that all the crew members of the Xiangyanghong were commended, and Yang Xiaobing was awarded a first-class merit."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, but pushed open the door of the building.