Chapter 7 — Between Two Runways

Co Dac Thinh spread out three technical reports on the glass table, arranged side by side in chronological order: the proposal to upgrade the secondary radar sent to the Corporation last year, the additional version sent earlier this year after two more radar delays were recorded, and the latest version, prepared immediately after the near-miss last week, is much thicker than the other two because it includes preliminary analysis from the investigation team.

Three reports, three receiving seals, not a single line of budget approval.

Before moving to the position of deputy director of operations four years ago, Thinh worked for ten years as a navigation equipment maintenance engineer at Tra Son station, before being sent to study management and transferred to his current position. He was one of the few people at the Port Authority who understands every screw, every circuit inside the nearly two-decade-old secondary radar system, and who understands better than anyone else that the device was not completely broken — it still ran, still scans, still displayed exactly what it was designed to display, just slower than required by an increasingly crowded sky compared to when it was installed. Because he understood it so well, it was even harder for him to accept seeing it continue to operate like a slow time bomb, with no one competent to press the stop button to replace it.

The desk phone rang. The number displayed is the office of the Regional Airport Corporation, his direct superior. Thinh picked up the phone, his voice automatically changed to the familiar professional tone he used for all calls from above.

"Yes, Thinh listen."

"Mr. Thinh, I saw your latest report about the incident in Tra Son," the voice on the other end of the line - Deputy General Director in charge of infrastructure investment - spoke quickly, the way someone had too many meetings in a day. "I understand the severity. But you also understand the general situation. This year the public investment budget allocated to the entire system is down twelve percent compared to plan, while three projects to upgrade runways at gateway airports are in the final disbursement stage and cannot be delayed."

"I understand that," Thinh said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he had predicted this answer from the moment he pressed the callback button. "But Tra Son just had a serious separation incident, part of the cause is directly related to the lag of the current radar system. If we wait another budget cycle, I'm not sure we'll be lucky next time."

"I don't doubt the urgency you said. But you also have to understand, considering the entire system, Tra Son has less than one-tenth the traffic of the gateway airports. The investment committee will ask the first question: why prioritize a low-traffic airport over an airport that is serving tens of thousands of passengers every day?"

Thinh looked out the office window, where he could see a corner of the secondary runway, where last week the emergency helicopter landed safely after being vectored out of the way of the commercial flight. He knows the answer to that question lies not in traffic numbers, but in something much harder to quantify: an airport serving fewer passengers doesn't mean an incident there is less serious, just less known should the worst happen.

"I will prepare shortened bidding documents under emergency status," Thinh said. "If you support me in presenting it to the committee in the next session, I believe we can shorten the approval time to a few months instead of a whole year."

"I will consider it. But you also know, even an emergency needs enough documents to prove the level of risk, it cannot be based solely on a single incident, no matter how serious it is. The committee will ask: if there is only one incident that requires emergency approval, what about other airports that have had similar incidents in the past?"

The call ended a few minutes later, with no specific commitments other than "will consider" — a phrase Thinh had heard no less than ten times in his three years as deputy mining director, enough for him to know the intonation that accompanied it by heart, the intonation that signaled a refusal wrapped in a polite wrapper.

He put down the receiver, rubbed his hands over his face, then opened his desk drawer and took out another file — not a technical report, but a personal tracking sheet he had created himself, recording every proposal, every call, every "will consider" appointment over the past two years. He did not create this table to submit a report to anyone. He created it for himself, as a reminder that he had not remained silent, even though the results so far were still zero.

There was a knock on the door. Chuong Ba Vong walked in without an appointment, something that rarely happened between two people who always kept to administrative rules.

"Mr. Thinh, I know you're busy, but I need to talk directly, not through official dispatch."

"Sit down." Thinh pointed to the chair opposite, pushing his personal documents aside. "I just called above. The answer is still the same answer."

Vong sat down, not hiding the tired look on his face. "I didn't come to ask about radar today. I came for staffing. We're seriously short of people, enough to worry me more than the equipment."

Thinh listened to Vong's presentation of the personnel situation, nodded along with each number, then took a pen and took notes on a separate piece of paper. "I can intervene faster on staffing matters than on equipment investment, because it falls within the authority of the port authority's approval, without needing to go through the central investment committee. I will sign the temporary mobilization proposal this week."

"Thank you." Vong exhaled, as if a part of the burden had just been laid down. Then he looked at Thinh, his eyes searching. "Aren't you tired, having to hear rejection over and over again and still have to be the one to ask?"

Thinh was silent for a moment, his finger lightly tapping on the cover of his personal document. "Yes. But I think of it this way: if I stop asking, it doesn't mean the problem goes away. It just means no one talks about it anymore, until something else forces them to."

"I don't want that to be the way our radar is upgraded," Vong said, not asking a question.

"I don't want it at all," Thinh replied, his voice low. "I have seen that vicious cycle many times in the industry: the proposal is postponed because there is not enough evidence of risk, then when the risk materializes, it is rushed to approve in an emergency meeting, as if the speed of approval at that time can compensate for the previous years of delay. I do not want Tra Son to become another example of that vicious cycle, especially when this time we have had enough warning in advance."

"No one wants that." Thinh looked out the window again, where the afternoon sunlight was streaming across the main runway. "But I also don't intend to sit idly by and wait for that to happen before submitting the report again. This time I will include a cost analysis — the cost of repairs, compensation, disruption of operations if an actual incident occurs, compared to the investment costs right now. Perhaps numbers, rather than calls, are what will make the committee listen."

Vong stood up and shook Thinh's hand before leaving, a gesture between two men who had been used to working together long enough to understand that not every battle was won immediately, but there were battles that had to be fought on, simply because the cost of stopping was much greater.

After Vong left, Thinh sat alone, looking at the three reports still spread out on the glass table. He picked up the latest version, re-read the investigation team's preliminary conclusion, the bold text: "The location update delay of the secondary radar system is one of the factors contributing to the incident's development." He underlined that line with a red pen, not to submit a report, but as a reminder that the next time someone asked him why he persisted with a proposal that had been rejected so many times, he would have a clearer answer than any traffic numbers: because someone almost didn't make it home after his shift.

He left the office later than usual that day, walked through the technical area before going to the parking lot, and stopped by the room where the auxiliary radar equipment was located, where the old computer cabinet still emitted the familiar steady sound of the radiator fan for nearly twenty years. The night technician nodded to him and continued his routine checkup, a job that both knew could only keep the device running, not make it rejuvenate. Thinh stood there for a moment, looking at the series of flashing signal lights on the dashboard, then left without saying anything more, carrying in his mind the image of the bold words he had just underlined, as a reminder that he would not let anyone forget during the upcoming meeting of the investment committee.