Chapter 3 — Summer Rescuer

Three days after the season opening ceremony, the Bai Duong rescue team has a weekly training session, which takes place on Tuesday mornings when the beach is still sparsely populated. This is a training session where Trong Nghi always maintains the principle of "no wandering", regardless of the hot sun or how many people are in the squad, because he believes that rescue skills are only truly reliable when honed continuously, not just when an incident occurs.

"Today we practice pulling unconscious victims in big waves," Trong Nghi announced, standing in front of the team lined up at the water's edge, wearing a uniform red swimsuit. "Nhat Quynh, you play the victim. Anh Kiet and Anh Thi are the first rescue pair."

Nhat Quynh frowned. "Why do I always have to be the victim? I want to try saving people just once."

"Because you're the lightest in the team, easy to pull," Anh Kiet sneered, lightly punching the young soldier's shoulder. "Just bear with it, next year there will be new soldiers and it will be their turn."

The whole team laughed, the morning atmosphere became much lighter compared to the remaining tension from the rescue on the opening day of the season. Thao Nhi stood at the surveillance position, holding a stopwatch, eyes following every move of Anh Kiet and Anh Thi as they rushed into the water and swam to where Nhat Quynh was pretending to be unconscious, floating with the waves.

The technique of pulling an unconscious victim requires precise coordination — one person keeps the victim's head above water to avoid choking, the other pushes from behind, and both must swim in sync so as not to let the victim sink for even a second. Anh Kiet and Anh Thi have done this exercise hundreds of times, the movements are so proficient that it is almost like an underwater dance, but Thao Nhi still does not look away, because she knows that even a small mistake in practice can become a fatal mistake in a real situation.

"Twenty-eight seconds," she shouted as the couple brought Nhat Quynh to shore. "Three seconds slower than last week. Do it again."

Mr. Kiet exhaled, hands on hips. "You're too harsh, Thao Nhi. Today's waves are bigger than last week."

"The bigger the wave, the faster it must be, not slower," Thao Nhi replied, not giving in. "If it were a real person, those three seconds could be the difference between life and death."

No one in the team refuted that statement, because everyone knew that Thao Nhi did not talk nonsense. She was the only one on the team who had witnessed that boundary since she was a child standing on the shore, helplessly watching people carry her father from the edge of the waves.

The practice session continued until nearly noon, when the whole team was tired and ready to disperse, a train whistle sounded from the south, long and deep, causing everyone to turn their heads to look towards Sa Den Cape. A barge carrying rubble was anchored near the breakwater, and from above, several workers were shouting something in urgent voices.

"What's up?" Nhat Quynh asked, squinting his eyes and looking into the distance.

Trong Nghi raised his binoculars to observe for a while, his face gradually became serious. "It looks like someone fell into the water at the construction site. Mr. Kiet and Thao Nhi, come with me. Rescue vehicle, quick!"

The three jumped into the rescue pickup truck and sped along the coastal road toward Sa Den Cape. When they arrived, they saw a group of workers gathered around the edge of the embankment, a middle-aged man lying on the wet concrete, coughing but still conscious - luckily he managed to swim to the shore before his colleagues pulled him out.

"What happened?" Trong Nghi asked the construction site foreman, a man wearing a yellow helmet, a tense expression on his face.

"He was checking the concrete block joints when he slipped and fell," the foreman replied, his voice hurried as if he wanted to end the story as quickly as possible. "Luckily I was able to swim in. It's okay, no need to call an ambulance."

But Thao Nhi, when she knelt down to check on the worker's condition, noticed something that didn't fit that simple explanation. "Brother, do you remember when you fell, which direction did the water pull you in?"

The worker, still breathing heavily, nodded weakly. "Pulled... pulled me very far away. I thought I was dead. It was like someone grabbed my legs and pulled me out to sea. It was incredibly strong, much stronger than I thought."

"Where do you fall?" Thao Nhi continued asking, her eyes glancing towards the newly lowered concrete block not far away, where the water was swirling in a strange shape, completely different from the natural flow she observed every day.

"Right at the third joint, near the beginning of the embankment," he replied, pointing towards a specific spot.

Thao Nhi stood up, walked closer to the edge of the embankment, looking down at the water. Just as she predicted — at the intersection between two newly placed concrete blocks, the water flow was forced through a narrow gap, creating an unusually fast flow, much stronger than other passages. This is not a natural rip current formed from the seabed topography, but an artificial flow, generated directly from the newly erected structure.

"Uncle Nghi, look at this," she called, her voice serious. Trong Nghi walked over, looked in the direction she was pointing, and his face gradually turned into an expression of unconcealed concern.

"This is the flow reflected from the embankment structure," he said softly, loud enough for only Thao Nhi and Anh Kiet to hear. "I once learned in a marine construction safety training course. When people build embankments without carefully calculating the wave direction and bottom terrain, the reflected water flow can create a flow many times stronger than normal, especially at mass intersections."

"So we have to tell someone," Anh Kiet said, his voice losing its usual joking tone for the first time that day. "We can't leave the construction site like this without anyone checking."

"I will report to the District Economic and Tourism Department," Trong Nghi said, but his voice was somewhat hesitant, as if he had already anticipated the outcome of that report. "Though I'm not sure they'll listen."

The construction site foreman, standing nearby, heard the story and quickly intervened. "Don't worry too much. This is just a small incident, workers were careless. Our project has been thoroughly evaluated, has full licenses, and ensures absolute safety."

"If absolute safety is guaranteed," Thao Nhi said, unable to hide the coldness in her voice, "then why can the water here drag a grown man dozens of meters away in just a few seconds?"

The foreman did not respond, just smiled wryly and turned away, signaling the workers to continue working as if nothing had happened.

On the way back to the rescue station, all three people were silent for a long time, each pursuing their own thoughts. In the end, Anh Kiet was the one to break the silence.

"Where do you think this will go, Thao Nhi?" he asked, his voice lacking any sarcasm. "I know you've been paying attention to this area for a long time, not just since the season opened."

Thao Nhi looked out at the sea through the car window, where the noon sunlight reflected sparklingly on the water, perfectly hiding any dangerous currents hidden below. "I don't know, Anh Kiet. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning."

"If you need someone to go with you to investigate this matter," Anh Kiet said, still looking straight at the street, "I'm willing, even though I often nag about business matters. But the safety of guests and our people is no joke."

That was the first time Thao Nhi heard Anh Kiet say something so serious, and in her heart, although the worry was still there, she felt a little more relieved knowing she was not completely alone in this hunch.

Upon arriving at the station, Trong Nghi immediately called to report the incident to the district Economic and Tourism Department, requesting that someone be sent down to re-inspect the breakwater structure in the Sa Den Cape area. The call lasted nearly twenty minutes, and when he put down the phone, his expression couldn't hide his disappointment.

"What did they say, uncle?" Thao Nhi asked.

"They said they would take note and send someone down to check as soon as possible," Trong Nghi replied, his voice bitter. "But when I heard that tone, I knew it was just a yes, so they wouldn't have to do anything."

That afternoon, when her shift ended, Thao Nhi climbed up to the guard tower again, looking towards Sa Den Cape as usual every day. The concrete blocks continued to be lowered, one by one, steadily and emotionlessly as if they were unaware of the human lives being threatened by their very presence. She pulled out the small notebook she carried with her — a habit she learned from her father — and began jotting down what she observed today: the location of the third junction, the direction of the reflected flow, the time of the incident. She didn't know where these records would lead her, but she knew she couldn't sit idly by and watch history repeat itself again.