Chapter 8 — Summer Rescuer

Ten days after Bach Duong began his survey work, he installed a small sensor system along the area near the breakwater, transmitting real-time data on flow velocity and direction to the tablet he always carries. This is the first time the Bai Duong rescue team has had a forecasting tool that is much more accurate than the naked eye observation experience they have relied on for so long.

Saturday morning, when the most tourists flocked to the beach of the week, Bach Duong arrived at the lifeguard station earlier than usual, his face seemed tense, different from his familiar calm demeanor.

"Miss Thao Nhi," he called as soon as he saw her checking the equipment before her shift, "this morning's data shows something unusual. The tide is falling faster than forecast. Combined with the strong southeast wind, I calculate that the area near the third connection of the embankment will reach its dangerous peak around eleven o'clock in the afternoon — right when the number of beachgoers is at its peak."

Thao Nhi immediately became serious and called Trong Nghi over. After listening to Bach Duong's presentation, all three agreed on a plan: add two more lifeguards to be on duty in the area near the embankment from 9:00 a.m., add a red warning flag, and send Nhat Quynh to use a portable speaker to continuously remind tourists not to swim beyond the safety line.

"What if my prediction is wrong?" Mr. Kiet asked, still a bit skeptical although less harsh than last week.

"If I'm wrong, we'll just waste a few hours unnecessarily strengthening our guard," Bach Duong replied frankly. "But if I'm right and we're not prepared, the price could be human lives."

No one can refute that logic. The whole team deployed according to plan, and at nearly eleven o'clock in the afternoon, just as Bach Duong predicted, Thao Nhi from the watchtower discovered a family of four - a young couple and two small children - floating in the area near the warning line, accidentally drifting towards the dangerous connection along the coastal current without their knowledge.

"Area C, family of four is drifting in a dangerous direction!" she shouted over the radio.

Nhat Quynh, already positioned nearby, immediately blew the whistle and used a loudspeaker to ask his family to swim to shore. But at that moment, their inflatable buoy was overturned by a large wave, causing all four people to fall into the water at the same time, and were immediately swept away by the reflected flow from the embankment at a terrifying speed.

"Emergency rescue, area C!" Thao Nhi shouted loudly and rushed into the water immediately, Anh Thi and Anh Kiet followed closely behind, each holding a life preserver.

Thanks to advance preparation — manpower was deployed in the right place, equipment was ready — the rescue team reached the family in less than a minute, a response speed that, without Bach Duong's early warning, would probably not have been possible. Thao Nhi saved the mother and younger child, Anh Kiet and Anh Thi worked together to save the father and older child. All were brought to shore safely in a state of panic but not in danger of their lives.

On the shore, when the whole family had been checked for health and reassured, Trong Nghi turned to Bach Duong, his face could not hide his admiration. "If it weren't for your warning this morning, I'm not sure we would have reacted in time."

"That's my job," Bach Duong replied, but his voice couldn't hide the obvious relief. He looked towards Thao Nhi, who was still sitting on the sand, holding the newly rescued baby in her arms, reassuring it with a gentle voice that was different from her usual seriousness when she worked.

The mother in the rescued family, after calming down, held Thao Nhi's hand tightly, tears still rolling down her cheeks. "Thank you, thank you very much. I thought everything was over. When the float flipped over, I couldn't see the two kids anywhere." She choked up, holding her little daughter tightly in her arms as if afraid that if she let her go, she would disappear again. The husband, still shaking from the cold and fear, shook hands with each member of the rescue team, his voice stuttering without forming a sentence, only repeating the words "thank you" over and over again.

Thao Nhi knelt down next to the youngest boy, wrapped him in a warm towel, and comforted him until he stopped crying. In that moment, she suddenly remembered herself when she was eight years old, and was also picked up from the edge of the waves by a stranger in a red uniform after nearly being swept away as a child, before her father died - that person was Mr. Dat. She understands better than anyone else what the feeling of being saved means to a child, and that feeling reinforces why she chose this path.

Trong Nghi, after making sure the whole family was stable and being picked up by a relative's car, called the whole team together for a quick meeting to learn from experiences right at the beach, as is his habit after every serious rescue.

"Today we responded faster than ever before," he said, his voice filled with both pride and relief. "But I want everyone to remember: that agility is not a coincidence. It comes from the fact that we have data and early warnings. I suggest that from now on, all information from Mr. Bach Duong will be included in the station's official duty procedure, not just a sideline reference anymore."

Mr. Kiet, standing at the end of the line, nodded without hesitation — a marked change from his skeptical attitude just a few days ago. "I take back what I said last week," he said, turning towards Bach Duong with a rare awkward smile. "You did well."

When the morning shift ended, Thao Nhi went to Bach Duong who was packing up equipment, still looking excited after the successful rescue.

"Thank you," she said, her voice rarely sincere. "If it weren't for your prediction this morning, it could have been much worse."

"You are the one who directly saved them," Bach Duong replied, shaking his head humbly. "I just give a number. You and your team are the ones who turn that number into real life-saving action."

They stood side by side for a moment, looking out to sea, where the newly rescued family was being welcomed back by relatives, tears mixed with laughter of relief. Thao Nhi felt a strange warmth in her heart, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time — the feeling of not being alone in her fight.

"You know," she said, her voice low, "for the past eight years, I've always felt like I was fighting alone. My team supported me, but no one really understood my obsession with these waters. You were the first person from the outside to actually listen, and even do something concrete."

Bach Duong turned to look at her, his eyes contained a deep understanding. "I don't think I deserve that compliment, but I'm glad I could help you, even if just a little." He paused, then continued, his voice lower. "Actually, ever since I heard your story about your father, I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe it's because my job is inherently about preventing similar tragedies from happening, but I've never really faced the consequences of a tragedy that's already happened, on such a personal level."

"So what do you think now?" she asked, her voice a bit curious.

"I think," he said slowly, as if weighing each word, "all the more reason for me to make sure my report is strong enough, detailed enough, so that no one can ignore it like eight years ago they ignored your father's case. I can't change the past, but I can try to prevent the future from repeating it."

Those words touched a deep place in Thao Nhi's heart, where she had buried her hopes for many years for fear of being disappointed again. She looked at Bach Duong, and for the first time since her father died, she felt like someone, besides her family and close comrades, was actually on her side in this war.

"Thank you," she said again, this time her voice took on a different tone, warmer, closer.

"Do you have family here, or are you just here on business?" she asked, wanting to learn more about the man who was slowly becoming an indispensable part of her fight.

"I live alone," Bach Duong replied, neatly folding the cable reel into the equipment box. "My parents were from the North. I went to college in the Central region and then stuck with my job, going from province to province. My father once disagreed when I quit competing to study engineering, saying I was wasting my talent. But later, when he saw me prevent some serious incidents in other places, he gradually understood that this job also has its own meaning, no less than standing on the podium to receive medals."

"He must be very proud of you," Thao Nhi said.

"I hope so," he smiled softly, a slightly sheepish smile rarely seen on a man who always maintained a calm professional demeanor. "But honestly, on days like today, when I see the number I calculated actually save a family, I feel the most clearly the value of what I'm doing. More than any medal I've ever won."

Thao Nhi looked at him, feeling the sincerity in every word, and she realized that the distance between them - the distance of someone from another place, an outsider in the true sense of work - was gradually narrowing naturally, without forcing.

That afternoon, when the sun began to lean towards the west, dyeing both the sky and the sea into a brilliant orange strip, Thao Nhi stood on the watchtower, looking towards Bach Duong who was driving away from the beach. She realized she was smiling, a gentle smile that she didn't mean to create, and in her heart, a new, fragile but warm feeling was starting to sprout — a feeling that she didn't dare to name, but no longer wanted to deny.

She stayed at the watchtower for a while longer after her shift officially ended, just to watch the sea calm down with the dusk, listening to the steady sound of waves hitting the shore. For the first time in many summers, she felt like she was not only fighting to protect others from the sea, but that she was also slowly learning to allow herself hope—hope that justice for her father, however belated, could still come, and hope that her heart, closed for eight years, still had the capacity to open to something new.