Catch of the Day
Petchra Bunyasarn squinted into early morning gloom, hoping that this trip would be uneventful, yet all too aware of how easily it could all go wrong.
The plan was simple, and one he and his crew had executed several times already. Yet tonight would be different. Different meant dangerous. Patrol boats were being sent out now. Navy craft with searchlights and armed crew. A fishing boat in the early hours of the morning would not be out of place on the waters, but all it would take to let hell loose was a brief search of their cargo hold and discovery of their contraband.
Their cover would simply delay the inevitable, their boat could not be discovered if they were to survive the night. He and his crew were well aware of the consequences. Best case, they would simply be shot, the boat seized as evidence of their 'crime'. At worst, they would, themselves, be seized as contraband along with their illicit cargo.
Forty-one souls. Most of them young, not even past twenty summers old. A few of their professors came with them, some with family tagging along. All refugees fleeing from once peaceful homes. Yet what else where they to do? Stand and die like the rest?
It had been a grave risk, deciding to continue the trips, compounded by the fact that they had already gone beyond what had once been designated as the boat's maximum capacity. Now, the hold was stuffed with people packed tight like tuna. If anything went wrong, there would be little hope for escape. Or survivors.
Petchra flinched when the radio crackled to life. For an infinitesimal moment, he braced himself for an authoritative tone, commanding him to cut the engines and prepare to receive a boarding party.
But the command never came, instead what followed was two brief
beeps and two long tones. It wasn't morse code. He didn't know anything besides the S-O-S signal, but he was familiar with the pattern of sound his contact had given to him. It meant his half of the job was almost done, and he and his crew could be sailing safely back home in a few hours.
As if responding to his thoughts, a faint chugging sound pierced the gloom, and the silhouette of an old, banged up trawler, not too unlike his own vessel, sloshed out of the darkness. Fortunately, he didn't need to tell his crew that they were on the home stretch, the fellow tub was a familiar sight, and a clear sign that their part was finished.
As the vessel slowed to a stop next to theirs, he signaled his people to fetch the passengers. At the same time, he walked towards the side just as a figure from the other vessel approached as well.
He recognized him, the same face he'd been meeting every trip. They never conversed with more than grunts or nods, there wasn't a need to. Every detail, every step, every piece of instruction was settled long before they'd left shore. It was as simple as could be. Take people out into the ocean, hand them off to another boat, and leave.
In return, the other boat would hand off fish, crustacean or any other catch that would help sell the ruse and keep their alibi intact. Simple. It's why it worked so far.
Petchra shook his counterpart's hand and both set about coordinating the exchange, a task made easy by familiarity and the reliable desire to not get caught in the act. Soon, enough, the hand-off was done, the fish was stowed away and the refugees were off to foreign shores. Both boats began chugging away from each other.
With a sense of relief and laxity, Petchra set course back towards the direction of their home port, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He couldn't help but recall why he'd agreed to do this, convince his crew to join him in this mad scheme.
A third-generation sailor, Petchra worked hard to provide what he could for his family; to give his wife the life he'd so naively promised when he courted her, and to spoil their little Bia as best he could. Even when Jai had passed away years ago, he sought to make sure their daughter would have everything she needed to succeed in life. It had made him proud to send her off to the university, hoping that she'd do well and find a good job, and a much better life.
It had nearly killed him when he heard what happened in the universities.
He'd rushed to the city, half fearing for what he'd find, and half hoping that she was alright. And she was, thanks to friends and staff who'd died and allowed the others an opening to escape. It had been a frantic night, finding her again hiding in a friend's home, and even more stressful trying to escape the cities before the checkpoints were fully set up.
But perhaps the most difficult task he needed to do was convincing little Bia to leave. Not after what she saw. Even after what she saw. She'd finally abandoned the topic when he told her he'd try and help smuggle more people out, the ones who didn't wish to stay for the fight at least.
Instead, after telling her that he'd had trouble trying to convince her not to join him, wanting to help people, her countrymen. An argument she eventually relented on after he convinced her that she'd be needed to help people once they'd arrived at their destination, organize aid and support, keep track of everyone who'd joined the trip and arrived, and more.
Speaking of destination, there really was no great mystery there. The answer was obvious. Guangchou would be their safest bet. As it so happened, he did have relatives living there, and helping to arrange asylum with the government had been easy to secure. The arrangements had been settled on sight unseen.
And now here he was, risking his life and his crew's lives for people they didn't personally know.
He couldn't help but wonder what Jai would say about all this. Not just what happened at the universities, or the problems brewing and igniting back home, but all the shit that'd been going down the past couple of months, news he'd heard talking to sailors he met at port. He couldn't help but think the world had gone mad.
Well… madder than usual.
As the dawn broke, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the luminous glare bouncing off the waters, Petchra stowed away those thoughts and adjusted his course, making plans on how to sell of his 'catch' and make sure his crew wouldn't walk away empty-handed from a job well done, and a service nobly rendered.
And as for him? Petchra couldn't help but wonder about tomorrow's catch of the day, and the storm brewing on the horizon.
Note: Been a while, guys. I've been busy finishing my schoolwork as well as dealing with something like literary burnout. Was gonna go for one of the omake bounties, the International Justice thing but I realized halfway through that I really wasn't gonna be able to include any meaningful global political mumbo jumbo in this sidestory, so here's something more personal instead. Marginally inspired by smuggling efforts people had to go through to escape Papa Doc and his murderous regime in Haiti.