Eastern Naval Attention
Lee Hui-chun stood resolutely on the deck as the
Dahan cruised away from the docks, having rushed minutes earlier to stow the tugboat's moorings in preparation for an early morning search-and-rescue drill.
This was the fifth such drill the tug and her crew had taken in less than a week, the times ranging from blistering, sunny afternoons to rainy, pitch-black nights. Each time they'd set out with a few other vessels, perhaps even as much as half a fleet, to conduct several drills. Tonight, the sun had yet to rise despite it already being past midnight, they were to do their S&R drill along with one of the newer corvettes.
Word had come down from higher up that the sudden drills were a response to a declaration by one of their island neighbors, a declaration of renewed naval ambition, one that had alarmed high command.
The real problem, though, was Guangchou's close association with communists back on the mainland. A subject in all but name, the CCP Politburo could easily come up with some half-assed excuse to enter a war on the side of its "protectorate", and that meant one more possible excuse for the CCP to make a move on the Republic.
Lee Hui-chun was sure there were other political, military and economic ramifications to consider, but what would he know? He was a deckhand on the Dahan, a military tugboat, not some armchair admiral giving orders in some secret command center. His job was to maintain the tug's equipment, operate the machinery, keep her clean and generally make sure she was running in perfect form.
That was becoming a full-time job in recent years. The tug had served during World War 2, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. While she had been a very recent acquisition, having been sold to Taiwan by the Americans in '67 as Tawakoni, her real age showed. She was built to last, but only if she was given the attention she deserved.
As Hui-chun drifted through his tasks,
Dahan sailed to the assembly point. It was her crew's job to make sure she stayed in tip-top shape, but it would be the captains and admirals who'd make sure the fleet was ready. Anytime, anywhere. And as the shadowy silhouettes of other ships grew larger and closer, Hui-chun contemplated his role in the coming exercises.
As one of the more senior deckhands, he'd been tasked with working the towing rigs. His younger colleagues would work as support, and serving as lookouts for hypothetical sailors floating on the water, requiring rescue after their hypothetical ship continued sinking. Meanwhile the captain would make sure the tug stayed as unobtrusive as possible, in case the rest of the fleet needed to continue fighting even as their sister ships called for help.
It was a sobering thought, wondering what it would feel like, when they were rescuing actual people jumping from actual sinking, perhaps even burning, ships. He was senior, compared to most, but Hui-chun had still been born in peacetime. The idea of war was as foreign as the idea of growing up with communism.
However, as
Dahan cruised alongside a frigate, Hui-chun shook his head, and dispersed the pensive thoughts that had settled within. He was just a sailor. Not an admiral. Let others worry about wars that may not come.
He just needed to do his job, and do it well.
Note: Managed to keep it short. I saw the omake bounties on offer and figured I may as well work on one. We all need to do our part for laufpa— I mean, Guangchou. Also,
Dahan is an actual tugboat in the Taiwanese Navy. Or rather, it was. She started out in the US navy but was eventually sold to Taiwan. She was
decommissioned a few years ago, but I decided I may as well bring her back to life. No, I did not check the crew manifests. I don't know if there ever was a Lee Hui-chun onboard.
