Liao weaved his way among the dozens of rusted trawlers and junks with peeling paint and dingy worn wood that clogged the approach to the market docks. A bird dropping landed on a fishing net hauled up in front of him as he maneuvered in the crammed waterway. He looked toward his regular berth but could not spot the banners or anything unusual in the way of a welcome party, no media that he could see. With a frown he realized his homecoming would not be recorded for posterity, and considered it a pity the opportunity was lost for future generations.
With deft movements of the wheel and throttle, he turned left and crept down a narrow passage between the slips. Those on the docks paid She Kou no attention on her triumphant homecoming. Liao was disappointed and angry. No reception? He couldn’t believe it, because this was it for him, the decrepit docks of Hainan from this day forward would be a memory he would only recall from a luxury apartment overlooking Shanghai. With the experience of years at the helm, he turned She Kou right and placed her against the dock in a perfect approach and landing.
Disgusted, he snapped at the deck hand to throw the lines over and tie off She Kou forward and aft. People on the docks went about their business, and no one looked at him. Xia met him on deck and together they surveyed the scene of just another day: buyers inspected the contents of fish carts, cutters and cleaners in their blood-stained aprons worked on the metal tables, and fishing industry workers in rubber boots trudged by on the damp concrete.
“Where is everyone?” Liao asked him.
“Who do you expect? I’m waiting for a ride to the airport so I can get back to Hunan and as far away as I can from these fish.”
“Where are the officials, the engineers, the agents who tasked me to conduct this mission with you?”
“Don’t know, but if my car does not appear soon, I’m going to hail a taxi.”
After Liao stewed for five minutes, a car did pull up, and he watched two men in dark suits get out. They walked toward Liao and Xia, their expressionless faces giving no indication of why they were there. Liao sensed they were going to whisk them away to a reception given by Party officials, and hoped they would let him clean up before he met the dignitaries and television cameras.
“Liao Chang?” one of the men asked.
“I am Liao Chang,” Liao answered at once, not wanting to waste a minute of official recognition.
“Where is your sister Li Ming?” the man said. Liao looked down before answering.
“She was lost at sea in the service of the People’s Republic,” Liao said with solemn reverence.
“And the deck hand they call Fatso? Him too?”
“Sadly, yes,” Liao nodded with regret, knowing the sea was a cruel mistress.
“You are the captain of this vessel, and under your command you lost two workers vital to the People’s fishing industry and very difficult to replace. Your negligence is a black stain on the People’s Republic and will be dealt with accordingly.”
A stunned Liao felt his knees buckle as they seized him and led him to a van parked next to their car. He looked back at Xia who shrugged as he patted a cigarette out of a pack.
“I did as I was ordered!” Liao protested. “I served the People’s Republic and cleared poachers from our waters!”
“Who ordered you?” the man asked.
Liao turned his head over his shoulder. “Him, Xia, and another man I met! They needed me for a special mission! They…”
“You are delusional, and you are a murderer.”
They opened the van door and shoved the protesting Liao inside, closing the door as the driver pulled away. Xia took a puff as he watched the van disappear in traffic, gone, forever.
CHAPTER 9
Mary drove the family SUV down the long two-lane road that led to the hangars. With Wilson in the passenger seat checking his latest messages, Derrick and Brittany sat behind them in silence. There was a sense of foreboding, the realization that in minutes Wilson would be leaving them for a long, long time. The worst part for all of them was not knowing how long he would be gone, and added to that was the unspoken understanding that, with the situation in the Western Pacific, it was likely their husband and father, along with thousands of others, would be in grave danger.
The hangars dominated the surrounding farmland, and with the morning haze the Sierra Nevada and Coastal mountain ranges were obscured. Lemoore looked as if it was located in western Kansas, and one farmer on a tractor chugged along one of many already harvested fields that bordered the runways, not that the Wilsons noticed or cared.
Wilson put down his phone as he watched the hangars loom up, where in three hours he would taxi a Super Hornet to the duty runway and fly out to the ship in the same manner he had on previous deployments. USS Hancock had slipped her lines an hour earlier, and by now was probably rounding Point Loma to begin refresher qualifications of the air wing pilots in day-and-night carrier landings. This would last two days as the ship moved up the coast and then west at a high speed.
Wilson broke the silence. “I’m going to miss you all.”
All Wilson’s kids had ever known was a cycle of goodbyes followed by long periods of separation leading up to a joyous homecoming. Teenagers now, they both knew the stakes involved with this latest international incident and approached this goodbye with trepidation.
“We’ll miss you, too, Dad!” Brittany said. “At least we can email. I’ll send pictures from soccer this Saturday.”
“Yeah, Dad, and I’ll let you know how the game went Friday,” Derrick added.
“Sure wish I could be at both,” Wilson said.
Mary maintained her stoic silence. This wasn’t supposed to happen now; her husband had returned home from an eight-month deployment only four months earlier. She was married to “the CAG,” one of nine Air Wing Commanders in the Navy, but to her he was James, husband and father, and the Navy was taking him again. And with only three days’ warning. The bastards.
Wilson felt the familiar tension, the empty pit of dread that he had mere minutes with those he loved most. No one could say anything as the seconds melted away. They would drop him off, share quick hugs, and get back in the car for more numbing silence on the drive home. Brittany fought back tears, but Mary had already steeled herself.
They drove through the flight line checkpoint — Wilson had parking privileges — and stopped in front of the door that led to the hangar offices. Wilson got out and retrieved his helmet bag and duffel from the rear cargo hold and put them on the concrete. He hugged Brittany, now crying, and then Derrick. Wilson smiled and held his son at arm’s length. “I’ll take care of them, Dad,” Derrick reassured him with a gentle smile.
Wilson turned to Mary whose lips were trembling as she looked away. He enveloped her with a hug, pressing her against him and remembering their lovemaking the night before. I can’t believe I’m here again.
“I’m going to miss you,” he whispered to her.
“Me too,” Mary whispered into his ear. He felt her body tremble… out of character for her. She had to be strong for Wilson and the kids.
“I’ll come back to you, baby,” Wilson assured her and turned his head to kiss her. She responded and then pulled away. Wilson saw that, despite the redness around her eyes, she was now wearing her game face.