Chapter 12 — Climbing Through the Storm

Vọng finally reached a position near Thắng, but when he reached out to grab the floating main hook, another gust of wind came, so strong that even he had to hold on to the pole to avoid being pushed off track.

"Can't reach it!" He shouted, his voice choked with exertion. "I need one more person to hold the rope below so I can have free hands, otherwise I'll lose my balance!"

Cả Xuyên, standing on the ground, looked up, his face pale. His left knee, which had been weak for many years, would not allow him to quickly climb a twenty-two meter pole in an emergency like this, and he knew that better than anyone.

"I couldn't climb in time," he spoke, his voice painfully admitting his own limitations, something the veteran electrician rarely had to say. "My knees can't handle the speed needed."

The group stopped for a moment of horror, realizing that the only person left who could provide immediate support, the only person strong enough and close enough, was Khánh Thi.

She stood there, walkie-talkie in hand, looking up at the top of the pole where Thắng was hanging by one arm and an auxiliary hook that was creaking with every gust of wind, and the familiar fear of heights, which had haunted her since childhood, emerged stronger than ever, so strong that she felt her legs turn to stone.

"I..." She stammered, unable to complete her sentence.

"Khánh Thi." Cả Xuyên grabbed her shoulder, his voice no longer had any joke, only the absolute seriousness of someone who was giving her a decision that no one could decide for her. "I can't force you. But I need to tell you the truth: if no one steps up to assist in the next few minutes, I'm not sure how much longer that extra hook can hold Thắng."

Khánh Thi looked up again. From down here, she could clearly see Thắng's figure holding on to the pillar, his left arm tense, and she remembered everything he had taught her over the past five months, from the first time she stood still on the eighth step until yesterday afternoon when she stood on top of pillar 43 looking out at the sea and found it both scary and beautiful.

She thought of baby Bin sleeping at home, of her mother-in-law who had a stroke, of the practical reasons why she needed to keep her life to continue taking care of them. But she also thought of Thắng's words on the field pole just a few hours ago: "In this profession, there are no extra jobs, there are only different assigned jobs."

This is not the time to assign assignments. This is when there is no one else.

"I'm up," she spoke, her voice shaking but determined, and in the moment she said it, she felt something inside her change, not that the fear disappeared, but that a decision was made despite the fear still remaining.

She put the straps back on, her hands shaking so much that she had to try twice to get the clasp on, but she didn't allow herself to stop to think any further, because she knew if she stopped for a second to consider, fear would take over her completely.

"Three points of contact, move one part at a time," she muttered to herself, the words Thắng had repeated over and over now becoming a mantra, and she began to climb, faster than she had ever climbed before, so fast that even she was surprised at her own speed.

The wind still gusted irregularly, each time the pole shook, her heart jumped a beat, but she did not look down, did not allow her eyes to leave the next iron beam, just like what she had practiced countless times on the practice pole in the material yard.

"Khánh Thi is up!" Cả Xuyên shouted into the radio, informing Thắng and Vọng.

High above, Thắng heard the news, a feeling of both relief and anxiety welled up in him at the same time, because he knew this was the first time she had to climb in a real emergency situation, not a controlled exercise.

"No need to rush, be careful." He tried to speak through the radio, his voice weaker than before from the pain and fatigue that was accumulating, but still trying to maintain his role as a teacher even in his most dangerous moment. "Your safety is more important than speed."

"I know," Khánh Thi replied through the walkie-talkie attached to her shoulder, her breathing was rapid from exertion, but her voice did not waver.

She reached a height of fifteen meters, where Vọng was waiting, and he looked at her with a look of both surprise and relief.

"Good, you're up," he spoke quickly, no time for compliments. "I need you to hold the safety strap firmly under me, so I can have both hands free to reach Mr. Thắng without fear of losing my balance in a gust of wind."

"Okay," Khánh Thi replied, moving into Vọng chi's correct position, her hand tightly grasping the auxiliary rope connecting Vọng's body to a solid anchor point on the pole, creating an additional fulcrum.

"Hold on tight, don't let go no matter what," Vọng said, then began to climb up again, this time faster thanks to the solid support from below.

Khánh Thi stood there, her hands clasped tightly around the rope, feeling each vibration of the pole transmitted through her palms. Her eyes looked up. For the first time in her life, she looked up instead of avoiding looking down, following every move of Vọng as he approached Thắng.

"Two meters left," Vọng muttered, his hands holding firmly, his body tilting with each wind to maintain balance. "One meter."

When Vọng finally reached Thắng's level, he reached out, grabbed the floating main hook, and pulled it back to the correct position on Thắng's seat belt.

"Hold still, I'll reinstall the hook," he said, his hands working quickly and accurately even though he had to balance with his legs and one free hand.

The familiar "click" sounded, this time not from the practicing Khánh Thi, but the sound that marked the return of safety to her teacher, and all three people on the pole let out a long breath, though none of them dared to relax completely yet.

"The main hook is fixed." Vọng reported over the radio, his voice still shaking from exertion. "Mr. Thắng, now you can rely on both hooks, much safer."

Thắng exhaled, the extreme tension in his body subsided a bit, although the pain in his right forearm remained, becoming more pronounced now that the focus on survival no longer occupied his mind.

"Thank you," he said, his voice weak but sincere, looking down at Khánh Thi, who was still standing and holding steady for the two people above.

The wind continued to gust, but seemed to have begun to weaken. The gray clouds that Thắng had been watching all afternoon were now passing, leaving behind a gradually clearer sky.

"Can you get down yet?" Cả Xuyên asked from the ground, his voice still shaking.

"Not yet," Thắng replied, even though his body was in extreme pain and fatigue. "The last wire hasn't been connected yet. If we go down now, we'll have to go back and start over, which will take at least another forty minutes, and the hospital doesn't have that much time left."

"You can't wire it up with one hand," Vọng said, looking worriedly at Thắng.

"No need for me to connect," Thắng replied, a thought just flashed in his mind amidst the pain. "Vọng, you continue, I will guide you verbally and with my left hand if needed. We don't have time to start over." Vọng nodded, moved into position, and under Thắng's careful step-by-step instructions, although his voice occasionally broke due to pain, they began to complete the last piece of rope, while Khánh Thi still stood firmly in her position, her eyes never leaving either of them, her hands never loosening the safety strap even though her arms were starting to get tired.

"Put the wire through the ceramic slot on the left first, keeping the same angle," Thắng instructed, his voice breaking with each pain but still clear enough for Vọng to follow exactly. "Tighten moderately, don't need to be too tight at this step, so you can adjust."

"Alright," Vọng replied, his hands working quickly but carefully, occasionally glancing at Thắng to make sure he showed no signs of deterioration.

On the ground, Cả Xuyên stood next to the walkie-talkie, holding the phone in one hand, his eyes never leaving the three figures above, muttering indistinct prayers that he did not realize he was saying out loud. The ambulance still hadn't arrived, and he knew that those twenty minutes were more important now than ever, not because Thắng's life was in immediate danger, but because his arm needed medical attention as soon as possible.

On the pole, the pain in Thắng's right forearm did not subside, but he learned to push it away from the center of attention, a skill he did not expect to still retain after many years of not having to face such a serious situation. He focused on his voice, on each instruction to Vọng, because that was the only thing he could still control in this moment.

"And the porcelain slot on the right," he said, his breathing became heavier. "Do exactly the same as on the left, then check both ends again before reporting complete."

Vọng followed suit, his movements now faster and more confident after getting used to the rhythm of working under pressure, and each passing second brought with it a feeling of both tension and hope, as the final piece of string was gradually completed amid the weakening wind and the fading afternoon light in the western sky.