Chapter 13 — Climbing Through the Storm

"Done." Vọng reported over the radio, his voice both tired and relieved. "All three phases have been connected at column 49."

Cả Xuyên's sigh of relief rang out clearly even through the walkie-talkie, and on the ground, he looked up at the three figures overhead, his hand still clutching the walkie-talkie as if afraid that letting go would cause everything to collapse.

"Let's get down. Slowly," Thắng said, his voice was much weaker than in the early afternoon, but still maintained the necessary command. "I went down first, then Khánh Thi, I went down last because my hands needed to move slower."

"Are you sure you can get down?" Vọng asked, his eyes worried.

"I have one strong arm and two legs, enough to get down a pole safely," Thắng replied, trying to put a bit of toughness into his voice even though the pain was still there. "Let's go, there's no time to argue."

The descent from the pole took place much slower than the climb up, each step was carefully calculated, especially for Thắng when he could only use one hand to hold and move, the other hand kept in the same position pressed against his body to reduce pain. Khánh Thi walked right above him, ready to assist if needed. Even though she knew she wasn't strong enough to hold the weight of a grown man if something happened, that presence alone made her feel like she was doing something meaningful.

When Thắng's feet finally touched the ground, the group stood still for a second, no one said anything, only the gasps of those who had just experienced one of the most stressful moments of their careers.

Then Cả Xuyên stepped forward and hugged Thắng, an awkward hug because he had to avoid touching his injured arm, but so sincere that both older men had to blink faster than usual.

"You scared me to death," Cả Xuyên said, his voice choked.

"I'm scared too," Thắng replied, a weak but genuine smile appeared on his lips. "But it's okay now."

The ambulance arrived shortly after, medical staff quickly examined Thắng's arm, determined there was a possibility of a fracture or serious soft tissue damage, needed an X-ray to accurately determine, and temporarily fixed it with a bandage before putting him in the car.

"I can't go to the hospital right away," Thắng said, trying to sit up from the ambulance stretcher even though the nurse stopped him. "And the last part, connecting to the hospital low pressure station, is not finished yet."

"Mr. Thắng." Vọng stood next to him, his voice more determined than usual. "Khánh Thi and I can do the rest. This is a much simpler job than pole 49, just connecting at the station, no need to climb high. You have taught us enough for the past two days."

Thắng looked at Vọng, then at Khánh Thi, who was standing nearby, sweat and sand dust covered her face but her eyes did not waver.

"I can do it," she said, not a question, but a statement that she was surprised to hear herself say with such certainty.

He looked at them both for a long time, the pain in his arm made his mind a bit dazed, but alert enough to realize that this was the moment that every teacher must face sooner or later: the moment of letting go to let the student stand on their own.

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "But call me on the radio at every step, I'll give instructions from the ambulance if needed. And if there's anything uncertain, stop, don't make wild guesses. Remember what Cả Xuyên said."

"I remember," Khánh Thi replied, and Vọng also nodded in confirmation.

The ambulance rolled away, carrying Thắng away, and through the back window, he looked back at the scene one last time, seeing Khánh Thi and Vọng quickly gathering tools, preparing for the final leg of the journey, under the gradually fading afternoon light in the sky that had become clear again after an unusual gust of wind.

In the car, the pain in his arm was now supported by painkillers, but another feeling, gentler but equally profound, spread in his heart. He thought about Khánh Thi standing on the eighth step of the exercise pole not long ago, trembling and not daring to move, and now, she had just climbed a twenty-two meter pole in the middle of a gust of wind to save him.

"She changes really quickly," he muttered to himself. The medical staff sitting next to him didn't understand who he was talking about but still nodded as a courtesy.

Khánh Thi stood looking after the ambulance until it disappeared around the corner, and only then, when no one needed her to act steady, did she let her hands truly tremble, the trembling she had been suppressing ever since she heard Thắng's cry of pain echo through the radio.

"Sit down for a moment," Vọng said, realizing her condition, he also felt his legs were a bit weak after what he had just experienced.

"No time," Khánh Thi replied, but she still sat down on the side of the road for a while, hugged her knees with both hands, and took a few deep breaths to regain her normal heart rate. "Just give me a minute."

"Just take the time you need." Vọng sat down next to her, without urging, with a patience that she had never seen before in this hot-tempered colleague. "I need a minute too, to be honest."

They sat silently together for a while, the sound of the wind had now subsided, only gentle breezes caressing the sand, different from the fierceness just half an hour before.

"When I climbed up, I couldn't think of anything," Khánh Thi spoke, her voice was small, almost speaking to herself rather than to Vọng. "I just knew I had to go up. Now that I'm sitting here thinking about it, I feel scared."

"That's real courage," Vọng replied, looking at her with undisguised respect. "People who don't know fear are not courageous, they just don't understand what is going on. Courage is knowing fear and still doing it."

She looked up at him, a bit surprised by his words, and Vọng just shrugged, stood up, and reached out to pull her up with him.

"I learned that sentence from Mr. Thắng, I didn't come up with it myself," he said, a tired but genuine smile appearing on his face. "Let's go now, we have one last thing to complete, because he entrusted me with it." Khánh Thi nodded, brushed the sand off her pants, picked up her tool bag, and walked towards the car with Vọng, her legs now much steadier than a few minutes ago, not because the fear had completely disappeared, but because she had learned to move on with it.

At the scene, Khánh Thi and Vọng drove to the low voltage station near the hospital, where the final job was waiting for them: connecting the wire from the main line to the low voltage system supplying power directly to Hải Lộng Medical Center. The work does not require climbing high, but requires absolute precision because this is the last point before electricity can flow to the waiting ventilators.

"Reconfirm safety procedures before starting," Vọng said, repeating exactly what Thắng always did, a habit he realized he had learned not from theory, but from watching his teacher tirelessly repeat it over the years.

Khánh Thi nodded, picked up the walkie-talkie and called the dispatch center. Her voice was now much steadier than the first calls of the day.

"Dispatch center, this is the scene of the hospital low voltage station. Please confirm the power cut status before proceeding with final work."

"Confirmed, the power has been cut off, signs have been posted at the connection point." The voice of the shift leader replied, and this time there was an unusual warmth in her voice, as if she was as anxiously awaiting the results as the people standing outside the scene.

Vọng and Khánh Thi started their work, checking for zero voltage with test poles, mobile grounding, and step by step, exactly what they had been taught over the past two days in the harshest conditions they had ever experienced in their professional lives.

The low voltage station is a block of metal equipment placed on a concrete pedestal, surrounded by a steel mesh barrier, inside are conductive copper bus bars and section breakers. It is more complicated than the work on the pole but in return there is no need to climb high, just precise hands and a cool head.

"Play in the correct phase order, don't mix it up," Vọng reminded, even though both of them had learned this carefully. "Phase reversal can damage the downstream pressure drop device, and even cause a fire if there is an asynchronous load." Khánh Thi nodded, her hand holding each end of the cable, comparing the color symbol on the wire cover with the connection diagram posted inside the electrical cabinet, working slowly but surely, not letting any haste creep into her movements even though inside she was still eager to finish the job as quickly as possible.

The afternoon shadows fell long on the sand, the late-day sunlight dyed orange throughout the low-pressure station, and in the distance, the hospital's generator still echoed steadily, a sound that both of them were now as familiar with as the heartbeat of the work they were doing.