Hung met Lieutenant Khai that spring, when he was assigned to a working group to write an article about the lives of soldiers in the border region. He was tasked with guiding Hung on a tour of the high-altitude radar sites. The young soldier, a few years younger than Hung, had a slender yet sturdy build, bright eyes, and a smile that was always as gentle as the wind.

“Standing on the summit of A Lử at night, you can see the entire sky as if it’s breathing,” Khải said, his voice calm but his eyes shining as if he had just touched something sacred. “Up there, we watch every single breath.”

Hung looked up at him. Some of his words weren't harsh, but they were calm, firm, and strangely beautiful.

The trip to the summit of A Lử lasted almost half a day, the mountain path was winding and rocky. But throughout the journey, Khải maintained a gentle smile, walking and telling Hùng about his unit and the years he had spent in this land.

The day he left his hometown to join the army, his mother cried so much that her eyes were swollen and red. Three springs passed, and Khai still hadn't been able to come home for Tet (Lunar New Year). "Every time Tet approaches, the unit is on high alert. Looking at the fireworks on the mountaintop, I miss my mother," Khai said softly, brushing a twig that scratched Hung's shoulder.

Hung fell silent for a moment. Every soldier carries such a sacred memory deep within their heart.

***

Upon arriving at the battleground, a vast expanse of sky unfolded before Hung's eyes. The radar tower stood tall like an arm reaching towards the heavens, embracing the wind, the mist, and even the nameless worries of the mountains and forests. Young soldiers were busily inspecting the equipment. Amidst the low hum of the machinery, Khai commanded with gentle steps, without shouting or rushing, requiring only a few glances and brief words.

Hung could clearly see in their every movement a mixture of pride and responsibility.

That afternoon, Hung followed Khai down to the rocky beach, where he said, "Standing here to watch the sunset is like having the whole world embraced." And it was true. The sun, red like a ball of fire, slowly sank towards the foothills, its remaining light touching his green uniform, making the color of his shirt seem a little brighter.

Hung asked:

- Khai, what makes you so attached to this place?

Khải thought for a moment, then replied, his voice dropping significantly:

- Because here I feel useful. Every radar scan, every night shift… keeps millions safe behind me. I know I'm not a hero, but I want to stand where I need to be.

That answer left Hung speechless. The soldier spoke of profound things in a very ordinary tone. That was perhaps what moved Hung the most.

That night, Hung slept with the patrol team in the observation post. The wind howled, the cold biting at their skin, but the soldiers sat upright, their eyes fixed on the dark horizon. Occasionally, Khai would look up, listening for a distant sound.

Hung asked:

- What did you hear?

Khải smiled:

- The sound of the sky.

Hung laughed. But then Khai continued:

- Air defense soldiers no longer need to listen with their hearts. When there's an incident, the sky looks very different. Just a small change, and we can feel it immediately.

Khải told Hùng about his second-year shift, the only time he was truly terrified. It was a night of strong winds and torrential rain. The radar signaled an unusual signal, and the entire unit was called to emergency positions. At that moment, he missed his mother terribly, remembering her small figure waiting for him on the porch every evening. But at the same time, another thought arose in his heart: "If peace prevails down there because of me, then my fear is worth it." Thinking this, and thinking about his mother, Khải's heart calmed down.

***

The following morning, before dawn had even broken, the unit received news that a hailstorm was about to hit the mountainous area. The entire company hurriedly moved equipment and reinforced the camp. Hung and the working group also joined in to help.

In the rush, Hung saw Khai climbing the auxiliary radar mast to check the locking mechanism. A strong gust of wind lashed against him. Hung was about to call out to him when he suddenly heard a "crack!" - a cold, dry sound of metal breaking.

Khải didn't fall. But a support beam underneath came loose, causing the column to shake violently. He managed to grab onto the column, calmly readjusting the latch. After nearly ten tense minutes, he climbed down, his face pale but his eyes still bright.

Hung blurted out:

- Why are you so reckless? If you fall...

Khải laughed:

- If that latch malfunctions while the radar is active, it's much more dangerous. I'm used to it.

The words "I'm used to it" came out as softly as a breath, but they immediately choked Hung's heart.

The things soldiers are used to are probably all things that ordinary people would never want to be used to.

The hailstorm lasted all afternoon. Hung took shelter in the wooden shack. Khai sat beside Hung, the two of them silently listening to the heavy hailstones tapping on the corrugated iron roof. The smell of damp earth filled the air. Suddenly, he took a small tin box from his backpack, opened the lid, and inside were several handmade cards drawn by children.

"The kids at the village school send them to us. They send them every year," Khai said, his voice softening. "My mother once read an article about our unit, and she said, 'Thanks to you guys, our village is peaceful.' Hearing that, I felt so relieved."

Hung said:

- You must miss home a lot, right?

Khải didn't answer immediately. After a moment, he spoke, his voice as soft as the wind:

- Of course we remember. But this longing… we consider it part of our job now.

Hung suddenly felt a slight stinging sensation in the corner of his eye.

***

Hung left his unit after three days of duty. Before descending the mountain, Khai took Hung to a high point where they could see the small town below. It was his farewell gift.

- Look, the village below is as bright as flowers at night. We stayed awake so that those flowers could bloom.

Hung didn't know what to say. He just stood there silently for a long time.

Before parting ways, Khai said:

- When the newspaper publishes a new article, please remember to send it to me. That way, I'll know that our regular guard duty these past few days has had a little more meaning.

Hung nodded. But Hung didn't realize that it was the last time he would see Khai.

Two months later, as Hung was preparing to write another feature story, his unit reported that Khai had been seriously injured in a severe thunderstorm while saving radar equipment from collapsing. He died on the way to the infirmary.

When the news arrived, Hung sat motionless. His eyes stared blankly into space; not a single word appeared on the page.

On the day he went to light incense for his brother, the mountain wind lashed fiercely against Hung's face. Hung stood before the tombstone, and for some reason, Khai's words kept echoing in his head: "Every sign from the sky is a part of the country's peace."

Khải kept his promise throughout his life.

That year, Hung finished his article and it was published in the year-end issue. Hung sent a copy to Khai's mother. She called Hung, her voice choked with emotion:

- Thank you, son. Thanks to that article, I can see that Khai is still alive somewhere in this sky.

Hung stood silently, feeling the gentle breeze run across his hand as if someone were touching him ever so lightly. Perhaps the soldiers never truly left. They simply shifted to a different form of presence, silent, steadfast, and as bright as the stars they once guarded.

Even now, whenever Hung looks up at the night sky, he still remembers Khai. He remembers his gentle smile, his warm words amidst the cold wind, and his figure standing tall in front of the rotating radar, like a tiny but resilient dot in the vast sky.

There are people who come into our lives for a very short time, but leave behind a lasting legacy of light.

Original

Source: https://huengaynay.vn/van-hoa-nghe-thuat/tac-gia-tac-pham/bau-troi-mua-xuan-162141.html