The Night The Tower Fell by Alice Baburek

The Viet Cong had surrounded the last few remaining soldiers. It was up to him to get them out. The heat of the Vietnam jungle seeped into his open pores. Sweat dripped slowly down his aching back as his sweaty hands and feet tried desperately to cling to each thin metal step—faint cheers from the men below, filtered through the deadly shots flailing past him.

Will Stanik paused. The extreme sultriness squeezed his labored breaths.  He had to make it—this time. It was the last piece of the tower. The last piece needed to signal for help. He could not let his men suffer by the hands of the enemy.

The metal frame clunked then swayed against his trembling body. Steady. Steady. He briefly closed his burning eyes. His muscles cried out in agony from the weight strapped to his bowing back. Steady. Steady. He must focus on the mission.

The sun began to set behind the thick trees. Will had to hurry. Soon it would be nightfall and he would be completely blind. The first bullet ripped through his strained thigh. Pain radiated down into his foot then raced up into his already compromised spine. The second shot ejected into his shoulder, separating it in half. He jolted backward, losing his grip. 

His arms flailing, grasping at air.  The metal rods clanked as gravity pulled him down. Darkness swallowed him whole as he plummeted to the ground.

Will abruptly sat up in bed. His aged body covered in sweat. Remnants of the nightmare lingered. He swung his stiff legs over the side onto the worn wooden floor. A cold shiver ran down his curved spine. Even after several surgeries, the metal pins that held his pelvis area together were not immune to the crippling arthritis that had worked its way deep inside. Constant pain was now a considerable part of his life.

After spending thirty minutes in a hot shower, Will’s body limbered enough to get dressed. Some days he didn’t see the need, but today was different. Dr. Steinbeck had insisted on meeting with him to discuss the results of Will’s yearly wellness exam. 

The Veterans' medical facility was bustling with activity. Dr. Steinbeck’s waiting room had been filled to the brink—a veteran in every seat.

Will checked in. He informed the middle-aged woman behind the sliding glass pane that he would gladly make another appointment to ease the crowded room. He was then told to wait for a brief moment. Seconds later, she returned.

“Mr. Stanik, Dr. Steinbeck insists he must speak with you today. A seat will open shortly.” And without waiting for a response, she quickly slid the window closed, ending their conversation and his chance of escaping the overcrowded room.

***

Will sat in the cushioned chair. He tried to shift to ease the pain. Dr. Steinbeck’s private office was meticulous. Everything in its place. He noticed the framed medical degree hanging on the wall. The good doctor graduated with honors from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland. Impressive.

The office door opened. Dr. Steinbeck stepped inside and sat behind the mahogany desk across from Will. He smiled.

Will forged ahead. “Dr. Steinbeck…the receptionist made it seem you needed to see me today even with all the overbooking of patients,” said Will.

Dr. Steinbeck tilted his head then crossed his arms. “Mr. Stanik, the reason I needed to speak with you is because the results of your lab work have been completed. It would seem there are elevations in your red blood cells. Medical term--Erythrocytosis. This elevation in red blood cells makes your blood thicker than it should be. It can increase your risk for a heart attack, blood clots, and/or stroke.”

Will stared down at his rough hands. His mind wandered back to the nightmare. If I could just reach the top. The doctor’s voice echoed.

“…and so, the plan is to start with medication to keep it under control,” explained the good doctor.

Will let out a huge sigh. “Sure…whatever you say, Dr. Steinbeck. Are we finished?”

The older doctor hesitated for a brief moment. “Have you been sleeping, Mr. Stanik? Still having nightmares?” The doctor leaned forward and placed his elbows on his clean desk.

“You mean am I still having the same nightmare?” asked Will. Dr. Steinbeck was stoic. He did not answer.

“Yes…I have it all the time. I know…I won't have the nightmare if I can get to the top and finish the tower. But…but I can’t reach the top. I keep falling…and then I wake up.” Will shifted once again in his seat.

“Mr. Stanik…Will…you realize that even if you make it to the top of the tower, it won’t change a thing—your men are still gone. Nothing, nothing will change that,” the doctor replied in a soft tone.

Will’s eyes teared up. He knew he failed his men. He was responsible for their lives. His job was to see them come home to their families—not in a pine box.

“Will…it wasn’t your fault. You were shot down off that tower.” The good doctor leaned back.

Will could not control the tears. He couldn’t stop his emotions. It wasn’t right, he was alive when his men were dead—massacred by the Viet Cong.

“I…should have died from the fall. Yet, more than fifty years later, I’m still here…I should be with my men.” The agony cut to his soul. Trapped somewhere between nowhere and goodbye. He wiped his face with the back of his trembling hand.

“It’s called survivor’s guilt,” whispered the doctor.

Will ignored the doctor as he continued.

“And then, adding insult to injury, I can’t remember anything after I fell. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital that I was told my unit had been cut down. If…if I had gotten that last piece in place on the tower, we could have radioed our position. They could have sent in reinforcements.” Will’s voice cracked. His head dropped on his chest.

“Will…it was a miracle you survived the ordeal. You were shot twice, assumed dead from the fall. I am truly sorry about the deaths of your men. It’s hard to lose…” But before the doctor could finish, a light tap on the closed door.

“Yes?” called out Dr. Steinbeck.

The receptionist stuck her round head inside. “Dr. Steinbeck, St. Mary’s Hospital is on line 1.”

“Thank you.” The door quickly closed. Dr. Steinbeck blinked several times. Will kept staring at his hands.

“I appreciate the pep talk, doc.” Will cleared his throat.

“I can write a script to help you sleep,” said the doctor.

Will shook his head. “No…that won’t be necessary.” He stood up to leave. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. As for the meds for Erythrocytosis, just send the order.” Without waiting to hear another word, Will left the doctor to take his call.

***

Will stirred the cream into the hot cup of java. He glanced about the empty coffee house. His mind wandered back to his conversation with Dr. Steinbeck. Another pill to take along with all the others. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he just stopped taking them. Would he die a slow death or would it be quick from a heart attack or maybe a stroke? Regardless, he didn’t deserve to live when so many others had died because of his inability to finish the job. Yet, he kept taking the medicine which had prolonged his own life—the one he didn’t deserve.

            After an hour or so wallowing, once again, in his guilt, he got up and left the shop. The afternoon was fading fast into the evening. The chilly air rattled his old aching bones. For a brief moment, he thought he could smell the hot, sticky air of the jungle—a trick of the mind.

            Will walked the two flights of steps to his senior living apartment. Once inside his suite, he collapsed heavily onto the worn sofa he picked up at the second-hand store. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. Maybe he should have taken the sleeping pills Dr. Steinbeck had insisted on. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt actually to get a good night’s rest. The recurring nightmare had worn him down. It was affecting not only his physical health but his mental status too. He couldn’t figure out why after all these years the nightmare had started again.

            As Will stood up, his peripheral vision caught a shadow in the dark corner of the room. Quickly he turned and faced the wispy formed shape that receded against the wall.

            Suddenly, his heart pulsated within the tightened mass within his chest. Gasping for air, Will pounded on his lungs for relief. And before the blackness engulfed him completely, he heard a raspy voice say, Finish It.

            The climb to the top was tortuous. His legs moaned in protest as he gripped the metal rods one by one. The heavy metal frame hung heavy on his agonized spine. Yet, he had to keep going. He had to save his men. But each step became futile. His shoulders seared in pain. Just a few feet more.

            Will pushed forward with every last ounce of strength left inside. And as he finally reached the top platform, his eyes drew to the setting sun over the triage of the dense jungle. Inching the metal frame from his painful spine, he slid them on to the scaffold. Piece by piece he constructed the final section of the tower.

            Cheers from below echoed up into the evening sky. Salty sweat burned his bloodshot eyes. He finally finished the tower. Will shouted down to his men.

            The first bullet ripped through his shaky thigh. A second bullet separated his shoulder in half. Will tried to steady himself, but it was futile. The power of the bullets pushed him off the platform.

            Will could feel no pain as he plummeted to the ground below. But it didn’t matter. He had finished building the tower and his men would be set free.

***

The paramedics lifted the gurney inside the back of the ambulance and closed the doors. Dr. Steinbeck backed away as the silent rescue vehicle pulled out of the apartment complex. Glancing up at the second-floor window, his eyes teared as he thought of his patient and friend.

Will Stanik had been his patient for many years. He desperately tried to help him, but to no avail. Guilt is a debilitating disease for which there is no cure. Will had been fixed on a time and place that existed in the deep crevices of his tormented mind. Maybe now, Will could finally find peace with himself and the unforgiven past so long ago.