The Preserver & Protector 2: Destiny Reclaimed

From slightly above one thousand feet, Jack Cornelis’ gaze zoned in on the quilt-like patterns of water-filled fields, otherwise known as rice paddies. The tall elephant grass surrounding the field was thick enough to hide an entire military unit on the ready for an ambush. Under this scenario, his twenty-twenty vision wasn’t foolproof. He’d learned that firsthand during his initial evacuation when they underwent close fire, losing both his gunners and several soldiers as they carried wounded to his Huey Helicopter.

The rhythmic thump of the rotors snapped him back into the task at hand. The sound of the blades had two effects on him. At times, they practically hypnotized him, flipping him into auto-pilot to perform his mission. Other times, they mesmerized him, holding him hostage in memories of past evacuations. Luckily, right now he’d been cast quickly into auto-pilot. He scanned over the rice paddies, particularly the edges which were commonly used to set booby traps.

Up ahead, a soldier stepped out, waving his weapon in the air. Jack descended quickly, grass blowing flat as he landed. They’d only have a short time—seconds—to collect the wounded before they had to ascend.

Pain ripped through his left eye, and his head jerked back, hitting hard against the seat. He blinked, at least he thought he blinked. Sandpaper ground against his eyeball. Through his good eye, he darted his gaze to his co-pilot. The man slumped forward. Unmoving.

His hand ached as he wrapped it tighter around the collective and ascended as quickly as he could. Adrenaline rushed his veins, his heart hammered, and the pain ripping through his skull now rendered his good eye blurry, the left one useless. His right hand throbbed, and he felt faint.

His jaw clenched at Singleton’s dead body in the copilot seat, but he couldn’t worry about that now, the wounded in the back counted on him to get them to the medical unit. He couldn’t let them down.

A strong odor of alcohol stung Jack’s nostrils. He opened his eyes, then blinked to get the sand out of them. It took a second to realize his left eye was covered. As he reached up to touch it, he noticed the bandage on his hand. When he wiggled his fingers, they burned with pain, but it was tolerable, and he found some comfort in the fact he could move his digits.

A soothing whisper floated into his ear canal drawing his attention. As to not further upset his pounding temples, he turned his head slowly in the direction of the calming sound. A nurse stood a few feet away, on the opposite side of the next bed over. She inspected a wound on the soldier’s leg. The small-framed woman with long, golden hair smiled softly at her patient.

The soldier reached up and touched her porcelain cheek. “I love you,” he whispered.

She darted her gaze around the room. If she’d noticed he watched them through his slit eye, she didn’t let on.

“I love you, too. You did it. You preserved history again.” Her sapphire blue eyes emitted warmth—love—pride.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” the soldier replied to the woman. “Plus, we won’t know for sure if anything will be impacted until we know the extent of his eye injury. As per history, he has a lot of missions to fly yet, and lives to save.”

Jack wondered who the man referred to in his comment about missions to fly and lives to save? More importantly, what had the nurse meant when she said the soldier preserved history.

His heart picked up pace. Their conversation reminded him of the discussion he’d had with his dad only months before he’d left for Vietnam.

His father had sat him down, and the seriousness in the man’s gaze and tone worried him. He was sure his dad had been about to tell him he was sick and dying.

Jack recalled his heart leaping into his throat, positive the man was ill.

How? They were the most regular people he knew. No frills. Sure, his dad was a veteran and a doctor, and for that, he was very proud. But still, they were just normal people living in small-town Wisconsin, and his dad was about to retire.

Nerves had shook his father’s voice, and he’d begun to ramble which was extremely unusual for him.

A slight quiver had raked through him and he folded his sweaty hands together and rested them on his lap. This whole exchange was crazy.

He remembered the distinct warmth on his shoulder when his father had placed his hand to it during this strange conversation.

He remembered staring at his father in disbelief.

And with that, his dad had rose from his seat and left the room. Leaving him alone with his doubting thoughts.

Two days later, his dad sat him down again and told him more about Preservers, Protectors, their history, and expectations of the roles. His father had given him a lot to think about, both unusual and unbelievable in nature. If anyone else had revealed this information to him, he never would have believed it, but since it came from his dad, the most reputable person he knew, it warranted credibility. Once emersed in the war he’d disregarded it, didn’t really have time to think about it.

Now, here in a mobile unit hospital bed, he thought of that conversation while continuing to watch and eavesdrop on the two strangers next to him. Were they talking about him and his role as a Preserver?

The soldier slowly turned his head toward him. Shock cracked through him like a lightning bolt as he stared into deep-set, dark brown eyes—his own eyes. It was like looking into a mirror.

The nurse moved between their beds and fixed her gaze on him. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

Jack tried to speak, but his dry throat held sound hostage after the first squeak.

“I’ll get you some water.” The woman’s golden hair shifted as she spun and stepped away from him.

He returned his gaze to the familiar-looking patient in the next bed. Silence filled the room as he stared at the man. Pride emitted from the guy’s gaze. Why?

The woman returned, and Jack took the water from her with a shaky hand. The cool liquid soothed his itchy throat enough for him to speak. “How long have I been out?” He stole another glance of the soldier in the next bed.

“Just a couple of hours. The doctor stitched your hand, cleaned out your eye, and dressed the shallow wound on your head. You should be fine in no time.”

“And the others?”

The woman directed her gaze to the mystery man in the next bed, then slowly returned it to him.

“Your co-pilot didn’t make it. The gunners are fine, and the wounded are here and being treated.” She smiled warmly. “You did great. If not for you they wouldn’t be here.”

That was his job, along with all the other Huey pilots.

He closed his eyes. The one covered by the gauze itched, and he fought the urge to scratch it. Then, he took a deep breath before reopening them. The good eye opened to a bit of a larger slit this time. The guy in the next bed came in to focus again. In a momentary flashback, he recalled this soldier had been on his chopper—up front with him. But wait, that couldn’t be right—what happened to Singleton, the copilot? He thought harder on the memory.

Jack lifted his injured hand and pointed with his bound fingers toward the mystery man. “You were in Singleton’s seat.”

“Yes sir, I moved him in case you needed help. I thought you’d been shot in the eye but found out later the bullet only grazed your hand and head. It was debris in your eye.”

With his fingertips, Jack pressed lightly against the gauze patch covering his left eye. It was sore to the touch but not too bad. His throbbing temples hurt worse.

“But, you did it all. You’d been injured, yet flew the chopper and its passengers to safety with one eye and one hand.”

He tried to recall the flight back but couldn’t.

“I don’t…”

The soldier popped himself up on his elbow, keeping his gaze on him. “You did it. Without a doubt it was heroic. You’d hardly touched down before you passed out.”

“Huh.”

“Thank God you were able to do that or we’d all be dead.”

“So, you’re not a pilot?”

“No sir. I was just one of the injured you picked up.” The soldier pointed at his leg. “I got shot in the thigh.”

A sense of admiration sifted through Jack. Everyone on that helicopter would be dead if not for this man and his resolve. “So, you’re not a pilot, and you’d been shot, yet you still climbed up front to help.”

“Yeah. My only hope was to try to keep you alert. You had me estimate how far off the ground we were and try to keep you away from obstacles. Your depth perception seemed to be a problem.”

Good heavens, it was a complete miracle. “What’s your name?”

“Blake.”

“Well, thank you, Blake.”

He gazed at the nurse. “And your name?”

She glanced at the other man, and they shared a knowing smile before she replied, “Ariel.”

Jack eased his aching head back down to the pillow. “That’s a pretty name. Reminds me of a guardian angel.”

Out of the blue, a spine-chilling, eerie sensation saturated every cell of his being. The feeling seemed oddly familiar. He racked his brain to place the root of it, but with the level of exhaustion consuming him, he couldn't focus. His eyelids drifted shut.

A hard jolt to his arm catapulted him to full alert despite his fatigue. A tall, dark-haired nurse yanked his arm again, nearly pulling it from the socket. Why was she gripping him so tightly, and where had the nice blonde gone? This wasn’t right. What was this woman up to? He squirmed to free himself from her hold. The woman’s long fingernails dug into his skin. Her dark, soulless gaze unnerved him. In her opposite hand, he glimpsed a shiny object. He pulled away from her as he sprang into a seated position.

All at once, she spun away from him and into the petite, golden-haired nurse. Ariel, and the soldier from the bed next over, struggled to get the object from the woman's hand. Jack’s pulse pounded. What in the hell was happening? He made a move to leap off his bed to help them but before he could a sudden, fiery gust of swirling air knocked the three of them to the floor. A dark funnel cloud encircled the dark-haired nurse, spinning fast and hard.

Jack blinked to clear his vision. When he refocused, it was not a woman in the swirling tornado-like funnel, but a large raven. A dragon-like screech pierced his eardrums as the dark cloud disappeared.

Strong air currents rushed over him as if he were standing under the whooshing blades of the helicopter. Heat surged his body. The sensation of danger dissipated but sheer curiosity caused him to keep his gaze fixed on Blake and Ariel who hovered in the air a few feet off the floor. They both began to spin as if caught in a whirlwind. Faster and faster. Lifting until they spun out of sight.

When next he woke, his temples throbbed less than before, but they still pounded. He hadn’t a clue how long he’d been out. Turning his head to the side, he found the next bed vacant and recalled the odd dream he’d had about Blake and Ariel.

As he lay there staring at the empty bed, a doctor stepped into his line of vision.

He turned his attention to the tall, blade-thin man. Deep creases stretched out from the guy’s dark inset eyes. His eyelids drooped as if he hadn’t slept in a while.

Jack’s injured eye twinged and his brows furrowed as he peeked around the doctor at the empty bed.

“Captain Cornelis. How are you feeling?” The man’s voice sounded more chipper than he appeared.

“Got a bit of a headache, but other than that, I feel fine.”

“Overall, your injuries are minor. You got lucky. It appears a bullet snuck between the windshield where bolts hold the frame, hit your hand, maybe deflected off the collective then hit your helmet above your left eye and came out the helmet by your left ear. The bullet scraped your head, and I dug some metal and plexiglass fragments out of your eye.”

His heart plummeted to his stomach. How bad was the damage to his eye? He couldn’t pilot if he couldn’t see.

The doctor lifted his hand. In it, he held Jack’s helmet. “See.” He pointed to a hole. “The bullet entered here.” The doc turned his arm slightly, angling head covering so Jack could see the exit hole. “And came out here.”

An inch or two lower and it would have gone clear through his eye.

“Holy shit.”

“You got that right. Anyhow, your hand and head will be fine. We’ll know more about your eye when I check it tomorrow. For right now, I want you to rest. Keep your eyes closed.”

He nodded and swallowed hard, not wanting to think about the damage to his eye. He was nothing if he couldn’t fly. He’d do whatever the Doc told him to do in the hope for a full recovery.

The whip of a man turned to leave.

“Wait!” Jack called out.

The doctor turned back and stepped closer to him.

Jack pointed at the bed next to him. “The soldier that was in that bed, where is he?”

The man arched a brow. “That bed’s been vacant since you came in.”

His pulse pounded. “What?” How could that be? He was sure there’d been a man in that bed. He even talked to him.

The doctor held his hand up. “Just get some rest.”

Five days later, Jack stood in his tiny room in the barracks. Loud echoes from the other soldiers resonated throughout the halls, but he didn’t mind. He’d take that over a hospital bed any day. He grabbed his helmet and eyed the bullet hole, then he looked in the mirror and placed his fingertips to the scrape that started low on his forehead above his left eye, extended upward over his temple, and then higher on the side of his head. All that remained of the injury to his eye was some splashes of red among the whites. He blinked a few times. Not a trace of pain, and his vision seemed as good as it ever was.

Still, his pulse soared. Talk about a close call. He could have come out of this blind in his eye. He swallowed hard. Or, even dead.

He slipped the photo into his shirt pocket, next to the envelope addressed to his sweetheart. He’d written her some during the time he’d been away, nearly two years. Guilt sifted through him, not often enough. She deserved more. He’d be sure to pop that letter in the mail today.

“Cornelis!” someone yelled from down the hallway, snapping him out of his thoughts.

There was no more time to reflect on what almost happened, he needed to focus forward, get to his chopper to fly another evacuation mission. That’s what he was there to do. That was his job. Hopefully, in the future, it would be without issue. Just a couple of more months and his second tour would be completed.

He took one last glance at himself in the mirror. Was he a fool for thinking he could get out of this war alive?