Page 4 of Destiny Reclaimed
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, Jackstood 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 pulled the photo of his lovely Gwennie from inside his helmet and pinched it between his thumb and the outside of the head covering near where the bullet penetrated. With the fingers of his opposite hand, he traced over her peaches and cream cheeks, unleashing the memory of how soft her skin felt against his fingertips. Though the photo had faded, in his mind, he could see her clearly, little pink button nose and all. Inhaling, he recalled her tantalizing vanilla scent. He skimmed his tingling fingertips over her lips. Those kissable, bow-shaped lips. The second he got home hewouldpropose to her—make her his forever.
Gwennie,she’s what kept him going through this mess of a war.
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.
Jack eyed the damaged helmet in his hand one more time, then set it down and grabbed the new one he’d been issued earlier in the day when he’d been cleared for duty. Cold, hard realization punched him in the gut, again. He almost died. His personal experiences from this war had taught him to lower his expectations. Sweat beaded on his temples. Was it fair to Gwennie to string her along? The odds were stacked against him in terms of making it home alive. Should he just let her get on with her life now, rather than waiting for notice of hisdeath?He choked at the thought, but knew he should do what was best for his beloved. He pulled the letter from his pocket and tossed it in the trash.
“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?
