Читать книгу: «A Soldier's Family»
A Soldier’s Family
Cheryl Wyatt
Published by Steeple Hill Books™
MILLS & BOON
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To Jesus: Thank You for the gift and the gumption to
write. May every word pour over You as worship.
To Papaw’s Patio Plotstormers who can leap over
tall plot holes with a single clause.
To my grandmothers for sharing a part of each of
yourselves with me. You are great and honorable
women whom I admire greatly, and who have
shaped my life in unspeakably wondrous ways.
Grandma Veda: for your sense of humor and a
giving and selfless spirit.
Grandma Mary: for an unquenchable love for books
and reading.
Grandma Alma: for modeling prayer and a life that
honors God.
Grandma Nellie: for instilling in me love for family
and faith in God’s hand on our lives.
If I could thank every person who helped and
encouraged me on this journey, the word count of
this book would have doubled.
Special thanks to Pam and Bill for your advice, encouragement and support.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Chapter One
This was not the smartest way to die.
U.S.A.F. Pararescue Jumper Manny Péna grunted, tensed his muscles and tried again to flare the canopy on his parachute.
No go.
Panic blew through him like the gust of crisp October wind that had whipped him laterally through Refuge’s early morning sky moments ago, causing part of his chute to collapse.
Manny swallowed. Must keep his head or this could end badly. He glanced at the ground.
Still slamming up to meet him. Fast. Way too fast.
It could end badly anyway.
He pulled one steer cord, then the other. Ropes dug into his gloved hands, burning his palms. Something definitely didn’t feel right. Manny tilted his head to peer at the underside of his canopy. Still one-third collapsed.
Not. Good.
Two lines had twisted near the top and he’d made the cardinal mistake of giving his knife to one of the students. Jumping without it was something he’d never done.
Except today.
The one jump he deviated from procedure, and now there was no way to cut away his main chute. Manny pulled the rip cord on the emergency reserve parachute. It bubbled open, but caught on his main chute, the worst possible scenario.
No ifs, ands or buts about it.
He was crashing.
A thousand yards from earth, wicked wind had blown him one way and his chute the other, winding them like a kid on a swing.
Manny brought his legs up. The upward thrust of air flapped loose material on his camo-clad arms and legs in rapid, violent clips. Manny kicked off the heavy field kit strapped to his thighs. It tumbled into the roaring Southern Illinois sky.
The position change and lightened load didn’t straighten out his malfunctioning chute. Manny continued to fall through howling air at a dangerous pace. He flicked another glance to the ominous earth. His pulse spiked.
Treetops were about five hundred yards down. If he could veer sideways away from them, he may have a better chance. He steered left. His team had to be wigging out. By now they’d know as well as he did it was too late to right himself enough to slow down for a safe landing. He fought hard to steer the wayward chute.
Three hundred yards. He tuned out fear-filled screams from skydiving patrons and directive shouts from his team that originated from both ground and air.
One hundred yards. He wished they didn’t have to see this, hoped they’d close their eyes before he impacted.
Fifty yards.
Twenty. Manny clenched his eyes as the drop zone screamed up. Maybe he’d clear the trees after all.
A violent jerk informed him otherwise. He arced downward toward a tall spruce. Gravity thrust him forward, head down. Fear gnawed him like the wood, splintering his calm. He sprang both arms up to protect his head.
Lot of good that would do if he broke his neck.
He blurred through a downward vortex of browns and greens. Cracking and popping sounds ricocheted around him. Frenzied shrieks came from everywhere. Pinecones pounded. Leaves slapped. Fresh sap and pine smells hit him with nausea the same time a metallic taste entered his mouth.
If he was about to die, he hoped he’d go quick, ’cause it sure wasn’t painless.
A deafening thud and white-hot pain snatched his hearing and vision.
Darkness cloaked Manny. His mind fumbled with rational thought. Peace enclosed him and whispered through this chaos that at least he was no longer on the outs with God.
And I didn’t even tell them. Sorry. Give me ’nother chance.
“BP, ninety over fifty, and he’s responsive to pain.”
Nope. Not dead. Dead people didn’t hurt like this. Manny groaned. More pain. A poke like a mad hornet sting, then burning in his forearm. He tried to pull his arm free. Hands tightened around his wrist.
“Manny, don’t move,” came from a soothing yet concerned voice. Team leader, Joel Montgomery. Manny then realized the pinprick had been Joel starting an intravenous infusion. A stream of deep cold traveled up his arm.
As more sensations returned, he realized the hard, frigid earth lay beneath him.
Manny forced open his eyes. His gaze trailed clear tubing up to bags of fluid that someone blurry suspended above him. Three bags became two, then one fuzzy bag. His eyes struggled for focus. He squinted to read letters on the transparent plastic.
Okay. Okay. Hydrating fluids. Not CPR fluids. So he might not be imminently dying.
“I crashed.” Blinding pain hit Manny’s eyes from a penlight aimed at his pupils. He clenched his eyes shut.
“We noticed,” another voice spoke with grim inflection. Vince? A distant chorus of murmurs flowed in hushed tones around him. The hum of conjoined voices reminded him of a bee swarm, bringing with it a verbal collective buzzing.
A gloved finger that smelled of sterile latex and powder opened his eyelid. Nolan Briggs, wielding that wicked penlight. Manny grinded his teeth against mind-numbing discomfort in his head and on his backside.
“Equal and reactive to light,” Nolan mumbled in Joel’s direction. Manny’d never heard Nolan’s voice that tight before. He sought out Nolan’s face.
No way!
Was the dude about to cry? Nolan the softie. If Manny didn’t feel like a grenade had just blown up in his back pocket, he’d put forth the effort to tease Nolan. Shards of jolting pain shot through every part of him.
“Aaah. Hurts.” Maybe death would offer reprieve.
Joel moved into Manny’s line of sight. “Where?”
“Where not?” Manny pushed the words through gritted teeth and blinked his eyes open as much as he could stand.
A circle of horrified faces stared down at him. Some he recognized, some not. His heart tumbled against his ribs at the grave concern on each. Darkness threatened to drag him back under. He fought for lucidity. If he closed his eyes he might never wake up.
“Tha-was close.” He forced his eyes to stay open despite throbbing pain in his head.
Joel nodded, his face stern with a sort of tense concentration Manny had only seen him exhibit in life-or-death situations.
In the distance, coming closer, the rhythmic chopping of a helicopter echoed. No doubt to evacuate him.
At least they’d been on a training op and not a mission. Still, how embarrassing to crash in front of a class full of rookie PJ wannabes.
“By th-way, tha-was a near perfect dem-n-stration a throng wayda land.” Manny pinched out the words to them. His attempt at humor caused a few pallid faces to wash over with discernable relief. This day would definitely weed out the weak ones.
“If it’s any consolation, we saw that tree jump in your path, Péna.” Pale with worry lines Manny never noticed before, Chance squeezed his shoulder in a gentle grip.
Manny tried to smile at Chance’s attempt to keep his embarrassment minimal. Little late. His pride took a fatal hit when his body crashed through the only grove of trees for a twenty-mile radius at NASCAR speeds. What a clumsy landing. At least he was still here to sulk over it.
Thank You.
He stared at the spot of sky, previously blue, now gunmetal gray, visible through the circle of gawking faces. Would he ever air ski that vast expanse again, or fall through clouds at exhilarating speeds? Would he live through the end of this day?
Manny studied the people around him, creating a diversion from outlandish pain and fear that he’d never freefall again.
He began to feel like a caged zoo animal on display. Where’d all these people come from? His team flanked him on all sides, working, poking, prodding, bandaging, splinting, assessing injuries and vital function. They also elbowed people back continually, sparing Manny’s dignity.
As if picking up on his discomfort, PJ Vince lifted his face and shot the gawkers a lethal look. “Stay back. In fact, I want everyone not medical behind the line.” He jabbed his arm westward. “Over there.”
Team leader Joel eyed Vince then the drop zone crowd as they retreated with soft murmurs and parting words of comfort. Manny figured people were more concerned than curious but he appreciated the cove of privacy his team provided as they rallied around him. These guys were like family. He loved each of them like brothers.
Even Chance, the new guy who kneaded expert fingers around Manny’s ribs as Joel pressed a cold stethoscope against his chest and abdomen.
Manny licked dry lips. “Wha’d all I break?” Though he didn’t really want to know.
“Besides every branch off the south side of a pine tree and your reserve chute? Only X-rays will tell.” Nolan Briggs mouthed his assessment past a syringe clenched in his teeth. He flicked Manny’s arm below a tight tourniquet that pinched his skin.
“You know my blood type.” He’d been poked enough in the last five minutes. Manny was certain hundreds of pine needles splintered every square inch of him, including his tush, which felt like it had borne most of the crash impact. He imagined he looked like a battered porcupine. Had he actually landed on the ground? Or had they pulled him out of a tree?
Joel piggybacked a small bag of antibiotics into his main IV line. “The local hospital doesn’t, and procedure won’t allow them to take our word for it.”
Great.
His first significant skydiving accident and it had to happen in a Podunk town like Refuge.
“They want a type and cross-match for emergency surgery,” Joel finished.
Surgery. That’d be a first, too.
And just weeks after he’d given control of his life back to God. He should have told someone. Now they’d all think the change in him was due to this accident.
“Joel, dude. I need to tell you something,” Manny croaked.
Joel taped tubing across Manny’s arm. “Rest now. Talk later.”
“No, I need to—”
“Péna, tell me when we get you stable and in the chopper.” Joel sounded worried. He never sounded worried. And if Manny was being airlifted instead of ground transported, that meant he must be pretty bad off.
He couldn’t die without telling them. Manny reached up and grasped Joel’s collar. “Listen—”
He squeezed Manny’s fist. “We’re going to get you fixed up, bro. Don’t worry.” Joel ripped open supplies, unfurling more tubing. Oxygen? Manny tried to shake his head but his C-collar neck brace wouldn’t allow it.
How long had he been out?
Nolan spread a warm blanket over Manny as Joel stuck an oxygen tube in his nose. It hissed air up the passages, making his eyes water. By the rattled look Nolan passed Joel, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Sweat beaded Manny’s forehead despite the chilly temperature. He tugged Joel nose to nose. “No. I need to tell you now.”
That got Joel’s attention. He froze and studied Manny. Gaseous fuel vapors pushed through residual antiseptic fumes. A fog of dust wafted from the helicopter landing.
Manny swallowed, but dryness coated his throat. Or maybe it was actual sand. “I made a big decision last week.”
Joel held Manny’s gaze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, and I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, buddy.” Joel braced his arm around the back of Manny’s shoulders. “On three.”
Chance cradled Manny’s head. “One. Two. Three.”
Hands everywhere lifted him. Helicopter paramedics slid a hard orange board under him that smelled like melted plastic and floor polish.
The pressure on his hind end caused his breath to catch.
He exhaled slowly. “There’s a stack of letters in my pack. I need you to find it and see they get mailed.” Manny shuffled the words out quickly because it hurt like crazy to talk.
Joel shook his head and stared Manny down. “No. No. You get better and mail them yourself, Péna, and that’s an order.”
Manny realized by the stubborn jut to Joel’s jaw and the glitter in his eyes that he probably thought these were the kind of letters a soldier writes to family when the soldier sensed he wasn’t coming home.
Joel’s nontypical emotional reaction stunned and touched him to the core. Manny no longer cared if everyone heard. They’d eventually find out anyway because when Manny made a decision of commitment, it was for real and for keeps.
God spared his life. No way could Manny be ashamed of Him.
And Joel had been a huge part of that, his open devotion to Jesus a huge catalyst for Manny’s own hidden faith.
“I had a change of heart, Joel. All that praying you did musta worked on me.”
Joel cut Manny’s uniform top down the middle, starting below his neck brace. “How so?”
“I gave God control of my life last month.”
Joel’s cutting stuttered, then resumed as he flicked Manny a surprised look. “Seriously?”
“I wrote the letters in days following. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
Joel shrugged. “We all have.” A relieved grin peeked out both corners of his mouth, though.
Manny dropped his tone. “Most of those letters are to ladies I’ve, well, you know…”
“I Roger that.” Joel leaned aside as a paramedic attached a cardiac monitor lead to Manny’s chest.
“The top letter I wrote last. I didn’t have the right address, or she refused it. It’s to Celia. I know she’s still mad that I propositioned her at your wedding. I don’t blame her. Joel, I was so drunk, I don’t even remember disrespecting her.”
Joel actually laughed. “You have a nice scar on your lip as a monument to your indiscretion. You did proposition her, Péna. She clocked you good for it, too. Amber and I thought you two were going to throw down and brawl to the death right there on the reception-room floor.”
Acute embarrassment hit Manny though Joel’s kind smile never waned.
“And I haven’t taken a drink since.” Nor did he plan to.
Nolan leaned over Manny’s face. “Joel’s right. We’re not letting you off that easy. You’re gonna get better and apologize to Miss Hot Tamale, as you so called her, in person.”
Hot Tamale? Oh, boy. For sure he needed to never drink again.
Manny understood what they were trying to do. He squeezed Joel’s hand while being carried to the waiting chopper where they stood now, preparing to load him. Why couldn’t he feel his feet? Did paralysis begin like that? He loved tamales. Had he really called her that? Probably that and more. He felt terrible for nearly ruining his best friend’s wedding.
God, don’t let me be paralyzed.
He should call his family. Talk to his mom.
What if he never skydived again? What if he never saw his team again? No. They’d never abandon him. Not as a friend. Ever.
Not even if that homicidal wind had ripped him from the arms of his team today.
He didn’t want this to be happening. Didn’t know at six this morning that by nine he could be a total goner. Doubt assailed him that if he did live to tell about this, Celia would ever speak to him, much less accept his apology and forgive his indiscreet actions. He hoped for the chance to tell her he really was sorry.
“Thanks, Joel.” Manny knew he would see that Celia and the other women received their letters if Manny ended up unable to mail them himself.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Joel released Manny’s hand to hop in the helicopter and help lift him inside.
“I know, just…thanks.”
Joel reached across Manny to tap Nolan Briggs on the shoulder. “You’re in charge in my absence. Find the pack he kicked off. Bring it to me at Refuge Memorial.”
Nolan nodded. Joel peered past Nolan’s shoulder. “Brock, sit the rucksack search out and get that swollen ankle X-rayed when you guys come to the hospital.”
Brockton Drake nodded from the opening, then limped aside while Vince Reardon, Ben Dillinger and Chance Garrison pressed in. Vince grasped Manny’s hand, bringing it tight to his chest before relinquishing it slowly as Joel and the paramedic pulled Manny on in. Nolan swallowed when his gaze skittered across Manny’s legs as they slid past.
Manny didn’t miss the wince on Chance’s face, either. He hadn’t learned to control his facial reactions like the rest. From their expressions, he must have a compound fracture or two.
Manny wished he didn’t have any medical knowledge to compound his fear. He focused on his team, looking in at him through the side hatch.
Maybe not such a good idea.
Faces didn’t strain or squirm like that unless things were critical. His team could hide how bad things were, but the other skydivers approaching in waves behind them couldn’t.
“What happened to Brockton’s ankle?” Manny asked Joel.
“Hard landing.” Joel grinned. “Though not as hard as yours.”
“My fault. He probably got distracted watching me bite the dust.”
“Actually, he held his cool pretty good. He hurt his ankle because his legs took off running after you in midair before his feet ever hit the ground. Once he landed, he was the first one to you, sprained ankle and all. He didn’t even take time to click off his parachute, just dragged it behind him as he sprinted to where you’d crash landed.”
The image Joel’s vivid words created caused Manny to chuckle. “Ouch.”
Maybe laughing wasn’t such a good idea, either.
The hatch closed. Five noses and ten hands pressed against the outside of the glass, peering in at him.
Looking as if they feared they’d never see him again.
Manny lifted his hand, pressing his palm to the inside of the glass. Each teammate pressed their hand to his a moment before letting the next guy have a turn. Each mouthed something, most of which Manny couldn’t make out because the threat of tears over feeling thoroughly loved and cared for clouded his vision.
The helicopter lifted. Dust swirled. Hands fell and faces faded away. Images entered the oblique.
Sounds muted. Wind from spinning rotor blades ceased to roar through his ears. Sleep overtook him again. He figured someone stuck a sedative in his IV. Joel? Joel remained right beside him.
He would. Manny felt his prayers, his presence.
How could he even think for a blink that he’d be left alone or abandoned? Risking their lives together day in and day out had formed a brotherly bond stronger than Kevlar. He hadn’t realized how deep it ran until today.
Thank You. I’ll never take them for granted. Ever.
His pain eased. So did the anxiety. If he died today, he’d leave loved and he’d be okay. For all that, he was beyond glad.
Still—
My times are in Your hands, but I’d sure like the chance to live out my recovered faith. I’d also still love to be a PJ if You’d care to swing that in my favor.
Manny didn’t want to ponder all the things that could snatch the dream away, paralysis being one. He fought despair. He’d lived in its murk before, right after his toddler son drowned and his marriage imploded over it. He didn’t want to ever go back there. He’d rather die than never skydive with his team on rescue missions again.
Please don’t take that from me. But if You do, help me be faithful to You, even if my worst nightmare slaughters my dream.
A warm hand on his shoulder soothed and calmed him. Joel? Was he still here? What was that flowery smell? Did Heaven have hairspray and roses? Manny forced heavy lids open a pinch.
A thick head of stylish black hair bowed beside him. Full, red lips moved silently as though in prayer. If those features hadn’t given her away, the creamy caramel skin, courtesy of her Latin heritage, would have. His eyes saw, but his mind couldn’t compute. He stared unblinking at the last person he ever expected to be here at his side.
Celia Munez?
He’d recognize those ebony curls and characteristic cherubic cheeks anywhere, he’d stared at them enough.
Confusion spun his thoughts around. How did Joel’s wife’s best friend and co-teacher get in the helicopter with him?
Furthermore, why?
Especially after the way he’d treated her at Joel and Amber’s wedding reception? Celia and Manny’s parting words to one another had been guard-dog vicious.
“Ello,” he rasped. His throat felt like he’d swallowed razor wire.
Impossibly long lashes fluttered. Luminous almond eyes flickered open to stare at him. Startled first, then her face took on a look next that he could only interpret as expect no mercy.
Something like an anvil weighted his chest at the negative transformation.
“I knew Joel wouldn’t let me ride with these pretty flight nurses sans chaperone,” Manny slurred, attempting to break the ice with humor. The flight nurses had all been guys, except one who had to be his mother’s age.
Her eyebrows squished together. “You’re not only out of the helicopter, you’re out of your mind. You’re in the hospital. You had a great crash and a bad nap. Your nurse says it looks like you shattered your hip and your tailbone pretty good.”
“I’m surprised you’re here.” Manny swallowed. He longed for some water but doubted they’d even clear him for an ice chip.
A smirk bracketed her mouth. “Yeah, well, someone has to keep you in line. I made Joel and Amber and the rest of the parachute pack go eat. They’ll be back soon.”
By her rigid stance, not soon enough.
“What are you doing here?”
She folded arms tightly across her chest. “They asked me to come pray for you, so I did.”
In other words, if she had a choice, she wouldn’t be here.
I’m sorry.
The words tickled his tongue to tell her but she turned to stand by the window, putting her back to him. She sniffed and flipped hair over her shoulder.
He could take a far-from-subtle hint. She wasn’t up for chatting. Fine. He had better things to do than stare at her stiff back. Manny faced the wall opposite of where she stood. He counted how many ugly orange flowers coated the wallpaper and lost track of how much time passed.
Anything to delay being first to speak into the silence stilting the room.
Not one word, not even a huff came out of her. When Joel and Amber returned, Celia left without a parting glance at him.
The metal side rail creaked as Joel leaned on it. “What’s up with the scowl, Péna? You two have another altercation?”
Manny cast a sour look at the door Celia blew through as though one more second in the room with him would inflict her with the plague. “She ignored me the entire time.”
But that wasn’t exactly true. She’d been praying with her hand on his shoulder when he’d awakened. He was sure of it.
She’d acted startled, embarrassed even. Snatched her hand away as though his skin had erupted in boils. Then she’d clammed up and closed herself off.
But she hadn’t been fast enough. He’d glimpsed all he needed to. Beneath that tough, street-smart exterior lived a human with feelings. Feelings he wanted to know. What kept that tempest brewing in her dark and alluring eyes?
Call him crazy, but Manny wanted to know her, everything about her. First he had to find a crack in her mortar, then figure out his mode of attack.
He may as well begin with prayer, because it would require the big guns to break that impenetrable shell and to convince her that, by God’s continued grace, he was not the same man who’d blatantly and tactlessly disrespected her at the Montgomery wedding.
“She’ll eventually cool off and warm up to you,” Joel said. “I asked her to put you on the prayer list at church and be in charge of updating it.”
If Manny could snicker painlessly, he would.
“She may put a notation of praise in the bulletin.”
Joel gave his head a firm shake. “No. Celia’s got a temper but she’d never celebrate an accident of this magnitude.” An unmistakable smirk saddled Joel’s mouth. “Even if he did proposition her at her best friend’s Christian wedding.”
Embarrassment assaulted Manny but he felt too sleepy from medications to defend himself. Joel knew Manny’s remorse or he wouldn’t tease. Manny had already apologized to Joel and Amber that he and others had drunk heavily before their worship-oriented wedding. The Montgomery couple had shown only grace toward the team in the aftermath. Manny was the only one as far as he knew who’d acted shamefully toward attending ladies, though. He only remembered waking up with a guilty conscience, a sore lip, a nasty hangover and severely wounded pride.
A horrible thought struck him. What if Celia didn’t forgive him? How would that adversely affect her faith? “I don’t know, Joel. She still seems pretty mad.”
Joel’s expression deadpanned. “Maybe. But a young widow like Celia would never take even microscopic pleasure in another person nearly losing their life.” Joel grinned. “Even if she did order you to drop dead at the punch fountain. Pun fully intended.”
