Читать книгу A Soldier's Promise - Cheryl Wyatt - Страница 7

“Sure you wanna do this, Montgomery?” Fellow U.S. Air Force Pararescue Jumper Nolan Briggs asked above the engine hum.

“I’m sure.” Joel shifted away from the window as the luxury jet broke through wispy Southern Illinois clouds on descent to the one place on earth he never wanted to see again.

Refuge. The irony made him snort.

Nolan leaned close enough for Joel to inhale toxic doses of mafia-strength garlic. “’Cause if you don’t, we’ll handle it.”

Teammate Manny Peña joined Nolan in the passenger aisle. “Yeah. Nobody’ll know if you don’t make the jump, dude.”

Joel fastened a gaze on his well-meaning friends and fellow PJs, and aimed a thumb at his sternum. “I’ll know.”

And so would that kid.

“It’s gonna be tougher than you think,” Nolan said.

Hardest mission of his life. Especially on a cold Friday in September. Joel laced his boot. “Nah. Piece of cake.”

“Right. Like running a catering service with an Easy-Bake.” Manny clicked the overhead bin open.

“No sweat.” Joel tugged his chute pack from under the seat.

“Not a drop,” Nolan agreed. “But the offer still stands.”

“He asked for me. I can’t let him down, guys.” Joel retrained a determined gaze on the small town peeking up at him. Recognition of his old neighborhood clogged his throat. He clenched his jaw against a surge of unwanted emotion. He looked away from familiar landmarks. “I’ll be fine.”

As long as he steered clear of that house, and the uncle who’d destroyed his family, he’d be fine.

A chorus of unconvinced faces stared back at Joel when he looked up. A torrent of vulnerability rushed through him at their perception. He torqued his gaze out the window. True. They could do this without him and spare him the pain.

Except for one thing.

He tugged the letter out of his chest pocket. Unfolding it, he eyed the elementary attempt at cursive.

My name’s Bradley. I’m eight and I have cancer. My teacher called Dream Corps who said I should write a letter about my wishes since doctors say I might not get a transplant in time. I want to meet a Special Forces soldier more than anything. Well, almost anything. Having a family would be nice. I heard a PJ grew up in my town. It would be awesome if he’d come see me but I know he’s kinda busy with wars and rescues and all. Anyway, if you find him, tell him he’s my idea of a hero…

Words blurred. Joel blinked, refocused and read: Thinking of soldiers who fight terror helps me be brave and fight mine. If me and God win our cancer war, I promise to plug my nose and eat my stinky call of flower so I can grow up strong and come help the soldiers win theirs. Love, Bradley Tennyson. Refuge, IL U.S.A.

Joel folded the letter Dream Corps had forwarded to him. He crimped along the crease and came back with blue fingertips, probably from one of those messy erasable pens. He rubbed fingers on a hanky, but the ink didn’t come off. Weird, since it had transferred from the paper with no trouble.

Ink imprinted his hand, but scribbled wishes stained his heart. Family. The very word stung. Joel couldn’t help the little guy with one, but he could make the other a reality. No matter how hard the next hours proved to be, Joel’s discomfort in coming back to the site of his most painful childhood memories would be a speck of dust compared to the earth of hurt this kid faced.

Joel pressed thumbs into the corners of his eyes and lifted his face. He swallowed, but his voice box didn’t seem to want to loosen and let him speak.

“I appreciate you guys offering me an out, but…” He met and held each man’s respect-filled gaze, drawing courage from the admiration in each one. “I need to do this.”

Grins erupted all around, revealing to Joel they wanted him to conquer this every bit as much as he did.

Nolan tossed Joel his goggles. “Don’t tangle up on a power line before you hit the ground, Montgomery. It wouldn’t bode well to fry your fanny in front of a load of little kids.”

Joel smiled back at the grinning faces before refastening his gaze on strings of pinpoint runway lights rising to meet the Dream Corps aircraft. “All right, you platoon of goons. As soon as we hit tarmac, load the choppers while the pilot flies me back up into a holding pattern. I’ll jump when you hover on the school lawn. Fastrope down when I flare my canopy. Let’s go make this little guy’s dream come true.”

A chorus of “Hoorah!” shouts punctuated the end of his sentence, and a dozen fists shot up.

He’d parachute in, spend a few hours with the kid, then get away from Refuge for good. It would be as easy as that. What could possibly be simpler?

“What on earth is that?” Special needs teacher Amber Stanton grasped the desk and held her breath.

Her best friend and co-teacher, Celia Muñez stared at Amber as if she’d morphed into a snail. “What?”

“You don’t feel that?” Amber whispered.

Ebony eyes waxed blank and oblivious. “Feel what?”

Leave it to her zippy friend to be in the middle of a natural disaster and not know. Had Amber imagined it? No. The rumbling vibration beneath her feet strengthened. Ripples pulsed across the surface of the water in the small fishbowl on her desk. “Shh—” Amber leaned in. “Listen.” The windows gave a faint rattle. “That!” Amber clutched Celia’s shoulder in a pinch grip.

“Cool it with the claws, will ya?” Celia peeled fingernails from her blouse. “It’s only—”

“I know. Let’s get these kids outside.”

“You know?” Now Celia looked properly stricken. “Who told?”

“Shh. I don’t want the children frightened. Let’s go.”

Celia tugged Amber back. “Hold on. They all know except Bradley. If you keep yapping, you’ll ruin the surp—”

“Class—” Amber moved from Celia’s grasp. Why didn’t Administration ring the bell? “Line up at the door please.”

Celia yanked Amber hard back behind the desk. “Not yet!”

“Sit!” Celia waved the class down with choppy arm motions. Children sat, giggling as crayons jittered off slanted desks.

Amber’s chest tightened. She turned a fierce gaze on Celia. “Obviously you have no idea how dangerous they can be.”

Celia screwed up her terra-cotta–toned face. “They?”

Amber helped children from seats, then leaned close to Celia’s ear. “Do not panic or react outwardly to what I am about to tell you, but I think we are having an earthquake.”

A sharp laugh yelped from Celia, causing Amber’s face to jerk back. Celia slapped a hand to her mouth.

Amber glared at her and ushered the class down the hall like a kiddie cattle drive. “Stay together, guys. Good.” Amber kept her teacher voice calm and helped stragglers along, including Celia.

“Though this is frightening, it’s only minor and should stop any moment. I moved from California to get away from these things,” Amber said out of student earshot.

“Looks like they followed you here.” Celia spoke in a wry voice. Amber’s pulse spiked. Did Celia forget Refuge sat atop the New Madrid fault? Amber pushed her feet against fear that weakened her knees. Please, Lord. Not now. Not here. Not even a thousand years from now. Not these children. Not on my watch. Celia maneuvered Bradley up to Amber as she flung open the double doors and stepped outside into—

A war zone? Talk about shock and awe. Bradley gasped and froze beside her as a blast of cheers erupted. She grew cognizant of little hands shoving them forward into a sea of noise and green. Military stuff—everywhere. Amber and Bradley moved down concrete steps to grass where the entire school, sans her class, waited. A bugle charmed the air with a patriotic tune, and drums danced a rhythm with Amber’s pulse.

Mouth agape, she peered at Celia, who winked.

“Whoa!” Bradley’s voice cut through the chaos.

Amber realized the roaring vibrations were military helicopters hovering above the school, fumigating the air with a sharp exhaust smell. Camo-fatigued men slid from ropes hanging out. One after another, they dropped to the ground. Helicopters lit on the lawn like twin gigantic metal grasshoppers. Thunderous chopping abated as the blades slowed to a halt.

Bradley drew in a sharp breath. “Look! Look at him!”

Amber followed the trajectory of the finger Bradley jabbed at the sky. She gasped. A uniformed man dangling from a white parachute etched with a blue USAF insignia penetrated clouds above them. How could a person jump from such heights? Amber tugged Bradley’s shoulder to move him back but a large hand halted her. She turned.

A wide grin peeked at her from a dark face painted in calico earth tones. “Don’t worry, ma’am. He’s never landed on a lady’s head. Yet.” The camouflaged man chuckled then directed her class to join with others as if this were…

Planned. Suddenly she knew. Her phone call. The letter. Dream Corps. Bradley’s wish coming true in a spectacular way.

Slammed with a tidal wave of emotion, Amber sprawled fingers over her lip to smother a tremor.

Celia’s hand circled her wrist, tugging it back down. “It’s okay to cry happy tears, chica. You’ve shed enough sad ones for him. Don’t quench the enormity of this moment. Revel in it.” Tears glistened in Celia’s eyes, too, though she prided herself on never crying. She pressed paper in Amber’s hand.

Celia peeled the backing off a flag sticker and placed it on Bradley. Amber lifted hers and read the preprinted font:

Welcome to Refuge. My name is Ms. Stanton. Faith Elementary, along with Dream Corps International, wish to thank you for your service to our country.

Chills marched down her arms as the words took hold of her.

“Oh!” Her head snapped up and her shoulders back as the parachutist landed mere feet in front of them. Bradley stumbled backward.

The soldier grinned, took three steps forward, dropped to one knee, putting him nose to nose with Bradley, and saluted.

Bradley sliced a clumsy hand to his forehead, causing his glasses to topple. The soldier righted the lopsided frames on Bradley’s nose.

Amber laughed, recalling her earnest prayer the day she’d called Dream Corps. “I asked for one, and you sent…fifty.” She roamed a deeply thankful look over each soldier who’d answered this very special call.

But it was the one brandishing a heart-seizing grin, the most piercing blue eyes, and parachute material falling around him in billowing waves, whom she couldn’t extract her gaze from.