A Soldier's Family. Cheryl Wyatt

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.