Page 12 of Destiny Reclaimed
Adrenaline shot through his veins. He was going down and needed to get over friendly territory. Now.
While working to keep the nose of his rapidly descending plane up, the best he could hope for was a water landing.
Almost there, but it would be close. Already, he was doing everything possible to keep the aircraft from hitting the troops landing on the beach. Once he passed over the shore, he released a relieved breath. Then another when he cleared the landing craft by the narrowest of margin. He'd hardly slipped between two large Navy ships when the belly of his plane skimmed over the water and bounced up then down, hitting the water hard, thrusting him forward, then back, and forward again. Waves spewed over the canopy. When the plane halted, his body slammed back against the hard, unforgiving seat. His lungs constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air.
He blinked rapidly to clear his scrambled vision while still laboring to fill his burning lungs. Once he regained his sight, he focused ahead. The weight-heavy nose of his plane dipped under the surface. The crashing waves caused the aircraft to bounce and then sink farther into the water.
Gathering his wits about him, he worked to release his aching fingers from the control stick then scrambled to find the emergency release handle for the canopy.Think, where is it?His breaths came quicker as he ran his shaky digits over several instruments and levers before the covering flew open. Salty air stung his nostrils but was refreshing in his relief nonetheless.
Once he was able to stiffen his jelly-filled knees, he slipped out of the cockpit and fought to gain footing on the slippery wing. Gripping the windshield, he tried to steady himself as he glanced around. The rolling waves made it even more difficult.
He spun slowly in a circle, hoping to spot a patrol boat while he struggled to maintain his balance. There was one off in the distance, nearing a smoking aircraft, just one of many to tend to. He waved his arms over his head as waves rolled up the wing and licked at his feet while the plane sunk farther into the salty confines of the English Channel. Water poured into the cockpit submerging the plane faster. He yanked the cords of his life vest which was part of the standard pilot WWII uniform he wore. Inside a few seconds, he bobbed in the water as the tail of the aircraft disappeared.
The large Navy ship he passed over before skidding his plane across the water's surface wasn’t far. Landing craft moved between the ship and the shore, bringing soldiers to the beach and returning wounded to the ship.
Artillery fire rumbled in his ear drums even as waves bowled over him, filling his ears with water. Steadfastly, he swam toward the shore with two missions in mind. One, locate his father to watch over him to ensure history be preserved, and two, get his butt into another aircraft to help fight this battle.
Thank goodness for the floatation device—not being the strongest of swimmers, he needed it. Still, he had to stop and rest a moment.
“I know you are tired but you need to hurry,” a soft, feminine voice whispered among the artillery reverberating in his ears.
"Who's there?" Jack paddled his arms in a circle, scanning the surface of the water to find the person who’d spoken.
Was there another pilot in the water? He supposed there could be, yet the voice didn’t match that of a soldier. His heart rose into his throat. Could it be that one of those female ferrying pilots somehow got caught up in this mess?
“Your dad’s on shore.”
The voice—definitely a woman’s.
“He’s in danger, and you know as well as I, he needs to survive this war to fight another,” the soft voice chimed.
His medic father needed to live on to serve his destiny in Korea as a doctor. The very surgeon who, to his credit, saved several high-ranking officials.
Jack focused on the shore where soldiers launched themselves off of landing crafts, doing their best to find cover as they hit the beach. He swallowed hard at the sight of the number of soldiers falling to their deaths in the sand, salty waters crashing over their lifeless bodies. They never stood a chance.
If his father was on the beach, then that is where he needed to be despite the danger.
Strong currents helped to push him in the direction of the coastline. It was as if the Gods themselves strapped a rope to his floatation device and pulled him to where he needed to be.
As the shoreline grew closer, the water grew bloodier.
Focusing ahead, he fixed his gaze on a burned-out tank midway between the water's edge and the bluff. Under cover of the tank, a medic tended to the wounded. Could that be his father?
"That's him. Your dad." The feminine voice he'd heard before had returned.
Adrenaline rushed his veins. How did she know that? Truth, be told, between the hazy air and the distance between him and the men carrying the stretchers, Jack couldn't make out his father's face but from the prideful sensation filling his heart he knew it was him.
He kept his gaze focused on his dad. Just a tad more than waist-deep in the English Channel now, Jack worked to steady himself on his feet.
"We need to get to him. Protect him. Preserve history."
Needing to know who spoke and how she knew of his father, Jack risked a glance to his left. A tiny-framed soldier wobbled chest-deep in the waves. He reached out to steady the soldier—woman.A sensation of relief and security seeped into his skin. Could this woman be his Protector? That was the only reasonable explanation for her to be here next to him, and know of his father. But how could this tiny female with such a soft voice, be a Protector?
"We need to move. He's here." Urgency laced her ocean blue gaze.
The woman gasped and placed her hand over her heart. Her ivory skin turned pasty white.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
