Page 2 of Destiny Reclaimed
His father had leaned closer to him over the table. “There’s no easy way to say this. We come from a long line of history Preservers.”
“Preservers? I don’t know what you mean.” He recalled staring at his dad for what felt like an eternity while he waited for an explanation.
After taking the time he needed to get his thoughts in order, his father pressed on. “Me, you, your grandfather, great-grandfather, and so on, carry a special power to preserve history, our decorated military history. Your cousin Arthur, his pa, grandfather, and so on have been trying to steal our decorated military honors for decades. Our job is to prevent that from happening, hence, the term Preserver. People—our relatives who try to change history are known as Modifiers. If they succeed, it changes everything—the past—the future. All we have earned and known is at stake, but more importantly, one little change to history could have a huge impact on life as we know it—as everyone knows it. A change could create collateral damage, affecting innocent people. We must be on the ready for whenever they choose to travel back in time to attempt to switch histories—claim our destiny. But, we—you—don’t have to do it alone. The Gods will send Protectors to help.”
“Protectors?” Jack recalled being unable to refrain from interjecting questions.
His dad had nodded. “We are assigned Protectors to help us—watch over us as we fight our enemies to preserve history.”
“Our enemies are our cousins? They time travel?” He’d wondered if his dad had lost it. This conversation sounded absurd.
Again, his father had nodded. “Unfortunately. They’ve been fighting to steal our history at least as far back as the Civil war when your great grandpa, Ben Cornelis, and his cousin, Simon Dupont, ran off and joined the war. They were just teenagers. You know the story of Ben, the drummer boy who’d saved his commanding officer. Anyhow, Simon’s story wasn’t...well, it wasn’t heroic like Ben’s, and the Duponts have been working relentlessly ever since to steal our history to hold as their own. They want to be known as the heroic ones. All they care about is the glory. They don’t give two hoots about anyone else, the collateral damage that could occur, the lives and events that would be changed if they are successful in stealing—changing history. I, my pa, grandfather, and so on, have been time traveling to fight the Duponts, and preserve history. The time travel—Preserver power is passed to the next generation upon death or when the holder relinquishes it.”
He remembered the distinct warmth on his shoulder when his father had placed his hand to it during this strange conversation.
“Son, I can’t do it any longer. I’m too old. This fight takes unremitting vigilance and physical strength. My heart and brain are willing, but my body is too weak. You need to take over.”
He remembered staring at his father in disbelief.
After several beats, his dad spoke again. “I’ll just let this sink in a bit. We’ll talk more later.”
And with that, his dad had rose from his seat and left the room. Leaving him alone with his doubting thoughts.
Two days later, his dad sat him down again and told him more about Preservers, Protectors, their history, and expectations of the roles. His father had given him a lot to think about, both unusual and unbelievable in nature. If anyone else had revealed this information to him, he never would have believed it, but since it came from his dad, the most reputable person he knew, it warranted credibility. Once emersed in the war he’d disregarded it, didn’t really have time to think about it.
Now, here in a mobile unit hospital bed, he thought of that conversation while continuing to watch and eavesdrop on the two strangers next to him. Were they talking about him and his role as a Preserver?
The soldier slowly turned his head toward him. Shock cracked through him like a lightning bolt as he stared into deep-set, dark brown eyes—his own eyes. It was like looking into a mirror.
The nurse moved between their beds and fixed her gaze on him. “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”
Jack tried to speak, but his dry throat held sound hostage after the first squeak.
“I’ll get you some water.” The woman’s golden hair shifted as she spun and stepped away from him.
He returned his gaze to the familiar-looking patient in the next bed. Silence filled the room as he stared at the man. Pride emitted from the guy’s gaze. Why?
The woman returned, and Jack took the water from her with a shaky hand. The cool liquid soothed his itchy throat enough for him to speak. “How long have I been out?” He stole another glance of the soldier in the next bed.
“Just a couple of hours. The doctor stitched your hand, cleaned out your eye, and dressed the shallow wound on your head. You should be fine in no time.”
“And the others?”
The woman directed her gaze to the mystery man in the next bed, then slowly returned it to him.
“Your co-pilot didn’t make it. The gunners are fine, and the wounded are here and being treated.” She smiled warmly. “You did great. If not for you they wouldn’t be here.”
That was his job, along with all the other Huey pilots.
He closed his eyes. The one covered by the gauze itched, and he fought the urge to scratch it. Then, he took a deep breath before reopening them. The good eye opened to a bit of a larger slit this time. The guy in the next bed came in to focus again. In a momentary flashback, he recalled this soldier had been on his chopper—up front with him. But wait, that couldn’t be right—what happened to Singleton, the copilot? He thought harder on the memory.
Jack lifted his injured hand and pointed with his bound fingers toward the mystery man. “You were in Singleton’s seat.”
“Yes sir, I moved him in case you needed help. I thought you’d been shot in the eye but found out later the bullet only grazed your hand and head. It was debris in your eye.”
With his fingertips, Jack pressed lightly against the gauze patch covering his left eye. It was sore to the touch but not too bad. His throbbing temples hurt worse.
“But, you did it all. You’d been injured, yet flew the chopper and its passengers to safety with one eye and one hand.”
