work. The quicker, the better.
But the room was too dark, and for some reason, that darkness scared the shit out of him. He wiggled his toes and fingers, stiffened his legs and arms, then slapped his palms to his chest and gut, searching for injuries he didn’t find, determined to prove he was still fit for duty. Great. All present and accounted for, still in working order. Really great. Nothing even hurt, well, except for his neck. It was pretty stiff, and a headache still pounded behind his eyes. But that was nothing. If all he ended up with was a concussion, no worries. He’d had more than his share of those. Concussions were part of the job.
A gentle but big, solid hand settled on his shoulder.
Jameson turned to face the person he couldn’t see, blinking like crazy because it was that kind of dark in his room. He wiped a quick hand over his face to make sure no blankets covered his head. What the hell?
“How you doing, Jameson?”
Oh. Lieutenant Boyington. “LT. Hey! I’m good,” he replied earnestly. “Ready to get back to work. Sure dark in here. Mind turning a light on? Are we in the middle of another sandstorm or something? A black-out?”
“Or something...”
Unease crept up the back of Jameson’s neck. Boyington wasn’t usually this quiet or this nice. “What’s going on, sir?”
“You’re at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center.”
His mouth went dry. Landstuhl was one step away from being sent home. Not good. “I’m in Germany? Why?”
“You’re going back to the States, son.”
“Why? I’m not hurt. Honest, I’m… Sweet Baby Jesus, I’m ready to get back in the fight. I’m—”
“You sustained a tertiary blast injury when you hit the wall back there. You’re lucky you’re alive. The blast caused irreparable damage to your retinas. They detached. The doctors here couldn’t reverse the damage. You’re… damnit, you’re blind.”
“I’m… What?” Jameson ran both hands over his face, feeling for bandages or bruises on his cheeks or around his eyes. A wound or a hole. Blood. Something! “I’m not blind. I can’t be. I’m just… It’s dark, and I’m just… Where the fuck’s Shakespeare? Derby? They’ll tell you. It’s a concussion. No big deal.”
“Jameson… Saint… Son... They’re…”
The heaviness in those words ripped the world out from under him. “No!” he told his LT with vigor. “They’re not… I’m not blind, and they can’t be...” That. No. God, no.
“They’re gone, Jameson. The A-10s arrived right after that daisy chain cut you, Steed, and Yeats down. They were the only fatalities. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
Me, lucky? Them, dead? Does. Not. Compute.
“But the… the donkey.” Jameson had no idea why he asked. Nothing made sense. Not this impenetrable darkness. Not the sucking black hole in his chest that had nothing to do with daisy chains or IEDs or A-10s or his eyes or—
“You saved those two kids. That damned donkey, too. That’s what’s important. Focus on the good you did. I called your parents. They’ll be here tonight.”
“My mom?” he asked like an idiot.
“And your dad. They took the first flight out of Virginia this morning. Hang tight. They’re on their way. They’ll be here as soon as they can, and I’m not going anywhere. You need something, you tell me, understand? I’m not leaving until they ship you out.”
“But Eeyore,” Jameson murmured to himself, the life inside of him somehow so much less than it had been only minutes ago. So much darker. Uncomfortably foreign feeling. As if one of those slimy creatures from the movie “Aliens” had crawled into his body and poured acid over everything he’d ever been. Ever wanted to be. A SEAL. A brother. As if all he’d given his heart and soul to, was simply—gone.
Boyington didn’t respond. No yay or nay or anything. And Jameson was listening, as hard as he’d ever listened in his life. His life—before.
Something was running down his face. It had better be blood. Not tears. Because he refused to give up or give in. So what if he couldn’t see? So what if he’d never see Christmas lights again? So what if there would never be shadows, or sunsets, or first glances, or depth perception, or pretty blondes or redheads or—son of a fuckin’ bitch! Only inky black darkness that, right then, was suffocating the living shit out of him!
Good God! How could this have happened? To him! With just one explosion—or explosions—he’d gone from being at the top of his game and his team—his SEAL team!—to being nothing. No