Donald Questing 1- Fortunate Son

Prompt

On a particularly treacherous journey, your bean's supplies are lost in an unavoidable accident. Do they recover the supplies, create makeshift replacements, or do they have a different idea?

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He remembers the day like it was yesterday, though to be fair it wasn’t actually that long ago, perhaps only a few weeks. He had been glued to the television set when the announcement was made to the nation, and then later on again in a meeting with his brothers and sisters as their commander let them in on the news: they were going to war.

A mixture of excitement and fear had been mixed in his belly; and determination. This is exactly what he was waiting for, this is exactly what he had spent months training in what can only be described as pure hell for, this is what he swore to do over his father’s grave when the time finally came.

To follow in his father’s footsteps, something he had always dreamed of doing since he was a young child was now coming to fruition. This was his chance to keep his promise that he made all those years ago, small soft child's hands grasping desperately to the marble stone, outlining the name engraved on it with tiny fingers. Today was the day. Today was the day. Today was the day.

The chant played in his head the whole morning, him and his platoon rising before the sun to get all their equipment in line. The thud of heavy boots and deep voiced instructions were the music for the day as they all prepared for what was ahead. He remembers not being able to sit still, just waiting for the order to take to the hangar. And soon it came.

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon when the order to man the planes was made and he distinctly remembers practically sprinting to his plane, one of many aircraft parked and waiting. He almost fell in his hurry to clamber into the cockpit, his brothers running like ants across the tarmac to their own aircraft. Strapped in, mask on, engine chugging to life.

The next thing he knew he was in the sky in formation with his platoon mates flying over the open sea. The view was incredible that high, even as he was flying to war he couldn’t help but appreciate the miles of sun kissed water laid before him. It took some hours to reach their target destination and the whole time it seemed as if he could barely bring himself to breathe. Legs bounced and fingers tapped in anticipation of what was to come. There was fear too, of course. He had always been very well aware of the horrors of what he was about to fly into, the horrors that killed his father before him. No man can truly prepare themself for a fight like this, and any who says they can is a liar.

A call over the headset; they’ve entered enemy territory.

Memories start to get blurry here, he remembers adrenaline beginning to light his veins and the tension in the air as they flew. He doesn’t recall how long their flight was, or even where they were going.

The next thing he remembers clearly is the tink of bullets littering his aircraft. It’s odd, he remembers the battle so vividly as if it happened yesterday, but it’s impossible for him to explain, the details get lost. There was flying, maneuvering, shooting, calls over the head piece to his mates. Enemy planes seemed to be everywhere, swarming the platoon like gnats. Survive, survive and take down as many of the enemy as possible. Those were his only thoughts.

They come to a halt when another barrage hits him and he feels his craft rock from an explosion on his right side, the wing on his craft is heavily damaged and spewing black smoke into the early morning air. He needs to round about and head to base. He never gets the chance. More enemy fire peppers upon him, ripping holes into the fuselage. Another explosion, this time from behind him.

He falls from the sky.

…

…

…

Next he knows he awakes on the ground, everything is a blur, he can’t see. All there is is metal and pain and heat. Heat? Fire. The plane is on fire. He has to get out.

But there’s pain, and he’s pinned. No matter how hard he jostles his right leg is steadfast, crushed within the mangled wreckage. The heat quickly intensifies. No… no he can’t die like this. Please. He panicked, damn near ripping off his own leg, he wished he could have. Flames, they were coming upon him now, and the heat. There was nothing he could do. He was going to die. Tears poured down his face as he screamed, nails ripping off in an attempt to claw himself out of the wreckage as the felt the skin on his right side begin to char. He was going to die. He screams more as flames slowly creep upon him, engulfing everything in their path. He was going to die.

He screamed for his mom…. Then nothing.

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The next he knew he was in pain, so much pain. He never knew one could feel that much pain before. He was vaguely aware of moving, of voices, but hardly anything made it past the slew of agony consuming him. What happened? His… his leg. It hurts. And his arm, and face…. It all hurt so bad, he wanted all of it to stop. Why was he feeling all this?

He can’t recall how long it was after they pulled him from the blackened hull that used to be his plane before he realized he was still alive. At the moment he wished he wasn’t. He recalls his mates telling him they got him, to hang in there, while in the same breath muse over how the fuck he was still alive. All he felt was pain, as if his entire right side had been dipped in lava, and it seemed no matter where they went or what they did all he could smell was burning flesh.

They were neck deep in the jungle in enemy territory with nothing but the shirts and guns on their backs, all other supplies lost in the fight, he and a handful of other men. They didn’t know where to go, what to do. There was no friendly base for hundreds of miles across the other side of the sea, and no way to know where the nearest village or city was, much less if it was friendly enough to take in wounded soldiers. They were stuck. In all their minds their journey was over, they were going to die out here, but at least they’d die together.

He doesn’t remember much of anything during this time, slipping in and out of consciousness. It won't be until he and a few of his surviving brothers make it safely to a friendly base that he learned they used his wrecked plane to send a signal to their allies and used some of its parts to collect rain water to drink. One of the tech savvy guys managed to somehow make a working radio using the electrical parts of the plane and their own busted headset and managed to call home. They spent 14 days like that, no food, no medical supplies, no shelter, salvaging every piece from that plane as they could to survive.

He still has no idea how in the hell they all survived that, it was by nothing but a pure miracle they were found and rescued. And how in the sam blazes he survived is any man’s guess. Perhaps he had an angel watching over him that day, for surely he should have died: half his body covered in 3rd degree burns, missing an eye and a leg. But by the grace of God he made it. He was certain his journey would end the same as his father’s, but for a reason he can’t understand it didn’t.

He and the men who survived were awarded medals for their bravery and resourcefulness though Don himself doesn’t feel as if he deserves them. He was shot down early into the mission and remained incapacitated the 14 days they spent in the wilderness. He didn’t contribute jack shit.

The guys tell him that he’s one of them and definitely deserves everything awarded to him, they still have no idea how he’s alive today and that that is something worth celebrating. But he isn’t so sure. His journey is over, his career ended as soon as it began. There’s no way he can be a pilot missing an eye and a leg. His dream….

Donald lets out a sigh and looks to the sky, muddled again by thoughts of what should have been and what is. Perhaps he should be grateful, his mother is at least, she couldn’t handle another of her family coming home in a pine box. But some days Donald almost wishes he did, he feels like he would have done more, accomplished more if he had died that day. It’s a complicated feeling and he wonders if he’s wrong for feeling that way. He thought his journey was over, but here 30 plus years later and he’s still going, making it as best he can. He’s even outlived some of the guys that made it out of there that day. Just what exactly is the reason for him still being here, God has something planned for him for sure.

He lets out another sigh and closes his eyes, leaning back onto the warm spring grass growing on the airfield he once trained on. Time to put those thoughts to bed, at least for the moment. The sun is bright, the sky is clear, it’s a perfect day to be thankful to be alive.