Crown Jewel (The Battle for the Falklands) by von Bleichert Peter

Author:von Bleichert, Peter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-11T00:00:00+00:00

“Okay, mate,” he said to his lifeless friend, and, with a heave, pulled the body from the cockpit. Donnan’s foggy eyes seemed to look right into Edward’s; their dull glaze frightened him. Donnan’s eyes had always had the glint of happiness and intelligence in them, had always showed his good soul in the black pits of pupil. Though the brightness had faded a bit after Jugroom, his gaze was always comforting and life-full. Now, Edward could see, Donnan was truly gone, someplace far off, or, perhaps, nowhere at all. Edward had a sudden renewed love of being alive, and felt very selfish for his long courting of dark thoughts. He was certain that a man like Donnan could not be in Hell, that God could not judge a brave upright person for one mistaken night on the battlefield. Calm came over Edward as he heaved Donnan’s body over the cockpit frame. In that calm, a voice told him there was a purpose for everything. Even the worst of life was precious, that it made us who we are, taught us lessons when we needed them, and reminded us of what was important. Edward even felt it possible that the nameless little girl that had perished at their hand was forgiving, that she too was free of the bounds of earth, of the hard mud floor she had slept on, the scant food and filthy water she had swallowed, and the dirty torn clothes she had worn. Most of all, she was free of the men that had not cared for her, that had loved killing more than their little girl, which had caressed a Kalashnikov instead of her smooth face. Thoughts of her forgiveness were swamped away by anger; anger at any father that could put ideology and death above the greatest gift God—any God—could give: a precious child. Edward needed to forgive himself. Though a bird in a gilded cage, though handed the life-sentence of being a royal, there were those who were worse off and lived their own private hell. Edward realized he needed to grow up.

“Sorry, old boy,” Edward whispered into Donnan’s ear as he lifted him and folded him over his shoulder. Edward took a few steps before having to place the big heavy Scotsman down. As gently as he could, he lowered Donnan to the soft ground, and began to collect rocks from around the crash-site.

Edward dragged Donnan close to the cliff edge. From here, his friend could look over Falkland Sound. It would be a good place to rest until British forces could repatriate the body, or, perhaps, should his parents wish it, remain forever, in place, or among the British military cemeteries that, unfortunately, would soon grow in number and size. Edward took a deep breath of cool air. The wind whipped at his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he turned towards the sun and let his face collect the warmth. You are alive, he thought.

Though still dizzy, Edward felt better. He sat for a moment.

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