Worth Saving(69)

There’s nothing out there. I’m not in Afghanistan. I’m not surrounded by ISIS, or the Taliban or any other enemy I’ve grown to hate. I’m at Nellis, and I just slammed a helicopter full of paratroopers onto the ground.

I turn around in my seat, and it’s not Lieutenant Weston I see, it’s Colonel Burg and the five other paratroopers who trusted me to help them train. Four of them are strapped into their seats with horrified looks on their faces, and two of them are lying on the floor, still holding on to anything they can, but they’re all still alive.

As for me, I’m too shaken to move. I can barely think, and I have no explanation for what just happened. All I know is that I’m still scared out of my mind as my six passengers climb out of the chopper cussing at me, and the siren from the firetruck grows louder.





Austin

“Good morning, Captain Sloan. Come on in. How’s everything?”

I sit down on the couch and clasp my fingers together. I feel nervous and frustrated, although I can’t really pinpoint one specific thing I’m frustrated about. It’s everything. It’s my entire f*cking life.

“Austin,” the major says again, making me snap out of it. “Are you okay?”

I look up at him and for a brief second, I swear I feel tears starting to form, but I have to push it away with a shake of my head and a furrow of my brow.

“Umm, I don’t even know anymore, sir,” I admit, still shaking my head. “This time last week, everything felt fine. It all felt like it was starting to come together—like things were starting to make sense, and I was able to see a bright future. Now, I don’t know.”

“You don’t see such a bright future anymore?”

“I don’t know what I see. I’m not even sure I care right now.”

“I see,” the major says, and he goes to work on the notepad. “So, what happened that made your outlook different? Tell me about your week.”

I have to prepare myself for this one. I take a deep breath and really settle into the couch, which squeaks and whines as I sink down like it always does. I hate that sound even more today. Once I’m all set, I let it pour out of me.

“Excuse my language, Major, but I’m just f*cked up right now, sir,” I say, feeling extremely emotional in an instant. “Everything was going so well, and then all of a sudden, it just changed in the blink of a f*cking eye, and it’s like everything I thought last week was just some hopeless pipe dream, and I feel like a f*cking idiot for believing it could be real at all.”

The major exhales and clears his throat.

“Okay, but what specifically happened, Captain?”

“Specifically? Well, specifically, the woman I was falling for turned out to be a stripper, slash prostitute. She was lying to me from the very beginning about where she worked, because she’s not a bartender, she’s a prostitute at a gentlemen’s club called Red Pony. I went out to hang with my boys and I saw her working there. Then, of course, at the time I needed a friend most, Jason and Jordan had to get on a plane and head back to Seattle. So, they’re gone, and I’m here trying to deal with this shit all on my own. Not to mention the fact that I had some sort of freak out moment at work, and basically crash landed my chopper with six paratroopers in the back. The impact snapped one of the landing skids off, and now I might have to come out of pocket to pay for that, because since no one died, the Air Force has no problem saying it was all pilot error. I’ve been indefinitely grounded by my squadron commander, and I’m looking at multiple letters of reprimand. So, needless to say, Major, I’m having a really bad f*cking week.”

It takes Major Nelson a while to even say anything. For a moment, he just sits there with his mouth open and his eyes wide. Then, he presses his lips together and lets out the breath he was holding.

“Okay, so that explains why you looked so distraught when you walked in here,” he says after he repositions himself in his chair so he looks more professional and less in awe of my story. “Well, first off, I’m sorry you’re having such a bad week. I’ve heard some stories in my line of work, but the one you just told me was pretty rough. So, how are you holding up after all of that?”

“I’m not holding up,” I snip. “I told you I’m f*cked.”

“Okay, well let’s start with the things you can’t control first, okay? Last week I asked you how you felt about going back to work and flying again, and you told me you thought you were going to be good to go, because things were starting to look up for you. Remember?”

“Uh-huh.”

“When you told me that, you also said that your dreams about Lieutenant Weston’s death had slowed down and you weren’t having ‘space-out moments,’ as you called them. Now, when you said that, was that true?”

“Yeah, kind of. I wasn’t having a dream about Weston every single night, so I thought that was progress, and I wasn’t having space-out moments. I really was okay.”

“Well, based on what happened during your training this week, it’s pretty obvious to me you’re still struggling with the issue of Lieutenant Weston’s death, and it’s bothering you more than you let on. I’ve also read the report from your accident, and what you describe in it is a full hallucination about a war scenario in which Lieutenant Weston is dead and being trampled by the paratroopers, and your helicopter gets shots down. That’s a big deal, Captain. Like, you showcased something that is cause for serious concern.