Page 1 of Protecting Salvation

Prologue

“This is bullshit!”

“Watch your mouth when you speak to me, Flight Lieutenant Tanner.”

Hurricane blew out a breath to try and calm his racing heart and the anger that was building in his chest like a power plant about to blow. “Yes, sir.”

The man in front of him, Group Captain Victor Ellis, was a hard ass, but he was usually fair. Hurricane respected him but this decision would be the end of his career and without his wings, he didn’t know who he was.

“Look, Hurricane, I like you and you’re one of the best pilots I’ve ever seen, but that move was dangerous and sloppy. You put yourself in danger and, by extension, you put others in danger.”

Hurricane stood silently as he was berated for something he’d do again and again. When a man he respected had come over the comms saying that Lancelot’s chopper had gone down, he didn’t think twice about going back for them. The Zagros mountain range which bordered Iraq and Iran was a known danger zone but he couldn’t leave them there to die without trying to help.

Going against a direct order was something he’d never done, yet he and the men on board had been in agreement. They’d rather face the consequences and try than leave a chinook full of good men to die. As it was, they managed to rescue four of the soldiers but Lancelot had perished, and it was a loss that would stay with him forever.

“Then there’s the other issue.”

“Other issue, sir?”

Ellis shifted some papers about on his desk, before looking up at him with sympathy that made his head pound harder. “Yes, the situation with your blood results.”

A cold film coated his body at the words. All his life he’d lived with the knowledge this might be an issue and finally it was coming home to roost.

“It’s been discussed and we’ve decided to medically discharge you from service.”

Panic gripped him by the throat, a sheen of sweat coating his skin, like a poison. “What? No!”

“I’m sorry, Hurricane. I don’t agree with it, but after what happened there’s been some concern and it’s felt that you pose a risk.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. The only risk is to myself.”

“And the people you fly. If you get injured it isn’t as simple as giving you a blood transfusion or emergency care. There’s the very real possibility that you could die from something others would survive.”

“But that’s my decision. Flying is my life.”

“I know and as I said, I don’t necessarily agree, but my hands are tied.”

Hurricane clenched his fists. He wasn’t a violent man, he was known as a gentle giant, but right now he felt murderous. How could everything he’d worked for just be gone in the space of a few short sentences? “So that’s it? Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve done, is just gone? The RAF no longer needs me so off I go? To do what?”

Ellis linked his fingers on his desk, his lips pulled tight as if he was fighting back the urge to say something. Hurricane had worked with Ellis for a long time. He was a good man, and Hurricane knew this wasn’t something he was enjoying.

“The RAF does need you, but the risk is too high for the brass to accept. I might be able to put you in touch with some friends who can help with a job.”

Hurricane shook his head. “Forget it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He was being petulant and cutting off his nose to spite his face and he knew it but right now, he couldn’t care. Everything was falling apart and he just needed to think.

Ellis nodded and led him through the details of the next few days and what he’d need to do.

Three short dayslater he was a civilian and his life had never looked bleaker. Stepping onto his old street and seeing his childhood home filled him with dread. He knew his parents would welcome him home and they’d expect him to get to work in the family building trade like his cousins and his uncle, but it made him sick to think of doing the same job day and day out. Not that he didn’t respect what his dad and uncle had done, moving here as young men with new wives, and starting over, building a business from nothing. It was impressive, but it wasn’t his dream.

Pausing, he watched the house for a little while but he couldn’t force his legs to move and take him the final steps inside. He knew his mum would be cooking some kind of spicy stew. His dad would be watching the cricket on TV with a rum in his left hand as he dozed between overs. It was what he’d seen growing up and it was a good life. He hadn’t had a horror-story childhood, his parents loved him. His family was close, his uncle and aunt would come over every weekend, and calypso music would fill the house as people laughed.

It was a good life, but it wasn’t his life. He couldn’t go back to that because if he did, he’d die of boredom. A car honked and he could hear children laughing as they played in the park one street over. It was where he’d played, the burn from the metal slide in the summer now a fond memory.