Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  “Yeah, I think so, thanks.”

  “Good.”

  “Any word on the others?” Serge enquired.

  “Not good. Passenger in one of the cars killed. Cops have arrested the driver—drunk—seems he was way over the limit.”

  “That’s bad.”

  “Yeah. Why do they do it?”

  It had been ages. Tony was wrapped in a couple of blankets now, sitting on the grass near his vehicle, away from the main action with so many flashing red, blue, yellow, and white lights: two fire-trucks, two ambulances, scads of police, and shadowy people all moving around.

  A cop had been over to him and taken his licence and the vehicle papers (luckily Gina kept them in the glove box). He’d been told to stay put until someone came to get a statement.

  He began to go over the accident again, as best he could remember. The brilliant lights coming straight at him, the split-second decision to swerve …

  Suddenly, he froze—an icy chill came over him, an intense awareness of everything around him, and yet, he was not part of it. Events, scenes crowded into his mind—Dana—Gina—Vince. It all became crystal clear.

  That idiot driver was drunk; he could have killed me—he did kill someone. He shivered and shook. He heard Jim Broderick’s voice, and he knew. He knew that he had overcome the demons. From that moment on.

  Tony sat in the passenger seat of the tow-truck as it cruised along, Gina’s car in tow. His eyes were seeing the multitudes of lights speeding by, but his mind was not registering them. His thoughts were ranging over the events of the past few hours, culminating in what was ahead of him—having to break the news to Gina that her precious car was damaged, major front suspension work required.

  “You okay, man?”

  Tony jumped as he heard the driver speak. “Uh? Oh, er, yeah, no problem.”

  “Take it easy, man. After an accident, you often get the shudders.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tony sat back in his seat. He felt good. The coldness had gone, replaced by a warm feeling, deep inside. Now he could see the road ahead, his road ahead, and it would be good.

  - 35 -

  Jane smiled as the Munro front door opened.

  “Oh, hi Jane,” Caroline greeted. “Come on in. I’ve just finished spreading things out.”

  “That’s good. We can get started right away. How are you?”

  “Good. How’s young Trishy?”

  “She’s fine. Graham is in charge tonight—she let him do everything; not once was there a call for ‘Mo-om!’”

  “Hah—I can see you’ve got them both trained.”

  They both laughed as they moved into the Munro living room. Jane felt comfortable and at ease. Tonight, she and Caroline were into a newly discovered common interest: family history, or genealogy.

  “Wow, you’ve been busy indeed,” exclaimed Jane, seeing the spread of material Caroline had put out. “Some of this looks original.”

  “Yep. Bob collected some of these papers from his grandparents in Scotland. They’re pretty faded, but still readable—only just, in a few cases.”

  They sat down as Jane leafed through a few pages on the table close to her.

  “Had an email from Dana a week or so ago,” Caroline noted.

  “Great, how’s she doing?”

  “Good. She says she’s settling in well now; a group of them were able to go off-base one weekend and sample some Balkan-style food. Oh yes—and she’s been appointed in-charge of one of the patrol units. Every few days, they go out and patrol a designated area of responsibility.”

  “That’s really good—quite an added feather in her cap.”

  “Yes. I still worry about her, though.”

  “Naturally, what mother wouldn’t?” Jane smiled and patted Caroline’s arm.

  “I’ll go put the kettle on. Have a look through—”

  The doorbell rang. Caroline looked surprised; Jane watched as she went to the door and opened it, seeing Caroline’s gasp and look of horror.

  Two men and one woman, all in army uniform, stood there. Jane couldn’t hear the initial words spoken, but she stood as Caroline ushered the three into the room.

  The first officer, a captain and clearly ill-at-ease, spoke. “Mrs Munro, we are deeply sorry to intrude on you at this time, but we have some very serious information to convey. May I suggest that you be seated?”

  Jane could see that the colour had drained from Caroline’s face. Jane already sensed what might be coming, and felt awful. Caroline sat down, and motioned to the three visitors to do so also.

  The captain looked straight at Jane, as if to ask ‘And who are you?’ Jane felt she should respond. “I’m a close friend of Caroline’s, Jane Stennings. I may be of help here.”

  “Thank you,” began the captain. “I’m Captain Legendre, this is Major the Reverend Olney, and Master Warrant Smith.” His arm swept to the others. “We’ve received word from our unit at CFB Betsevac that there has been an incident. The area is now insecure. Based on the information we have, Lieutenant Munro, Dana, your daughter, and her crew are listed as ‘Missing in Action’.

  “Ma’am, we are extremely sad and sorry to have to bring you this news. We can only offer you our sympathy and support.”

  Jane, as soon as the captain had begun to speak, knew what was coming—she was too close to the Army, through Graham. She had watched Caroline as the words came out; Caroline’s hands had gripped the chair arms, her face was white, her body tense, but her eyes were blazing.

  “I knew it could come to this, I knew it; but it was her choice, it was h-her choi-ce …” and Caroline sank back, sobbing.

  Jane moved to comfort her, helped by the lady Master Warrant, who came to Caroline’s other side. Jane found the box of tissues quickly. After a few moments, Caroline was able to compose herself again.

  “This is tragic news,” Jane started. “This must have happened today?”

  “Two days ago, in the morning, European time,” said the chaplain. “Mrs Munro, please accept my sympathies, too. I know this has come as a tremendous shock to you. As yet, we don’t know the full details, and we can only pray that your daughter is safe. If it will be any comfort to you, I am willing to stay with you this evening as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you,” Caroline’s voice was weak and trembling. “My husband will be home in a couple of hours. He’s going to be devastated.” And the tears began to flood again.

  “Would you like me to stay until he returns?”

  Caroline nodded as she pulled more tissues from the box.

  “I also have some training in this area. I’m a former policewoman,” put in Jane. “Are they likely to know more about the incident soon?”

  The master warrant spoke. “I’m the immediate direct contact for CFB Betsevac, so I will be in touch with Mrs Munro as soon as further information becomes available. Here are my contact details.” She laid a sheet of paper on the table.

  The chaplain spoke. “We also offer continuing counselling support for you and your family; please know you can call me at any time, if you feel the need. Before I leave tonight, I’ll give you my contact information and a couple of leaflets that may be of help.”

  The captain stood, and the master warrant followed suit. The chaplain remained seated.

  “Mrs Munro,” the captain nodded to Jane also, “once again, we are truly sorry to bring this news. Please don’t hesitate to contact us; we are here to give what support we can at this most difficult time.”

  The two moved toward the front door. Caroline hung back, so Jane took the lead. “We’ll look after her, sir,” she said to the captain as they reached the door. “Her husband will be home in a couple of hours. I’ll stay with her as well.”

  “Thank you. You’ve done this sort of thing before?”

  “Yes.”

  The captain and the master warrant left.

  Jane turned, tears in her eyes, and hugged Caroline tightly. They sobbed together.

  Jane
pulled away, and guided Caroline to a chair. “We have to have hope. We have to be positive; we have to hope that Dana has survived this incident.” Jane was trying to be reassuring.

  Caroline sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, I know he said ‘Missing in Action’, I know. But I feel so cold inside.”

  “Here, wrap this throw around you,” Jane said. “I’m going to make you some camomile tea. Just stay there. Would you care for some too, sir?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Jane went quickly to the kitchen, put water in the kettle, and turned it on. She knew where Caroline kept her herbal teas, and pulled out a bag for each of them, taking down two mugs from their hooks. She then pulled out her cell-phone and dialled home.

  “Hello,” came the response.

  “Hi Gra, it’s me. Look, awful news. There’s been an incident on Dana’s mission—Dana is MIA. Caroline has just had a visit from a captain, a chaplain, and a master warrant. Chaplain’s still here.”

  “Oh my god, no?”

  “Caroline is obviously shaken, so I’m going to stay with her, at least until Bob gets home—then I’ll probably have to help support him. Chaplain is staying, too. Look, can you get on the phone and let people know the situation so far? We have to have as much support for this poor family as we can muster.”

  “Wilco. On it right away. Give Caroline my sympathy and hope for the best.”

  Jane took the tea back to the living room. The chaplain was speaking.

  “… So, one of the ways to help ease the stress could be to hold a vigil, a watch, hoping and praying that she is alive and safe and can return to us. This could provide a way for your family and friends to show their concern and support.”

  Caroline sipped her tea and nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “If you would like to do that, I would be willing to help organize and lead a vigil. Is there some place around here that could be used?”

  “I know,” said Jane. “The Centre, it would be ideal. Sorry, sir, I mean the Hennigan Centre; it’s close by in the community, and it was the brainchild of Dana when she was still a teenager here. It would be very fitting. I can help you with that, too. What do you think, Caroline? We owe it to Dana.”

  Tears were flowing again. Caroline nodded. “Yes, yes, a vigil; that would be nice.”

  “Sir, my husband is Captain Graham Stennings, in Logistics. He will help with the vigil, too. I just phoned to give him the news as I made the tea. Caroline, he asked me to give you his sympathy and support.”

  Caroline gave a smile back.

  “That’s very good. I look forward to meeting him. I suggest we hold the vigil as soon as possible,” said the chaplain, “while still giving people enough time to adjust their schedules. Would the day after tomorrow work, say, early evening? It’s quite possible we may have further information by then, but with an insecure situation, it’s hard to foretell.”

  “I can start making the arrangements at the Centre, and give you the administrator’s coordinates. Here, I’ll write them for you now,” offered Jane, as she reached for a notepad on the table.

  “Thanks. The important thing now is for us to be hopeful and positive, to be supportive of you, Caroline, and your family. No matter what, it is a stressful time. You will have assistance from your community, and I will coordinate the military side.”

  - 36 -

  Slowly, sound seeped into Dana’s mind. She became aware of light, diffuse light, light that commanded. Gradually, the light converged, focussed, took form. And the form was green.

  She began to feel, soft against her face. Her eyes were open. Grass, she was lying on grass, wet grass, face down. Drip, drip, that sound, drip, drip. Water was dripping past her face, through the grass.

  Where am I? Her mind began to race. Where am I?

  And then the pain struck. She winced and gasped as the pain wracked her chest. She lay still—don’t move. Where am I?

  Her head was throbbing. She began to move her hand up to her head, but the pain in her chest was too much. Moving her head slightly, she began to see beyond the blades of grass before her eyes: a tree trunk, and broken twigs.

  Where the hell am I? She tried her legs. They worked. She tried her arms, her hands. They worked, but that pain in her chest was agony when she moved her right arm.

  Wet. She was wet, cold wet, uncomfortable. I gotta move.

  Carefully, easing the pain as best she could, she lifted herself up and onto her back. She lay there, eyes closed, in agony. She brought her left hand to the pain, at the bottom of her ribcage on the right.

  How long she had lain there on her back she didn’t know, but when her eyes opened again, the light was dimmer. Her eyes focussed on the sight above her: branches, branches, and more branches, with tree trunks disappearing upward into a mass of green and speckled light. Where am I? What has happened?

  Slowly, carefully, she brought herself to a sitting position, rolling out of the little trickle of water that had been running under her. The pain in her chest was bad, but it seemed to have lessened. Her head still throbbed.

  Bringing up her left hand, she ran it across her forehead. As she took it away, she saw the blood, and quickly touched her forehead again. Yes, I must have been hurt there, too. Why? How?

  As she took stock, she realized she was in her combats. Why? She racked her brain, trying to remember what she was doing last. Yes, coming up the mountain road, round the bend near the top of the hill.

  She remembered raising herself up in the hatch of the Coyote to look back at Johnny following fifty metres behind, and Cracker and Paul a more distant third in the old Bison.

  But what next …? Nothing. Nothing at all, until this. Something big must have happened, but what? Jeez, what happened to the others, where are they?

  As she tried to think back, her head began to clear. Her mind came into gear.

  “Okay, Munro,” she spoke out loud, “you’re in a fix. Don’t know what happened. Don’t know where you are.

  What’s your status? “Wet, at least on my front—back seems okay.

  “Good.

  “Cold. Hurting. Legs okay. Arms okay.

  “Good. Then you’re mobile. Stand up.”

  Gingerly she tried to stand, but her head was swimming, and she fell back.

  “Not good. Not so fast, Dana.”

  She had collapsed to a sitting position, knees up. She rested her head sideways on her knees, with her arms around her legs.

  This ground’s got a hell of a slope, she thought. She looked at the trees more closely. Yes, if they were vertical, she was on a steep hillside.

  Light was fading fast now. She realized she had no option but to stay put for the night. In the twilight, she looked around and moved uphill a metre or so to a drier and softer area, with less grass but deep pine needles. Moulding them, she crafted a more comfortable spot to bed down on.

  The dawn light brought a familiarity to the small scene around her. She had slept fitfully during the moonless night, aware of the cold, aware of her rib-cage, aware of her plight, but still reacting to the concussion she had obviously suffered.

  She had remembered the chocolate bar in her side pocket and had rationed herself to one square during the night. Now she took out the package and broke off another square. Slowly, she placed it in her mouth, and let the sweet chocolate sensation wash through her.

  Carefully, she returned the package to her pocket. As she did, she remembered the second chocolate bar in the other pocket—her driver, Randy, knew her love of chocolate, and he had generously tossed his bar over to her as they were setting off from base.

  Suddenly, she heard a familiar sound.

  Yes, it is: a helo, getting louder, louder, louder. How close is that guy coming? Following the sound, she looked up and out from the hillside, through the trees. She saw the helicopter, white. She could see the UN decal on the side. Relief.

  But he can’t see me here. She sagged. The helicopter dropped down out of sigh
t, down, down. She could hear him still. He must be hovering, looking.

  She struggled to stand, she was on her feet; she grabbed a branch to steady herself, waving frantically with her other arm, wincing at the pain from her ribs.

  “Here,” she shouted at the top of her voice. “Here. I’m here.”

  But the helicopter was too low down below the hillside, and the noise would drown her cries.

  Gradually, she could hear another sound, above the helicopter, different. A whine, like a jet. Yes, yes, a jet. The scream was intense now, above. Look up, look up.

  Through the branches, she saw it. What a sight—high up there—a hover-jet. Just gently cruising in a tight circle, almost hovering there, poised, for action. What’s he doing? Probably covering the helo, she realized.

  “I’m here,” she shouted, “down here.” She waved her arm wildly.

  Suddenly she heard another sound: gunshots—like rifle shots, almost drowned by the jet’s whine, but definitely shots.

  Hoo-boy, not good, not safe. And she knew, as the jet veered off and she saw the helicopter rise from below and depart, that her cries were in vain. Whatever, whoever, they had been looking for, she wasn’t the lucky one to be found.

  Whatever has happened, it must be big—there aren’t any fighter-jets in our region. It must have come in to protect the helo. We only have transport and search helos here.

  She sank to the ground, and buried her head in her hands. Her plight began to sink in. Something terrible had happened; she was part of it, whatever it was.

  They’ve put out a search, but couldn’t see me. Who else is missing? My guys? Jacob? Randy? Schooner? Or everyone—Johnny and his lot, Cracker, Paul …? Her thoughts trailed off into despair. What the hell has happened? And those rifle shots worried her.

  So? What now? In spite of all the discomfort of the night, she felt rested and ready to tackle the day. Status?

  Head? Seems okay, bit tender there on the forehead, but not serious.

  Ribs? Mmm. She felt her side. Not so bad. She unbuttoned, and slipped her left hand in under her sweater and tee shirt to find the spot. Yes, there it is: sharp pain, just below the bra-line on the right ribcage. Guess I’ve cracked a rib. If that’s all it is, I’ll have to suffer, I guess. Probably looks ugly, though; doesn’t feel to be any broken skin. She fastened up her clothing.