Crown Jewel: The Battle for the Falklands by Peter von Bleichert Page B

the British military cemeteries on the islands.  Albert took a deep breath of cool air. Or, even remain forever in its place, he pondered.  The wind whipped at his cheeks.  He closed his eyes and turned toward the sun.  His face collected its warmth.  You are alive , Albert thought.  Then, he began to collect rocks.
    Even though he was still dizzy, Albert felt better.  He sat for a moment to listen to the howl of the wind and the waves that crashing against the cliffs.  He leaned over the side and watched as the waves obliterated themselves against the rock and then reached up the cliff with foamy fingers.  He smiled.  He was, after all and despite his supposed or imagined importance, inconsequential in the scheme of things.  This realization made Albert happy, if for just a moment.  He lifted one of the rocks he had collected and studied it.  It had been around for millions of years, a piece of mountain beaten down by wind and rain, broken off by the sea, and delivered to this field.  I am inconsequential .  This made things simpler.  He looked to Donnan.
    Albert laid his friend out.  He folded Donnan’s arms over his chest like an entombed pharaoh, and carefully placed on top the stones he had collected.  As Albert piled them, he pondered: He, too, began as a mountain of greatness, was tempered and shaped by the wind of life, cracked into smaller pieces, and he would finally become a grain of sand on an endless beach .  Albert placed a final rock, and then stabbed a stick into the pile.  He balanced Donnan’s cracked helmet upon it.
    Albert stood over the grave for several minutes.  He pocketed the items he had collected, items that would identify the body: a Velcro patch with LT. D. BRUCE from Donnan’s flight suit, as well as the dog-tags that hung from his neck.  Albert rubbed the dog-tags.  He felt the raised letters and numbers.  He clicked his thumbnail on the small notch used to jam the tags between a corpse’s front teeth for identification purposes.  If Albert could get off this island alive, he wouldpersonally deliver these small things to Donnan’s closest relative.  With duty to his comrade complete for the moment, Albert shifted his focus.
    Evening came fast.  Albert would need a place to shelter and inventory his supplies.  Before this, however, he had one more duty to one other fallen comrade: his loyal mount.
    Broken , Albert thought.  My sweet machine is broken .  Albert opened an electronics bay on the cheek of the Apache’s fuselage.  I am sorry .  He lodged a grenade within, and then pulled the pin before retreating to the protection of a boulder, to await the explosion.  A few seconds later, it happened, though the sound was muffled by the gusting wind.  Black smoke rose from the helicopter’s electronics’ compartment, and Albert felt assured that the sensitive communication and other classified components would not fall into enemy hands.  However, he felt as though he had just punched an old friend.  Albert rubbed his eyes with exhaustion and stood again.
    The smoke from the helicopter’s engine pod had finally stopped its spewing.  Albert spotted the holes where the enemy’s bullets had ripped through the Apache’s armored skin and destroyed its vital systems: electronic, hydraulic, and mechanical.  He felt lucky and amazed that he had been able to nurse the helicopter down in one piece, and that he had survived.  A gift .  From whom ? He wondered.  Then he reminded himself that Donnan had not been so lucky.  Donnan …  Albert ran his fingers over the jagged edge of one of the bullet holes.  The torn metal cut his fingertip, and he realized he had been lucky that the enemy fighter did not turn in to deliver a strafing run—a coup de grâce—on the crash site.  Albert looked around for a place to hunker down.
    He found a small grotto at the top of a cliff that provided some protection from the blast of wind.  Albert shimmied inside, sat on a