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Jacob’s Point Of View
I bagged the seat beside Alicia on a Gulfstream G650 private jet Isabelle had chartered at short notice. Sitting with my daughter on her first flight was a huge thrill. Her squeal of delight when the massive turbines powered us down the runway was only surpassed by her giggles when the aircraft raised its nose and launched into the air.
She watched the ground disappear below us, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I still don’t understand how it works, Dad.”
“Air is sucked into the front of the engine using a fan. From there, the air is compressed, fuel mixes with it, the mixture ignites, and shoots out the back of the engine, creating thrust.”
“Okay… got it.”
Kate rolled her eyes at my simple explanation of something so complex, but Alicia didn’t need a science lesson, and I was at the limit of my knowledge. Once we enjoyed a snack and coffee, the crew quickly made beds in slide-out compartments, which Alicia asked us to keep open because she felt nervous.
As I lay with Kate, dressed in pajamas, Alicia dangled her hand across the aisle, gripping my fingers with hers.
“How did you get your medals, Dad?”
“Where did you see them?”
“In old photographs that Mom is helping me stick in my album. I put you two on the same page as my birth parents.”
“Which medal did you want to know about?”
“All of them, please.”
“Most are campaign medals, where we helped people.”
I didn’t mention specifics and wouldn’t want to discuss the Victoria Cross Medal because that trawled too heavily on truly awful memories. I drew on more pleasant recollections where peace was kept or conflict avoided.
I was relieved when her fingers slipped from mine, and Alicia fell asleep because mostly, my medals related to the worst of times, perhaps not for me, but for others who were killed, hurt, or lost loved ones.
I rolled toward Kate, who looked thoughtful.