Fortunately, it had been a quiet flight so far. This night the sky was clear and peaceful, which was a blessing because shortly after takeoff U.S. Air Force Captain Matthew Marrow’s co-pilot had taken ill and was now in the back sleeping. Matthew had been flying Angel Flights as a volunteer for the last 15 years. He had made so many trips that he could probably do it in his sleep; he was one with the C130. With nothing to distract him from the sound of the bird’s engine, old thoughts filled his head. He was positive that it was only by the grace of God that he hadn’t ridden home in a box himself. The years he’d spent in Vietnam had been chocked full of close calls. To this day, he didn’t know whether he’d taken fool-hardy chances with an angel on his shoulder or if he’d just managed to avoid being in the wrong places at the wrong times. There had been uncounted times when the men standing right beside him were felled, and he hadn’t even been grazed; times, when he’d missed stepping on a mine by inches and the man right behind him, hadn’t been as lucky. At any rate, when he’d survived his multiple tours of duty and then made it safely back to the States, he had vowed to repay his debt of gratitude by carrying as many fallen heroes’ home as he could. It was the least that he could do.He snapped back to attention when the plane rattled and shuddered as it rode through a small pocket of turbulence. He straightened up in the seat and took a sip of his cold coffee. Glancing at the instrument panel, he saw that everything was as it should be.