by David Hunter
~ ~ ~
Is it nighttime already? I feel a cool sheet covering my body up to my shoulders. I sense a welcoming haze hovering just above total unconsciousness which has started to obscure my already fragmented thoughts. Did mom give me cough medicine? I feel so much better. That must be it, I'm sick and have been given a strong cough medicine to ease me to sleep. My leg hurts like the devil, but the burning has abated. I think I should be able to get some sleep now.
Abraham Lincoln is kind and good,
His honor and love for many.
To help us remember this president,
We put his face on our penny!
Table of Contents
7. First to Zion
"If we could travel into the past, it's mind-boggling what would be possible. . . . I have no idea whether it's possible, but it's certainly worth exploring."- Carl Sagan, NOVA interview, 12 October 1999
Near Rishon L'Tzion, State of Israel
Before the meeting with Lt. General Ashkelon, Doctor No'am Abrams and his team at Technion University had already made great strides in the study of singularities and Quantum Entanglement, as well as the relatively new and exciting protocol called "Quantum Teleportation." The quantum disciplines seemed to be, in fact, the new science de rigueur for many physicists, especially those with a Particle Physics background.
Such were the strides that had been made by his team that when he went to work in the ultra-modern facility for quantum research with The Project, he felt like a child in a candy store. Each day he thanked HaShem for His blessings. He was thrilled with the knowledge that the thing he loved most, other than his cat Vivien and his aloof and often mysterious girlfriend Mona, was also a critical component to the security and future of his adopted country. He immigrated to the State of Israel from his birth country of Argentina, never once looking back though sometimes missing the Argentine culture and laid-back lifestyle.
No'am went on a blind date with a very accomplished surgeon, also from Argentina, hoping to make a connection with an ex-patriot. He found that he enjoyed time with his cat more than this gal, who was only too happy to talk about herself the entire time! She insisted on exchanging phone numbers; he finally relented, incredulous that she didn't see his reluctance as a sign that there would be no second date. He didn't call her and, thankfully, she had just barely enough common sense to not contact him.
No'am received clearance for his team of four other physicists and two assistants to join him. Administrative and clerical staff would be already in place. It felt good to have tried-and-true team members with him rather than dealing with the personalities and learning curves of people he didn't already know. Two were not allowed to remain with him - assistants he had worked with for some time. He regretted not being able to include them on the team, but they were rejected for reasons of national security. No'am didn't question the decision to exclude them for two reasons: One, It really didn't matter, nothing he could say would change the minds of those doing the background and psychological checks. Two, he wouldn't have received a straight answer anyway.
In the case of one assistant he knew that he was having steep financial problems. Fond of gambling, this didn't really come as a surprise. The gambling would sound multiple alarms as such a person could be easily compromised with money, or at least the promise of money. The other assistant came as a surprise. No'am always thought of him as the proverbial straight arrow. Happily married, financially secure, born in Israel – as were the man's parents. He had no addiction issues that No'am knew of, and was only a social drinker who would have the same drink in his hand the entire evening of a party or university event. While he felt some initial curiosity about this rejection the work itself quickly reacquired and focused his complete attention.
The State of Israel, in its current borders is very small. As a comparison, the state of California is twenty times the size of the State of Israel, including the disputed West Bank and Gaza Strip, making any paper peace treaty with the Palestinians based on pre-1967 borders at once unrealistic and unattainable; something which the PLO and Hamas leaderships knew full well. Before his time in National Service for the military, he hitchhiked and walked his way around the country, exploring every nook and cranny.
His backpack consisted more of books than anything else. He was a dyed-in-the wool geek. He also had a laptop for his studies and ongoing physics research as an online collaboration with several others during his travels. He hefted that backpack library pretty much everywhere, even exploring the streets of the Palestinian Territories. His Arabic was so flawless that he could easily pass as a Palestinian, as long as nobody glanced at the Hebrew-language books in his backpack.
Given his knowledge of the topography and geography of Israel, he divined correctly his facility to be only about 10 kilometers away from Rishon L'Tzion, an early Jewish farm settlement founded by European immigrants in 1882, located about 12 kilometers south of Tel-Aviv. The unique and aromatic smells coming from the Carmel Winery, an old landmark in Rishon L'Tzion, was unmistakable. No'am caught the scent of the winery as the shayroot whisked him to his destination.
Given the time from when he smelled the winery - knowing the direction of the prevailing winds that day - to the time he arrived at his facility, he had a fairly good idea of the facility's location. Not that it mattered, he'd never share this knowledge with anybody else for their own protection and the sake of his job. The facility was several stories below ground level. It had all of the creature comforts one would want, even though his cat wasn't allowed into the facility during his stay.
This home-away-from-home was still not home. No'am could only hope his neighbor would remember to take care of his young fruit trees and grape vines, and tend to his cat while away "in Canada and the United States as a guest professor and touring lecturer" for two, maybe three years. He did plan on occasional return trips to Israel, but they would be sporadic.
He missed little things like on-demand Internet access and texting friends on his mobile phone. He told them in advance that he would still send them messages, but irregularly as he would be so busy with lectures, research, and a social life while in North America.
Other little things, too, reminded him that this wasn't really a place where he'd want to permanently hang his hat. Yet all of this paled in comparison with his first joy in life, his work. The quantum world was usually his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. If only he could find a woman with an equal or better I.Q. and similar interest in Quantum Mechanics. Well, truth be told, he knew of maybe ten who would qualify under just those two standards. They were all either too old, too young, or too married. He always had a ready reason for rejection even before the next potential female companion could utter her first word.
Timidity with women notwithstanding, he met a woman during his travels throughout his adopted country shortly before being accepted in a teach-work program with the Physics department at Technion U.
In fact, she came into his life just a week after he submitted his application. These many years later they were still best of friends with an off-and-on romance that never quite seemed to get off the ground and lead toward marriage. She was worth it.
While Mona wasn't quite the energetic youth she had been when they first met, she still carried herself admirably well and kept in good shape. Additionally she had an impressive command of his physics vocabulary, fully understanding him when he'd get off on a tangent about the possibilities and uses of quantum mechanics. Her family immigrated to Israel from the Islamic Republic of Iran in the early 1980's when she was ten years of age. One could still detect a slight Farsi accent when she spoke.
They tried to have dinner at least once every two weeks if not more frequently. Sometimes it led to breakfast as well. Nobody knew about her. He even hid her existence from his three best and only friends, as well as his co-workers. Even from those who employed him he withheld any knowledge of her. Because of her situation they sur
ely would understand should knowledge of her come to light.
Time spent together must be carefully planned. Mona told him where to meet, never being the same place twice. She would send a car for him, only joining him when both were satisfied that he wasn't seen by anyone who knew him. It was really very exciting, the sneaking around and subterfuge. The clandestine nature of their relationship was quite the rush for a man who had never even seriously kissed a woman before Mona came into his life.
Mona's family had made a lot of enemies in the Iranian government for their outspoken criticism of the Islamic leadership that controlled every aspect of life. Jews themselves, this was very dangerous and incredibly brave. Eventually the threats to their lives reached the point where they had to flee the country. After the Israeli agents secreted her and her parents out of the country her grandparents were beheaded in a local soccer field while the town turned out en masse to watch and cheer. She still got tears in her eyes, her voice breaking, when she spoke of it.
A fatwa, a death warrant, had been issued against Mona and her parents. If anybody knew their true new identity and location in Israel they were as good as dead. She told him how the Israeli government granted them citizenship sub rosa as heroes, providing them with new identities. Very few people, even in the government, knew of their true identity. When he told her that he had to apply for yet a higher security clearance but did not know how to speak of their relationship, she told him to not mention her, the agency handling her family's security already knew about No'am, there was no reason to bring more people into this confidence.
Leaving information about her off of the documents he had to provide was, he felt sure, perfectly legal as the highest government officials were aware of her. Love is blind and he was head-over-heels in love.
No'am adored Mona with every fiber of his being. A self-acknowledged geek with thick glasses, hair that couldn't be tamed, and a disfigurement from birth that children stared at and adults pretended to not see, he couldn't imagine what she saw in him to keep their romance going.
After they met on his hike throughout the country, eventually having to part ways, he asked if he could see her again. She replied that she would be delighted but that she would have to come to him. He thought she was just being too polite to turn him down, but gave her his temporary address anyway. He returned home with no expectations or hopes whatsoever. He was a little shocked, feeling a rush of supernal ecstasy when she called on him just two days later from a youth hostel where she stayed for a few days.
Their second time together was their first true date. Mona had a way of peering into his soul, instinctively knowing how to navigate any topic of discussion. In some ways she was intellectually intimidating – something rare and wondrous. She expressed interested in, and genuine fascination by, his field of study and research. They also enjoyed long discussions on politics, religion, war, and Middle Eastern history as viewed from the various factions in the region. Though it seemed cliché, they both loved nighttime walks along the beach after getting something to eat and drink at one of the countless sidewalk cafés throughout Tel-Aviv's beach front.
One year as a combined birthday surprise and celebration after earning his second doctorate, Mona treated him to a week at an exquisite resort in Eilat. He felt a little irked when he exited the shower, returning to their bedroom for the towel left on a chair, to find her using his laptop. He never password protected his documents as his laptop was never out of his sight in a public setting. Besides, the operating system itself had a sixteen alpha-numeric character password to boot-up the computer. Given the system boot security he was surprised that she gained full access. Expressing mild irritation she first pouted in a very sexy way, then rewarded him with a smile that melted his knees, causing him to forget all else. Besides, what fool would jeopardize time with her over a computer?
Later that night she asked forgiveness, which he eagerly gave. She explained that she forgot to tell her parents that she'd be away for a week. She obviously couldn't just call them so she sent them a quick e-mail using the resort's wireless connection. It didn't occur to him to ask her how she so quickly cracked the password. When he thought about it the next day well, it just seemed to be a moot issue. The night had been so glorious, unlike any other up to then, why risk ruining the rest of the week?
He could tell that though she still missed her childhood homeland, she was an absolute Zionist. Because of the status of her family's situation as refugees in hiding she couldn't participate in military service, nor could she have open alliance with any public group, not even a synagogue or university. She was unfettered with the need to work as the government gave her and her parents each a nice monthly stipend, allowing them to remain comfortable while out of public view.
She clearly regretted being unable to serve her country in uniform. She lived this missing aspect of her life vicariously through No'am's military service, hearing from him the Israeli approach to both psychological and technological warfare. Due to his physical situation he was unable to be in any combat unit. No'am served quite capably at an important logistics and planning department for technical warfare research of which he couldn't speak. Because some of his research in the university was ultimately funded by the military, he knew of things that the average citizen never would. Wanting to make sure she knew him to be a man of importance he would let little things innocently drop during times such as pillow talk the few nights a month that she would stay overnight. Not on his guard, trusting Mona so explicitly and loving her with such blind devotion, he began to slowly confide in her some of the scientific details about The Project about a couple of years after he was picked to head one of the facilities. At first she was stunned. She hungered for more but never pushed. No'am was only happy to parcel out little details regarding his work, his version of romantic teasing.
Like him, she was observant of the High Holidays for the sake of her parents but fairly secular the rest of the year. "Funny, she mused, "no matter how old we get we still try to impress and please our parents as if still children. They both laughed over that observation.
A couple of times he had dinner with her and her parents. They were kind people, younger than he would have expected. Perhaps the credit went to their outlook on life, their world view that made them seem younger.
No'am mentally puzzled the level of religious observance of Mona's parents. She had told him they were observant – though not to the level of the Hassidic Jews. "Orthodox, not radical," was how she described them once before. There was a mezuzah on every door of their flat, but nobody touched it with their fingers, then pressing their fingers to their lips as is the norm for the observant when passing through a door. They seemed to have all of the trappings – mezuzot, a menorah, the two-handled cup in the bathroom for ritual hand washing, and a bowl of torn pieces of bread just outside the bathroom for yet another prayer ritual. Her father did wear a simple kippah on the crown of his head, yet, in spite of her earlier saying that they were observant, they didn't seem to be particularly interested in the day-to-day details of their faith.
Well, the meal at least was kosher. Ultimately the dietary laws were all he much cared about in his own religious identity and lifestyle. Had they served a ham he would have had to politely decline eating or drinking anything in their home. He wasn't observant but he did maintain the dietary laws. In his room at the kibbutz he kept a separate set of silverware, dishes, drinking glasses and coffee mugs, etc., for foods with dairy products versus foods that contained meat. Even his tiny refrigerator was meticulously segregated. Not particularly religious, not even sure if God existed, this observance of kosher laws surprised nobody more than he.
Though marriage never happened due to the fact that she had to remain in hiding, even in Israel, he knew that she fully loved him and would have married him if their lives had been different. Presenting herself as not quite as intelligent as he, it was endearing when she would ask him questions to clarify things of which he spoke, tellin
g him that so many things were simply beyond her; in some respects he sometimes wondered if she hid her true intelligence for the sake of his male ego. She was nonetheless astonishingly intelligent in her own right.
It was such a shame they could not make their feelings one for the other public. He loved Mona too much to do or say anything that would endanger her or her family. After he proposed marriage he never brought up the topic again after a tearful Mona explained how it could never be, much as she wanted it.
Desperately wanting to boast of her to his three buddies, he knew he couldn't. Besides, she refused any photographs be taken of her. Without photographic evidence his few buddies could never believe such a lovely goddess would be interested in him, let alone sometimes share his bed. Even if he had a photo of them together his friends would probably argue that it had been manipulated.
Recently they had something of a falling out. She readily accepted the fact that his leaving for the United States would be a boost to his career. She also reasoned that for her own safety she couldn't go with him or even visit him. She said she couldn't bear to be so far away from him for such a long time, then launched into that wonderful little pouting thing she did with her lips that turned him to putty in her hands – as if he weren't already!
Though he explained to her why he could return only every couple of months or so, she was clearly unhappy with that. She had hoped he would take a souvenir with him. He accepted it, but then put it in a storage unit with other belongings. He really did want to bring it to the facility with him, a beautiful ceramic frame adorning her more beautiful face. Such an item would arouse suspicions that, at this stage of the process, would get him fired from this work with The Project. An employee of the government in a highly sensitive and vital position, it was all but certain that the organizers knew about Mona but said nothing due to her family need for absolute secrecy. Why take the chance of exposing her relationship now, ruining everything?
He had gotten away with his secret this far – to his utter shock – there could be no going back. He had no idea what a convincing liar he was until he underwent the vetting process. He felt rather proud of the fact that he could fool some of Israel's finest, another boost to his ego. Then again, if they already knew about her from the beginning and said nothing, he guessed he probably wasn't that good at deception after all.
A week later, when he sent her his first text bounced from the secure throw away phone he used outside his facility. The text routed through the carrier and number of his own cell phone. In the responding text she asked him if he had the gift she gave him. He admitted that he did not. Receiving no further text from her he begged her forgiveness. He would never be able to explain why he left the frame and picture behind. He considered lying to her, simply saying that her picture was in front of him as they spoke, but she was a much better lie detector than the machines and psychologists used on him during his multiple interviews and psych tests. He could fool them, but he could never fool her, nor would he ever want to. He was taken aback by her anger that he didn't bring the frame with him.
No'am found this just a little annoying, as well as a couple of other small things that had happened between them in the past. Things that seemed to somewhat contradict the Mona he knew and loved. Sometimes he thought that he deceived himself. If he were, it was a deception with which he'd gladly live, taking it to his grave.
The few things about her that sometimes nagged at the periphery of his mind, well, he could quickly dismiss them as the fears of a socially awkward man who had never had a real girlfriend before. Though dismissed, the nagging questions would nonetheless return in those quiet moments at night when the lab closed for the day and he was left to his own thoughts. The very questions that nagged him about her would be a needless red flag to the people funding his work. Surely there was no real problem.
Then there was the guilt at lying – point blank – during the written and psychological profiles. Sometimes he wondered if he nurtured sociopath tendencies. Not that he wanted to hurt people, but rather that he could tell a bold-faced lie without flinching. His eyes, his heart rate, perspiration – nothing gave away the fact that he was lying. This knowledge was sobering and more than a little exciting.
Because his few friends didn't know about Mona he was in no danger of them disclosing the relationship. What science did to feed the intellectual hunger of his brain, she did for his heart. No'am couldn't imagine life without either.
Soon he would make things better once he returned for a short break. After all, she brought as much joy and excitement to his life as did Math and Science. The latter were an inseparable part of his very being, coming as naturally to him as light from the sun. Mona, though, required work and patience on his part – but oh, so worth it!
Mona couldn't imagine life without him either but for altogether different reasons. She could easily spot weaknesses in men – and women – using them to her advantage.
Though he wouldn't be precisely described as ugly, he certainly was no magazine model either. His personality gave away a man more comfortable in a classroom situation, better yet a laboratory, than a social gathering. A man who preferred seeing simulations on a computer monitor over a soccer match on a television screen, she could not even begin to imagine him actually in a stadium with real people watching a live game on the field. The very thought made her smirk. While he probably had passing and brief relationships with women, there would never have been much depth to them outside of academia, likely not even then. His genuine brilliance, especially in the ever-widening field of Physics, would have been a source of boredom to most people; certain death to any romance as it was pretty much all he could communicate effectively.
Yes to manipulate such a man was for Mona as easily done as manipulating a car into a parking space. The information he provided her regarding The Project, something absolutely unexpected initially, was worth more to her people than the oil revenues of all OPEC nations combined.
How he could be so astonishingly intelligent while at the same time so astonishingly naïve was a continual marvel to her. She wondered what would happen to him once he was no longer needed for information. Ultimately she really didn't care.
Table of Contents
8. Assess and Escape
"If you see an antimatter version of yourself running towards you, think twice before embracing." – J. Richard Gott III, "Time Travel in Einstein's Universe: The Physical Possibilities of Travel Through Time"
Virginia – 1864
Fully conscious now Jeff Stauffenberg assessed his situation. The Project had apparently been a success with unforeseen consequences. The initial test of the Quantum Tunneling theory proved viable but unpredictable.
The Project identified a family of White Supremacists, leaders of a local Neo-Nazi group in the Appalachian area of West Virginia known mostly for coal mining. Starting with the current generation of grown children, going back each successive generation to before the Civil War, this family was wholly comprised of racist bigots who served the whims of various hate groups including the Ku Klux Klan, then the Neo-Nazis once the KKK fell out of political favor.
Each generation in their own turn had committed murder, torched minority churches and homes, visiting other atrocities on those not born into white families. It was agreed that the world would be better without this family, making them an ideal tentative foré into history manipulation. If one specific branch of this family could be deleted from history and memory The Project could move forward with the ultimate, most important of targets. The deletion would be apparent in the new time stream other than the shielded newspapers, documents, and personnel of The Project so that the experiment could be verified without adversely affecting the timeline and histories of tangent individuals and events.
Such an experiment, thought by nearly all scientists and theorists to be impossible, nonetheless succeeded. It was unpredictable but well within the acceptable margin. Though acceptable it remained important to narr
ow that margin by choosing a qualified 'Gentile' for both the first and second phases.
Jeff was American-born, non-Jewish, with the ability to speak with an excellent southern accent and knowledge of the American south, due to his Virginia-born father.
Despite television shows such as "Andy Griffith" and classic literature such as "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "Tom Sawyer," the actual accent of mid-1800's Virginia was a relative unknown. Linguists acknowledge the fact that with the advent of speech and social influences of the radio in the early 1900's, followed by "talkies" and later still television and the Internet, finally added to the mix the movement of populations in and out of the south, accents and manners of speech during the Civil War era would likely be very different than the way southerners speak in modern times. Even isolated areas settled in the south would have had different accents and vocabularies from other such settlements in other areas.
Another important quality for the candidate to possess: Jeff was a member of an elite Special Dark Ops team. Though in academia for years since his military career, he maintained a rigorous exercise and training regimen. These, and his background in Physics, combined in the selection process for him to go to the 1860’s to eliminate the patriarch of a branch of the target family. While the year and GPS location within 10 kilometers could be achieved, there would no way to know exactly where he would find himself, or what events would be transpiring around him when he landed. Because of these factors it was decided to land him in a very wooded area in the mountains near his target.
All went as planned. Jeff arrived dressed as a Private in the Confederate army, with the appropriate money both in regards to the era as well as currency tendered in the local bank.
Reaching Richmond, he checked into a boarding house. In the early hours of the next morning he awoke to the sounds of screams competing with what had to be musket balls slamming into walls and people. The smell of smoke from burning wood, not gunpowder, catapulted him into action.
Confederate soldiers were breaking into rooms. Smoke and flames poured out of a room a flight above. Additional soldiers continued to fan out from the congested staircase, each shouting terse orders to the boarders.
Terrified women and children ran in every direction, the entire scene unfolding in ways that reminded Stauffenberg of his tour in Afghanistan.
Having arrived late in the evening Jeff had no time to assess the boarders but wasn't surprised to find only a few men among them. These were comprised mostly of elderly or those entirely too young to take up arms in the Confederate cause. What did surprise him were the numbers of black men, women and children being pulled out of the basement. They had to be runaways. Taken aback, neither he nor anybody else considered the possibility of any Underground Railroad activity being carried out near this location, let alone this far along into the war.
No sooner had his body been spun by the impact of a musket ball piercing the muscle of his left thigh when he saw the fist of another soldier slam into his face.
Now fully aware of his surroundings, slowly but steadily piecing a mental picture together of his predicament, he remembered his dreams musing over how often dreams interweave with the realities around us. His leg still hurt like the devil himself were chewing it, but it appeared well dressed with no apparent fresh bleeding. It was swollen as one might expect, but not exaggeratedly so as would be with the case were there a presence of infection.
Keeping his eyes closed save it be for just a slit open enough from to see though his eyelashes, laying on his back with his head turned to the right side, he slowly tilted his head to the left to better appraise his situation.
Stauffenberg found himself on a cot in a crowded field tent that served as a hospital ward. He was impressed by the deft, precise movements of the young doctor going from patient to patient, as well as the nearly unspoken communication between him and the nurses. Without a doubt this group of people had been working together for some time having come to acquaint themselves with the gestures and glances of one another, not unlike a couple who has been married for years.
Most importantly the only soldiers present were also convalescing, perhaps dying, on the rows of cots. While the nurses might pose an escape problem this was unlikely given the social morés of the time and place. They could scream but probably not land a good punch. The doctor may or may not present a problem. A slight build, obviously a sharp mind, was he also a trained soldier? Even if he were, Stauffenberg knew he could take him on a bad day. Were he an actor in a made-for-testosterone movie he probably would do so in Arnold Schwarzenegger fashion. Wisdom dictated and Dr. Stauffenberg agreed that he patiently wait for the good doctor to depart, leaving only a minimum of nurses present before taking his leave.
When opportunity knocks it’s always a good idea to be ready to open the door that presents itself, running through like a bat out of hell if need be. Training taught him to not only be ready for fortuitous opportunity, but to give it a gentle nudge when time was of the essence.
Close to his cot was that of a young man who had the antique looking tools of surgery near him, easily within Jeff's reach. While most of the blood and tissue had darkened, crusting over with time, there was still some blood that glistened in the light of the oil lamps. Surgery for this young man, boy really, had been recent. Despite the Confederate cause for which this boy fought, Jeff prayed for his survival. To be so young and caught up in the horror that was the Civil War.
Though tough as nails, even cold to those who didn’t know him well, he sympathized with others who were suffering. Having served a mission for his church some 20 years ago in Latin America, "Wow, over a century from now!" he mused, Jeff could relate to the massive human suffering he saw as the inescapable end result of the twin progenitors of misery: ignorance and poverty.
Moving slowly to minimize any overt sound yet as quickly as possible to reduce the odds of being caught in the act, he borrowed a scalpel from the tray holding the surgical tools. Once secreted under his body he then borrowed what appeared to be a cross between a malevolent-appearing hook and the pocketknife he usually carried with him.
Jeff cautiously angled his right foot under the left foot applying upward pressure, as much as he could handle, to establish how much weight his injured leg could withstand. Jolts of pain with each application of pressure notwithstanding, he felt satisfied that he could bear his own weight to walk. It would be a while, though, before full-speed running would be an option.
Lady Luck joined hands with Opportunity and Preparation sooner than one might reasonably hope. From the voices and what conversations he could hear outside the tent, Jeff concluded that he was still somewhere in Virginia. The tent's location apparently on the far reaches of a major field of battle. Sounds of explosions and shouting told him that the Union wasn't far off, and closing in rapidly at that.
Bereft of clothing other than a union suit pulled down to his waist, he estimated the height and weight of the young man on the cot beside him. Though not a perfect fit the clothes rumpled on the floor beside the cot would have to do as his were nowhere to be found. His missing clothing told him, among other things, that his medical care commenced somewhere other than here. Judging from the growth of his beard, which he started growing while still in Israel, Jeff guessed that he had been under medical care for about two weeks given that his beard was about a quarter of an inch longer than when he embarked on his landing.
An ear-splitting explosion interrupted the time he had spent as a patient in this medical tent. The few people on cots who were well enough sat bolt straight up as a couple of nurses screamed. One nurse sank down sobbing and blubbering incoherently. In another time she would surely be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Springing from his cot, or at least the closest approximation to springing that he could muster between the pain and loss of muscle tone over two weeks of absolute inactivity, Jeff pulled up his union suit without bothering to button it, then dressed himself in the clothing of his t
ent mate. All of the nurses save the one whose sobs had dissipated into a moaning whimper fled the tent; as had two of the healthier patients. The doctor was no longer a concern, having departed a few minutes earlier.
Once dressed, foregoing the footwear that would not have fit anyway, Stauffenberg limped over to the nurse. Dizzy, nauseated, and very weak from lack of physical activity; he knew he had to make physical and emotional contact with the nurse. It was a near certainty that she would be killed during the incoming fighting if not evacuated to safer ground. Holding his gaze with hers, speaking softly and slowly - careful to maintain his southern accent - he cautiously put a hand lightly on her shoulder to make physical contact. Had he been able he would have carried her out but with his wound compounded by a generally weakened state that wasn't an option.
Helping the nurse gain a tenuous hold on composure, with hysteria lurking menacingly below the surface, he got her on her feet and moving toward the opening of the tent.
Peering cautiously outside he found people running in every direction - some eager to join the fight - most eager to distance themselves from it. They emerged from the tent hand-in-hand and began to move in the general direction of the people who were without weaponry.
Shots could be heard nearby. A couple of times Jeff heard the hum of lead balls flying past them, uncomfortably close. The nurse seemed to trust him, or at least not be sufficiently coherent as to offer tangible resistance. They were making good distance from what seemed to be the center of fighting when she fell to the ground, face first.
From under the headdress that nurses of that time wore - reminding him of pre-Vatican II era Roman Catholic nuns - blood blossomed, rapidly spreading into the surrounding cloth. Raising her head slightly, he pressed his fingers into the carotid artery on her neck. The pulse felt weak and slowing. Within moments - but what seemed an eternity to him - the blood slowed, finally completing its macabre pattern in the cloth as her heart concluded its struggle with mortality.
Training and experience kicking in, Jeff gently laid her head to rest on the ground, then without hesitation or looking back resumed his retreat from the area. He had neither the emotional energy nor currency in time to spend on the dead.
Jeff had three mortal enemies now: First the doctor, who must have realized from even a rudimentary medical examination that his strange patient did not exactly belong. Second the Union Army in advance while he wore a Confederate soldier’s uniform. Third, the very real possibility of reopening his wound while in flight with added potential for infection.
As the sun set the sounds of war receded distantly behind him. By nightfall they had slowed and then stopped altogether. In his time it would be rare for nightfall to signal a complete cessation of violence. Jeff was grateful for the lack of night vision goggles and heat-seeking weaponry in the hands of the advancing army. As horrific as the Civil War was in both American and world history, at least one could depend on a degree of respite in the evening hours. Hours that Dr. Stauffenberg would have to use to his benefit if only to survive another day and to continue these nascent steps of genuine history revision.
If a very minor change to the timeline of the descendants of one family, a "white supremacy" family of which the world would be better off eradicated from the annals of history could be altered without changing the course of history in important already-transpired aspects; it would be entirely possible to alter the course of his time.
The now to which Jeff belonged was a time in which World War III was quickly taking shape. Such a war would guarantee the deaths of hundreds of millions resulting in the decimation of civilization with the implosion of governments, global finances, markets, food and medical distribution networks, everything vital to any form of civilized, collective human living.
Should civilization collapse, radical pseudo-military groups would most likely take over to dominate surviving pockets of humanity with an iron fist until opposing groups grew strong, independent enough to unite with other such groups.
The Project, in the future and now inserted into the past, would be the best - and likely only - hope to avoid the upcoming holocaust and subsequent descent into global chaos.
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9. Removed From Time
"Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it you can never get it back." - Harvey MacKay
Roanoke, Virginia, United States of America, 1864
Winding through back trails, Jeff Stauffenberg made his way to his objective: the farm of Martin J. McGlothlin. Not just a slave owner but also a brutal sadist who savored the beatings of servant and family member alike. Women were subject to much worse than the frequently administered beatings.
Jeff always tried to see the best in others, trying to understand the emotional void in a person's life that would steer them into making poor life choices. While his theology taught that we are all literal sons and daughters of a common Heavenly Father, thus born into this world innately good, he knew that there were those in history who stood out as examples of a pure personification of evil: Hitler, Pol Pot, and Caligula to name just a few. For Jeff this had previously been something more intellectual than personal. McGlothlin made it deeply personal.
Strenuous physical and psychological training, first in the United States then Israel, would be to his advantage but nothing could have fully prepared him for this encounter with Martin McGlothlin. Had Martin lived in the time of Hitler – still decades ahead of his current time – he would have gladly volunteered to join the S.S.
Hidden from view just inside the woods that bordered the McGlothlin farm to reconnoiter for a couple of days to observe Martin's schedule and habits, Jeff was a personal witness to the very worst of humanity. Even then it had been limited to what he saw outside and heard issuing from within the main house. Still loathing what he had to do, at least these observations added an increase of steel to his resolve.
It was little wonder that this man's son and several of his great-great-grandchildren became what they were. One would prove to be even worse than Martin.
Though family members were brought to trial more than once over the generations, there was never a conviction because the jury of each of the accused – including three of the McGlothlin women - were too fearful of retaliation up to and including the forfeiture of their lives.
Jeff reached the decision to wait until the following night to remove Martin and his sons from the annals of history. Two daughters had already been born. The two sons, the eldest of whom would spawn at least three more generations of unbridled hate and terror, were yet to be conceived.
From what Jeff had already mentally cataloged Martin nightly went to one of the slave shacks on the periphery of the farm to have his way with two females, while the husband/father could only look on helplessly – afterward reduced to tears of shame and anger.
Nobody in the main house or the other slave shacks dared to step outside or even go to a window during this time. Should there arise any loud noise, even threats or shouts, all ears would turn a deaf ear out of self-preservation. Yes, this would be the ideal time to strike decidedly and swiftly. While Jeff did not like the thought of killing a man in cold blood he knew McGlothlin's blood was nothing more than ice coursing through his veins.
Jeff's specialized military training gave him the ability to "turn off" his emotions while engaged in fighting. He knew he would be easily able to do so tonight. Turning off his emotions to the plight of the people around him proved much more difficult, if not impossible.
Doing research on his own family tree he learned that some of his own ancestors were slave owners, a knowledge which deeply shamed him. Telling himself he wasn't responsible for the actions, ignorance and ultimate greed of those who preceded him, shame welled up in his chest nonetheless. Night could not come soon enough. Given that this was mid-June, it would not come soon as quickly as he would have liked.
Jeff must for
ever remain a witness to the great shame that was his beloved country's dark chapter of history unfolding all around him. He regretted that returning to his own time would not erase from his memory the atrocities he witnessed. History will soon blot out this man and his absolute malevolence, but Jeff's mind never could. Perhaps the memory loss that too often accompanies old age, a prospect he loathed, might prove to be a kindness after all should he live long enough to be thus afflicted.
Still suffering from his wound and subsequent surgery, Jeff welcomed the intervening hours to rest, gather strength for what lay ahead. He retired more deeply into the woods, drifting into an uneasy slumber almost as soon as he settled down. His head and back rested uneasily against a large tree that also provided additional cool shade in a woodland already somewhat darkened by the sheer density and number of trees.
At length darkness fell, bringing with it a soothing cool breeze that carried the nocturnal sounds of forest fauna. Stauffenberg knew that all too soon the breeze would also carry the sounds of women's terror.
In his borrowed uniform was a piece of paper and a short, whittled down to the nub, pencil. On the crumpled paper Jeff wrote, "This here is my vengeance for the lying horse thief. May Martin McGlothlin's soul rot in Hell. - D.H." It was important that any suspicion which might be cast on any of the slaves or wife for his murder be allayed. Given their condition, Jeff had no doubt but what they were unable to read or print, much less write in cursive. Considering the character and reputation of McGlothlin the message on the letter would be believable, if not provable. Town residents would doubtlessly wonder for quite some time exactly who "D.H." was, being grateful to the stranger all the same.
Checking the pocket watch, also in the uniform of the man-boy who must have come from a family of means, given the quality and exquisite etched details on the watch cover, Jeff decided to start moving toward the farm.
