Just like grandpa’s stories…
A sudden movement to the right caught her attention. She angled the Phantombird and watched a lone figure rush toward one of a dozen tents littering the ground near the thicket.
“Black Sheep found.”
“Good, now how about somewhere to land this puppy where we won’t get sucked up?” Maria asked. “Damn, they should rename the island Vella Laswampy.”
Sam agreed. “Too dangerous to use the runway. Let’s find another option.”
After a two minute search, she spotted a patch of firm ground flanked on the left by a cluster of mangrove trees. A perfect barrier.
Once landing was completed, Sam yanked off her helmet and glanced at her copilot.
“How’s our fuel?”
“Good. We’re only down a quarter tank.” Maria removed her headgear, unbuckled her seat restraint and rose to her feet. “And if the invisibility shield holds up after you power down, we won’t have to camouflage ole Brad here while I make repairs.”
“Brad?” Sam held back a snicker, amusement momentarily relieving her anxiety.
“Yes,” Maria said, sliding her hand up the inside of the craft with long, loving strokes. “He’s capable and chalk full of surprises. Why, just look at his time-jump stunt.”
Sam’s insides re-knotted. Time-jump. Great. A reminder she didn’t need. Life had gotten bat-shit crazy.
She powered down, unhooked her belt and stood. “I’d better check if we’re still cloaked.”
“Okay.” Maria motioned toward the blackened hull. “I’ll get started on the repairs.”
Sam slammed the release button with the side of her fist and a door slowly lowered to form a ramp to the ground. A swift dose of apprehension and adrenaline rushed through her veins “Welcome to the South Pacific,” she muttered.
Grass and fleshy leaves swayed in the warm breeze while the heavy odor of mildew nearly knocked her backward. Gross. Covering her mouth and nose with her fingers she attempted to keep the putrid air from sticking to the back of her throat. Gramps had mentioned mold grew overnight on anything damp. How awful.
Glancing up, she noted sun and a beautiful blue horizon. All clear. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for her head. The South Pacific during World War II... Seriously? What the hell?
With an inward sigh, she closed her eyes and strained her ears, listening for the percussion of battle. Nothing. Studying her surroundings once more, she rubbed her temple. None of this was in the Test Pilot MOS manual.
Her mind somewhat in denial, she walked down the ramp onto solid earth and contemplated if she’d fallen asleep in front of the television again. Certainly would explain her crazy morning. She turned around, and with her gaze trained on the Phantombird, she backed up a few steps and blinked.
“Wow, Maria. This is unreal.”
“Can you see me?” The copilot’s voice carried in the breeze.
“No, only trees, vines, and shrubs. Incredible,” she said through the fingers still pressed to her face.
We did it!
Excitement momentarily stamped out her apprehension. Holy smokes. They actually did it. She and Maria were the first to go invisible.
And back to World War II.
“I told you Brad was full of surprises,” Maria stated.
Stretching her free hand out in front, Sam walked forward until her palm met smooth, warm metal. Wow. Just like science fiction. Her shoulders dropped. Only, this wasn’t a movie and no gorgeous, bald, muscle-bound hero would save the day. It was up to her.
“Well, I hope Brad has a surprise to take us back home.” Sam reentered the craft and shut the door. After a few deep, clean breaths, she realized her friend was staring with wide eyes.
“Of course he will. There’s no alternative. If this is 1943 like that voice said, then we don’t belong here. We could change people’s timelines…their very existence. If we interfere, people could vanish from our time. We could vanish.” A long curl broke free from Maria’s regulation barrette as her auburn head shook hard. “No. We must do whatever it takes to get back to our present without interacting with anyone here. Including your grandfather.”
Sam’s chin snapped up.
“Yes. I know you think the Shep on the radio is your grandfather, and the crazy thing is…I think you’re right. But that’s all the more reason to remain unnoticed.”
Sam’s chest tightened until breathing became painful. “I agree. We can’t stay, but neither can Captain Mitchell. He was supposed to die today.”
A deep V wrinkled Maria’s brow. A sight rarely seen on her good-natured friend.
“How do you know? Maybe that Zero was only supposed to hit him a few times.” Maria approached, dark eyes hopeful. “He could’ve outmaneuvered or—”
“No. On December 28th 1943 Captain Anthony Mitchell went down in a dogfight over the South Pacific,” Sam recited the aged statement word for word. “He was supposed to die today. My grandfather told me. In fact, I know when each and every Black Sheep died or went MIA.”
Maria closed her eyes and exhaled. “This isn’t good.”
“No. Not at all.” Sam rubbed her temples, wracking her brain once again for a solution.
Her friend’s eyes snapped open. “You have to kill him.”
And that wasn’t it.
“No.” She’d already had the perfect opportunity and was unable to pull the trigger.
“Yes,” Maria countered. “Look, you said it yourself, Sams. He doesn’t belong here now. His survival will change the course of history, and who knows what will happen.” Jamming her hands on her hips, her copilot frantically paced the ten-by-ten-foot cockpit.
Sam had never seen Maria so upset. Another first for the infallible Lieutenant.
With her dark gaze focused on the floor, the petite bombshell continued to ramble. “Maybe he does something to allow more terrorists to attack, or…or serial killers. Or a President’s assassination. No.” She stopped, strode straight back to Sam, and grabbed her upper arms. “We can’t let him live. If the captain was supposed to die today and we just screwed that up, then we have to make it right. We have to kill him.”
Chapter 2
Bile rose up Sam’s throat, souring her taste buds. “No!” She jerked out of Maria’s grasp and stumbled to the front of the craft to look out at the picturesque island—so calm, so tranquil.
So full of horrors.
“I can’t kill him, Maria. I won’t kill him.” Her gut clenched at the very thought. “He’s a hero. A Marine. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
God, she could never…
“Well, what are we going to do? We can’t let him change history.” Maria walked over, leaned back against the hull and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to kill him either. What other option do we have?”
“Wait.” Sam cocked her head and tapped her chin, a small niggle of an idea taking root in her brain. “Technically, the captain just needs to go MIA and be removed from this time.”
“Oh ho ho. Wait a minute. Hold on, girlfriend. What are you saying?” Maria dropped her hand and straightened, alarm darkening her already dark gaze. “You’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing…are you?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. You are! You’re going to kidnap that man and take him to the twenty-first century!”
Sam’s heart barrel-rolled in her chest. “Yes, heaven help me, I am. I won’t kill him, Maria. I just won’t. But you said it yourself; he can’t stay here. Don’t you see?” She lifted her hands with a shrug. “Abducting satisfies the criteria. He will no longer be here to meddle with the future. And he’ll still be MIA.”
Hearing the idea out loud gave it life. Credence. It had weight. Enough to make the option doable. Yes. Abduction makes the most sense.
“Won’t he meddle with our time?” Maria’s lone curl slowly bounced from side to side with her head shake. “No. No. I—I don’t think—”
“Then don’t.” Sam gently but firmly wrapped her finger
s around her friend’s slight shoulders. “I’ll take full responsibility. Leave this to me. You just worry about repairing Brad.”
Wry amusement replaced her copilot’s concern. “All right. You’re the captain, Captain. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Sam dropped her hands and closed her eyes. “So do I. So do I.”
“How exactly do you plan to lure him on to Brad?”
The strangeness of the question forced her eyes open. “I’m not sure.” She glanced around the craft. “There’s no way he’d come willingly. I’m going to have to knock him out.” Her gaze fell on their first aid kit. “A sedative should work nicely. We have some benzodiazepine.”
“Ah…yes, Captain Sheppard. I do believe you’re onto something.” Laughter vibrated in her friend’s tone as Maria opened a compartment in the wall and removed a tool kit. “You go scout out your prey, and I’ll stroke—I mean, work on Brad.”
Sam snickered. “Okay. Be gentle.”
“Of course. Like I’d be anything but.”
“Well…”
Maria’s hands shot up. “All right, all right. Sometimes he likes it rough.”
For the first time that morning, Sam laughed out loud. “Only Brad?”
“Okay, me too, but only with Brad.” Her copilot strode to the burnt out panel and glanced back over her shoulder. “Don’t you have a hero to capture?”
Sam’s short-lived glee evaporated. “Yes. I’m going to scout the area, determine who’s around, dissect any complications and form a plan.”
“Roger that.” Maria removed the blackened plate and peered inside. Her attention shifted to the Phantombird. “Don’t be long. The damage looks minimal here. The outer hull’s already repaired itself.”
“Good.” At least something went right. “Toss out any bullets if they’re lodged in Brad. We can’t take them with us.”
“Will do.” Maria’s expression softened as she patted the craft. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll have you fixed in no time.”
Sam lifted her chin and scowled at the aircraft. You’d better fix our time-shift problem, Brad.
Oh man. She swallowed a curse. I’m holding a one-sided telepathic conversation with my plane. Lovely. She pivoted on her heel, promising to cut down on the sci-fi. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to check on you and grab the sedative.”
“Roger that,” Maria replied again. “Oh, hey, if you cross paths with a little green creature who claims to be a master—you should listen to his advice.”
Despite the desperation of their situation, Sam left the Phantombird with a pair of binoculars and a smile on her face. Leave it to Maria to crack jokes. If she had to be stuck in 1943, thank goodness it was with her best friend.
Sam stopped dead. What if they couldn’t get back? She had no idea how they ended up here in the first place. Technically, time-shifting wasn’t possible. Sam’s degree in aeronautical engineering had taught her as much. The world’s technology was decades…centuries away from accomplishing time travel.
Too bad there wasn’t technology here to eliminate the stench. Cripes. It was worse than a dumpster of rotting food in mid July.
Hand once again over her nose and mouth, she avoided the mud and followed the tree line in the direction of the airstrip. Vines, creepers, and climbing palms matted together in flying formation up massive trunks. Perfect dinosaur timeshare. She smirked. Thankfully, the Phantombird hadn’t jumped to the Jurassic era.
But they had jumped, and she’d already ruled technology out as a culprit. Her attention turned to fate.
Destiny had its own agenda and played by its own rules, a fact Sam discovered during her missions over Iraq. She learned not to question why the plane next to her, in front of her or to her right was shot down while her craft never suffered a scratch. At the time, she’d assumed gramps had spearheaded her luck.
Her fingers absently stroked the area of her missing patch. Where did that leave her now? Edward Sheppard Sr. was alive and wearing the patch; making the history he would later recite to a captivated little girl. Her steps faltered.
Did he need help? Was her grandfather the reason they shifted?
None of his stories had ever mentioned a visit from a strange woman. No. The motive for her presence remained a mystery.
Yet one thing became exceptionally clear, and her Marine mind grabbed hold like a starving bulldog. Captain Anthony Mitchell had to disappear before the rest of the Black Sheep returned.
Determination fueling her steps, she raced toward her prey. Sam would face whatever destiny had in store. If she was the reason Captain Mitchell had gone MIA, so be it. He was going MIA.
Her gaze darted from tree to leaf to tree. Lizards rustled the carpet of leaves, while cries from parakeets and parrots kept time with shrill bursts from unknown insects. She couldn’t remember what kind of bugs her grandfather had mentioned inhabited the island. Only his remark about plenty of spiders.
“I hate spiders,” she grumbled, side-stepping her third web. “Where the hell is camp?”
One hand gripping her stomach and the other clutching her face, she smothered a cry of relief when a cluster of tents loomed less than two hundred yards ahead. Finally. She’d started to hear the cruel laughter of fate.
With thick vegetation as cover, Sam forced herself to overcome the stink and dropped her hand to pull out her binoculars. Sweat gathered at her temples and between her hunched shoulder blades. Damn, felt like a space heater, even in the damp shade.
She adjusted the lens. Nothing moved in the tents or the buildings. Everyone must be up in the sky, she mused and transferred her gaze toward the commotion on the runway.
Several men surrounded the damaged Corsair. Envy fluttered through her stomach. What she wouldn’t give to touch the sleek metal, sit in the cockpit…
Her heartbeats increased with each thought. The plane was the real deal, not refurbished. Oversized propeller, bent wing, the beauty could out-climb, out-fly, and if need be, outrun any propeller driven enemy.
So close, and yet so far.
Her military issued binoculars creaked under her vice-like grip. She shifted her attention to the four men surrounding the aircraft.
The group stood back, her grandfather’s beloved musings sorted them out. Three wore the green uniform of a mechanic while one donned pilot tan, without the standard issued yellow life vest around his neck. The captain?
She leaned against a tree and refocused her binoculars until she could read the names on the men’s uniforms. Hebda. Rinus. Gadomski. Mitchell.
Bingo.
Her pulse leapt. She’d found her sheep.
The man towered over the other three. Sam noted broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs. No wonder she failed to find tall, dark, and handsome in her time…he existed in the past.
Full, kissable lips thinned in agitation while a strong, unshaven jaw clenched and tanned skin tightened over high cheekbones. A second later, large hands vaulted straight into the air.
She smiled.
He’s a Marine, all right.
Undoubtedly eager to get back to the action. Grounded while your squadron fought was the ultimate low. Her mind recalled a stint in Afghanistan. She rubbed the material covering the small scar on her right shoulder. She wouldn’t wish grounding on any pilot.
The captain ripped off his goggled flight helmet and appeared ready to toss the cap to the ground, but instead, he held tight and thrust his other hand through the thick, dark hair on his head. Sam swallowed. Even from this distance, she discerned muscles rippling his impressive forearm. Captain Mitchell was a well-built, well-trained tiger ready to pounce.
Shivers raced down her spine, momentarily cooling her skin. She stood, grateful to be out of his line of fire. Instinct insisted he’d be one dangerous foe.
As if sensing an audience, Mitchell stopped his tirade and twisted in her direction. Damn. He’s good. She ceased breathing and hunkered further into the shadows, not even daring to blink.
A few seconds later, he shrugged and turned back to the other three men working on the Corsair. Sam exhaled and slumped against the tree. That was close. Too close.
Still eying the captain and the way lean thigh muscles moved with a tight ass, Sam concluded his back was as remarkable as his front.
Desire heated her limbs and throbbed through her core. Talk about potent. She closed her eyes in an attempt to regain equilibrium. An image of glorious naked abs contracting while her thighs wrapped around lean hips as he thrust deeper and deeper inside flashed through Sam’s mind.
Her eyes snapped open. Holy Marines. The vision was vivid, too vivid. Like a memory. But how? Jagged bark bit into her palm as she gripped the tree in an effort to will strength back to her legs. The oppressive South Pacific heat wasn’t to blame for the moisture pooling around her inner thighs.
“I’ve officially crossed into Sickville. I’m lusting after my grandfather’s friend,” she told the lizard clinging to the tree near her head. “His very hot, gorgeous friend.”
NASA shrinks would have a field day with that one.
Desperate for a distraction, she turned her attention to the fenced off compound in the distance. Barbed wire. A prison camp? Several uniformed women came out of one building and walked to another. Sam sucked in a breath and fought back a cough.
The Women’s Army Corps.
Although the WACS weren’t stationed on Vella Lavella, her grandfather had said they’d accompany higher ups that came through from time to time. Her gaze fell to their heavy clothes. Cold weather uniforms. Unrestrained waves of frustration swam in her veins. Gramps had been right. The conditions were horrid, especially for the women.
The snapping of twigs sounded from behind—a second before charged tingles assaulted the back of her neck. Sam stilled. She was no longer alone.
Cold steel pressed unmercifully into her skull, the click of the hammer vibrating through her head before a familiar, deep voice sliced the oppressive air.
“Move and you’re dead.”
Chapter 3
Move and I’m dead?
Adrenaline overtook fear as Sam’s training kicked in. Her rapid heartbeats slowed to barely pumping. She recognized the voice. The Marine was on the offensive. Thanks to her.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 207
