The Preserver & Protector 2: Destiny Reclaimed

Jack landed hard on a seat cushion with little give. Opening his eyes, he darted his gaze around, quickly realizing, he was sandwiched in the tight-fitting cockpit of a British Spitfire aircraft. The propeller spinning in front of him spun nearly as fast as his pulse pounded. His hands tightened on the controls. How in the hell had he come to be flying a Spitfire? A model of aircraft that flew its last mission for the Royal Air Force in 1954. He'd flown many kinds of planes during his brief employment for an airline before he’d shipped off to Vietnam, but never a Spitfire. He’d only ever read about these planes, never even saw one in person.

A little thrill sparked clear through to his nerve endings. The mighty Spitfire had always intrigued him. Now, here he sat, a dream come true, with the power of the Spitfire at his fingertips.

Glancing left, then right, he took notice of the two aircraft of the same model that flanked him. With as thrilling as this was, a bit of apprehension ruined his excitement. Where in the devil was he headed? Figuring that out quickly would be a good idea since he was in the lead. Maybe it would be wise to pull back a bit to see where the others take him.

So, this was how it happened. The last thing he remembered was preparing to propose to his love, and now he piloted a Spitfire? A traveler would just get plucked out of his world and dropped into another with no notice. His father had warned him that he'd someday begin carrying out his role as a time travel Preserver, but they hadn't got into all the nitty-gritty details before he’d left for Vietnam. Though his father was the most honest and forthright person he knew, a small part of him still thought the reality of Preservers and Protectors was a bit of a stretch. But now, after finding himself in the cockpit of a Spitfire, and witnessing that episode with Blake and Ariel, he was a firm believer and wished he’d asked his father more questions.

Even though war was familiar to him, too familiar, his nerves still rattled at the thought of the unknown. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he swallowed hard. One thing he knew for certain, was that as a Preserver, he was tasked with upholding history, including safeguarding his family’s decorated military service. From his thieving relatives, in particular. That much, his father had explained thoroughly. Judging by the fact he was in a Spitfire, he assumed he’d been summoned to protect his dad who served as a medic in WWII. His father had been credited with saving many lives on Omaha Beach. The years of service of both his father and the Spitfire supported his assumption.

Jack couldn’t be prouder of his father’s service. An ambulance driver in WWI, a medic in WWII, and a surgeon in Korea. The man was one of the few who were of the right age and skillset to serve in all three wars.

Now, he needed to figure out what his purpose was today, and more importantly, what day this actually was? Other than the Germans, who would be his nemesis? Would it be Lewis Dupont, his father's distant cousin? A guy the same age as his dad and who'd also served in the Army in WWI, WWII, and Korea as well. On second thought, Jack surmised it wouldn’t be Lewis, but the man’s son instead, the Dupont descendent who was his age. That would make more sense, Arthur traveling back to WWII to try to steal Jack’s dad’s heroism for his own father, Lewis.

Jack knew Arthur fought in Vietnam as well, but he hadn’t heard of the man’s wellbeing since the day he’d left home.

Thinking back, Jack recalled that Lewis had landed on Utah Beach. Lucky for Lewis, Utah Beach hadn't seen near the number of casualties Omaha Beach had. The currents had forced those US troops more than a mile off target into a less enemy-protected area. Lewis hadn't been injured in WWII. The man’s troubles didn't start until Korea.

The aircraft to the left of him pulled left, Jack followed. Between the silent radio and the low altitude in which they flew, at this point, he could only assume he flew a ferrying operation with women.

He recalled the stories he’d read about the women of the Air Transport Auxiliary. In his mind, these women were true war heroes. They’d been taught quickly to fly and without the use of instruments. And, it wasn’t until after D-Day they were taught how to use radios. With that thought, and still no radio chatter, he confirmed he was among the great company of these female pilots—heroes.

These ladies answered the call to ferry fighter planes from the factory to the Royal Air Force fields in order to free up the military pilots for fighting missions. Still, they faced danger, injury, and even death.

Though only Spitfire planes were in his view, he knew the flying experience of these ladies was of a wide range. On any given day, ferrying operations could have them flying Hurricanes, Wellingtons, Tempests, Barracudas, Harvards, Lancasters, and the ever-famous Spitfires without radios or navigation aids. They flew blind with only maps and a compass.

Jack peered through the clouds beneath him, the ground not so far away, then he pulled up a bit. A wonderful sensation seeped through him. It was as if the aircraft was an extension of him. The plane felt like power in the sky and almost flew itself. He'd read stories of what it was like to fly a Spitfire, but none of them did it justice.

Up ahead he zeroed in on a small grass airfield. Within seconds the plane in front of him touched the ground. He followed suit, not quite sure what he would say or do when the others realized he was a man, rather than a female ferrying pilot.

He touched down, then the third plane did as well. With the others, he taxied toward a large stone building. They all stopped just short of the structure. Several soldiers rushed toward them as one barked orders.

Jack slipped out of the cockpit and into the group of men without notice since they were focused on the warbirds. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched two tiny-framed women simply walk away from the crowd. The ferrying pilots of the planes he'd flown with…but why weren't they looking for their third wing?

"Go, go, go! Load 'em up," one of the men hollered as the others scurried around the three newly delivered Spitfires. The man’s British accent was thick.

“Wait, not yet! Shut up, I can’t think!” someone in the crowd of men yelled. Odd, no accent. American?

The voices silenced at the command. Jack forced his gaze to follow those of the other soldiers until it landed on a stocky man with an unusually large head and long thin nose. His beefy hand was raised in the air. He lowered it placing to his ear as he lifted his other hand to cup his opposite ear. The man’s eyes went wide and focused forward at nobody in particular. “Dammit, Evan. Just deal with it. I’ve got my own problems. You need to…” the man’s words halted and his penetrating gaze cut through the crowd. Jack’s face burned from the heat of the big man’s pointed glare. The guy’s irises glowed red.

Jack’s pulse pounded. It had been a while since he’d seen his relative, but it was definitely Arthur Dupont standing amid the men. But, who was this, Evan, he talked to? Jack darted his gaze among the crowd. Not one person in the group acknowledged the odd man as if they were Evan~.~

“What in the hell? Who are you talking to?” a British soldier asked.

Arthur’s piercing gaze didn’t waver and intensified, warming the air around them, temperature rising with each passing second.

Jack took two steps toward Arthur before a dark cloud encircled his relative, spun him around, and whisked him out of sight. Within two beats, the scorching air swirled tightly around him at a speed so fast it pulled him from the ground. Confusion spiraled through him. Why was he being removed from this airfield and where was he going? From what little he'd learned from his father about time travel, he thought travel was to be to a specific point and time at the call of the time travel Modifier—relative who sought to change history. Had Arthur traveled to the wrong place; thereby, summoning him to an incorrect location? Thinking about Arthur’s strange one-sided conversation with someone named Evan, was there more to this alteration than met the eye? Did this Evan need help with something? Or, was it that this extra jump was purely a diversion to throw him off course?

The funnel cloud spun him so quickly his head snapped back and forth, and he blacked out.

When Jack regained consciousness, he darted his gaze to the left, then right, then returned it forward. The overcast sky was peppered with planes. He lowered his gaze slightly to skim it over the controls surrounding him, then he glimpsed the control stick in his hand. An American P51 Mustang.

He flew low as he stared out the tiny windshield. Not at all the size he was used to as compared to the windshield of the Huey helicopter he piloted. Between the narrow seat, and rounded hood latched around him, he felt constricted, but he found some comfort in the amount of generous vision the clear dome provided for over his shoulders.

The war planes flanking him fired forward, fast and hard. He fixed his gaze on their line of fire. It appeared the targets were roads—thoroughfares.

The massive penetration of aircraft in the hazy sky reminded him of a D-Day documentary he’d watched repeatedly. Over his right shoulder, he caught a glimpse of beach through the thick, artillery smoke. Landing craft narrowed in on the sand. Large Navy ships dotted the surface of the water. The English Channel. But which of the five beaches was it? It had to be Omaha. The very beach his father landed on on June 6, 1944. There’d be no reason for him to be sent to any other.

Dad. Jack swallowed hard. His heart raced. He needed to be double careful today. Surely, the Gods sent him back in time to this very moment for a reason—to preserve history. He had to do everything he could to protect his father who'd save countless lives that day. Not only did he have to fight American enemies, but he also presumed he had to fight his history-thieving relatives—Arthur as well.

Jack’s aircraft jolted and dipped. Among the popcorn sound of the firing shells, the engine sputtered. Not good. He tried to pull up, but the aircraft wouldn't cooperate. Jack whipped his head around and caught sight of a trail of black smoke behind him.

Adrenaline shot through his veins. He was going down and needed to get over friendly territory. Now.

While working to keep the nose of his rapidly descending plane up, the best he could hope for was a water landing.

Almost there, but it would be close. Already, he was doing everything possible to keep the aircraft from hitting the troops landing on the beach. Once he passed over the shore, he released a relieved breath. Then another when he cleared the landing craft by the narrowest of margin. He'd hardly slipped between two large Navy ships when the belly of his plane skimmed over the water and bounced up then down, hitting the water hard, thrusting him forward, then back, and forward again. Waves spewed over the canopy. When the plane halted, his body slammed back against the hard, unforgiving seat. His lungs constricted. He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air.

He blinked rapidly to clear his scrambled vision while still laboring to fill his burning lungs. Once he regained his sight, he focused ahead. The weight-heavy nose of his plane dipped under the surface. The crashing waves caused the aircraft to bounce and then sink farther into the water.

Gathering his wits about him, he worked to release his aching fingers from the control stick then scrambled to find the emergency release handle for the canopy. Think, where is it? His breaths came quicker as he ran his shaky digits over several instruments and levers before the covering flew open. Salty air stung his nostrils but was refreshing in his relief nonetheless.

Once he was able to stiffen his jelly-filled knees, he slipped out of the cockpit and fought to gain footing on the slippery wing. Gripping the windshield, he tried to steady himself as he glanced around. The rolling waves made it even more difficult.

He spun slowly in a circle, hoping to spot a patrol boat while he struggled to maintain his balance. There was one off in the distance, nearing a smoking aircraft, just one of many to tend to. He waved his arms over his head as waves rolled up the wing and licked at his feet while the plane sunk farther into the salty confines of the English Channel. Water poured into the cockpit submerging the plane faster. He yanked the cords of his life vest which was part of the standard pilot WWII uniform he wore. Inside a few seconds, he bobbed in the water as the tail of the aircraft disappeared.

The large Navy ship he passed over before skidding his plane across the water's surface wasn’t far. Landing craft moved between the ship and the shore, bringing soldiers to the beach and returning wounded to the ship.

Artillery fire rumbled in his ear drums even as waves bowled over him, filling his ears with water. Steadfastly, he swam toward the shore with two missions in mind. One, locate his father to watch over him to ensure history be preserved, and two, get his butt into another aircraft to help fight this battle.

Thank goodness for the floatation device—not being the strongest of swimmers, he needed it. Still, he had to stop and rest a moment.

“I know you are tired but you need to hurry,” a soft, feminine voice whispered among the artillery reverberating in his ears.

"Who's there?" Jack paddled his arms in a circle, scanning the surface of the water to find the person who’d spoken.

Was there another pilot in the water? He supposed there could be, yet the voice didn’t match that of a soldier. His heart rose into his throat. Could it be that one of those female ferrying pilots somehow got caught up in this mess?

“Your dad’s on shore.”

The voice—definitely a woman’s.

“He’s in danger, and you know as well as I, he needs to survive this war to fight another,” the soft voice chimed.

His medic father needed to live on to serve his destiny in Korea as a doctor. The very surgeon who, to his credit, saved several high-ranking officials.

Jack focused on the shore where soldiers launched themselves off of landing crafts, doing their best to find cover as they hit the beach. He swallowed hard at the sight of the number of soldiers falling to their deaths in the sand, salty waters crashing over their lifeless bodies. They never stood a chance.

If his father was on the beach, then that is where he needed to be despite the danger.

Strong currents helped to push him in the direction of the coastline. It was as if the Gods themselves strapped a rope to his floatation device and pulled him to where he needed to be.

As the shoreline grew closer, the water grew bloodier.

Focusing ahead, he fixed his gaze on a burned-out tank midway between the water's edge and the bluff. Under cover of the tank, a medic tended to the wounded. Could that be his father?

"That's him. Your dad." The feminine voice he'd heard before had returned.

Adrenaline rushed his veins. How did she know that? Truth, be told, between the hazy air and the distance between him and the men carrying the stretchers, Jack couldn't make out his father's face but from the prideful sensation filling his heart he knew it was him.

He kept his gaze focused on his dad. Just a tad more than waist-deep in the English Channel now, Jack worked to steady himself on his feet.

"We need to get to him. Protect him. Preserve history."

Needing to know who spoke and how she knew of his father, Jack risked a glance to his left. A tiny-framed soldier wobbled chest-deep in the waves. He reached out to steady the soldier—woman. A sensation of relief and security seeped into his skin. Could this woman be his Protector? That was the only reasonable explanation for her to be here next to him, and know of his father. But how could this tiny female with such a soft voice, be a Protector?

"We need to move. He's here." Urgency laced her ocean blue gaze.

The woman gasped and placed her hand over her heart. Her ivory skin turned pasty white.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Her eyes widened as she refocused on him. The instant his gaze latched onto hers, a dark, eerie sensation gripped his spine. He tightened his hand on her arm suddenly needing to be steadied, too.

"The force is beyond formidable.”

He nodded.

"I've never felt it so strong," she said as she closed her eyes. Her chest rose with the deep breath she took. Her bicep tightened under his grip.

She gulped an audible breath. "There's two. I don't know how. I've never encountered this before, but two of your distant cousins are here."

Jack's chest squeezed. Apprehension coiled in the pit of his stomach. Dread saturated every cell of his being. Could this get any worse? From what little his father had told him about being a time travel Preserver and fighting their relatives, he'd never made mention of fighting two at once. Now here he stood, amid D-Day, in his first-time travel Preserver experience, and he had to figure out how to ward off two evil souls on a mission to steal his family's decorated military history, not caring of the collateral consequences. How many other lives would be affected if his thieving relatives succeeded today? What would happen to the people his father had saved? What about their families?

The woman opened her eyes. "Arthur Dupont and his son Evan are both here." Her head turned toward the beach, and she sucked in a quick breath. "And, my granddaughter, Ariel."

How on earth did she know that? The lady didn't look old enough to have a granddaughter, let alone of the age to be on this beach. But, the part about Arthur and his son, Evan, being here made complete sense to him after what he’d witnessed at the airfield. Still, two? What was going on here, today?

The next boom of artillery shot him back into focus on his father. He released his Protector's arm, shed his life vest, and headed for the shore. Ducking and weaving to dodge bullets and submerged mines as he narrowed in on the shore. The pop…pop…pop…of weapons echoed around him among the roar of larger artillery. His hands were empty, he was defenseless.

He ran toward his dad. About halfway to him, he threw himself behind the cover of a dead soldier leaned up against a small sand mound. It was almost as if the man simply sat there staring out over the ships and landing craft in the English Channel.

His tiny Protector concealed herself behind the fallen troop as well, then she reached out and pulled a weapon from a nearby deceased soldier. Jack lifted the rifle from the soldier in which they took cover.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed his father was no longer under the protection of the burned-out tank. Where is he?

He raked his gaze over the hazy beach. Among all the chaos, two red dots pierced through the layer of smoke. Jack squinted. In that instant, all artillery noise ceased. Total silence as if the entire world had stopped. His Protector's hand gripped his forearm. She must have noticed the silence, too, but he kept his gaze locked on the two red dots that had zoned in on him. Arthur? A growl thundered in the air. The kind one could imagine would come from a feral Tom-cat the size of a destroyer. A bone-chilling sensation snaked up his spine. The woman's grip tightened on his arm as she said something he couldn't make out. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze from the red dots.

The smoke dissipated and Arthur came in to clear focus.

“It’s Arthur,” the woman whispered.

“Yes.”

For a moment, it was as if his distant cousin was the only soldier in a twenty-five-foot radius. The man stared at him as his lip curled up. The red hue emitting from his eyes, brightened as another feral growl escaped his lips. The hair on Jack's arms stood. Arthur's lips tipped up at the corners, and he forced a deep chuckle. The evil kind. The kind that once heard gives a person nightmares for years.

The husky guy spun and took off toward the burned-out tank. Jack sprang to his feet. Come hell or high water, he would not let his cousin get to his father. He didn't have to look behind him to know his Protector was on his heels. He could feel her presence.

His cousin lifted his weapon and aimed ahead. Jack's gaze followed the line of sight of the barrel, and his heart slammed in his chest. Even through all the chaos, it was easy to see his dad was the target. Arthur was simply going to shoot his father dead, right here on Omaha Beach, forever changing history. But then how would he steal their decorated military service? The guy wasn't a doctor or even a medic. It's not like he could step in and take over for his father.

But right now, it didn't matter. He willed his legs to go faster.

Arthur fired off some rounds as Jack hurled himself into the wretched man. Jack landed hard on his distant cousin, pinning him between his body and the sand. Arthur gasped. What possibly could the other soldiers be thinking of this sight? Out of his peripheral vision, he could see other troops scrambling about. Artillery rang out as if nothing had stopped in this alternate world in which he lived.

"I got this, go to your dad. Make sure he is okay. Preserve history. And remember, Evan is still here somewhere," his Protector's voice sounded in all the chaos as she pulled at him, attempting to separate him from his cousin.

Arthur bit him hard on his forearm. The maneuver caused Jack to pull back, and at that moment his Protector slipped in, her knee pinning one of the guy's arms to the sand as she cold-cocked him with the butt of her weapon. The man’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. How long he'd be out, Jack didn't know, but taking the opportunity, he sprang up and scanned his gaze over the area looking for his father.

His heart hammered in his chest at the sight of him lying in a heap about twenty feet or so from the burned-out tank.

Then, in less than two beats, his dad pushed himself onto all fours, stood, and ran back to the cover of the tank as Jack reached it from the opposite side. Relieved his dad was okay.

His father’s chest heaved as he stretched and pushed the palm of his left hand to his lower back then moved it to his line of sight and eyed the small amount of blood on his palm.

Jack leaped closer to him. "Are you okay?"

His dad focused on him. The familiar dark, almost black, gaze studied him intently.

His father’s brows knit. "Do I know you?"

"No sir," Jack quickly replied. The question didn't surprise him at all, nor did his quizzical look. There was no doubt they resembled one another. Today though, in his father's time, he would be six years old, not almost thirty.

Another soldier appeared under the cover of the tank. The man panted as he stood between him and his dad.

A lightning bolt of pain zipped through Jack's left eye. The very eye he'd injured in Vietnam which was now fully healed, so why the jolt of pain. Squinting, he refocused on the soldier. Sure as the war going on around him, this was the same guy who'd occupied the mobile unit hospital bed next to him when he was injured in Vietnam. The same guy who'd helped him fly the chopper to safety. Those dark, deep-set eyes were unforgettable since they were the same eyes he stared into every time he looked into a mirror.

The way his father stared at the man, the exact same stare he'd received from him seconds earlier, told him his dad was of like mind. This soldier was familiar, a relative—a Preserver. Seeing his father was the one in which he was sent to preserve his story in this instance, did he know of Preservers and Protectors yet, or was he just a non-informed soldier at war at this point?

"Sir, are you okay?" the familiar soldier asked.

His father rubbed his bloody hand over his pant leg.

"Yes, I'm fine," his dad replied, looking beyond the man. "There are so many wounded. We need to work faster."

A tiny soldier and a medic appeared. One yanked his dad's shirt up as the other pressed a gauze to the wound. Then, they quickly ran tape around his torso, putting pressure on the wound.

Now that he got a better look at him—her—Jack recognized the bright, ocean blue eyes and tiny features. Golden tendrils of hair slipped out from under her helmet.

The tiny soldier's gaze latched onto the man next to him. The air sizzled between the two. He knew that expression. It was the same look he shared with Gwennie, and the same expression he remembered being exchanged between the nurse and the guy in the bed next to his in Vietnam. Though astonished, he knew it was the same couple brought here by design as well.

His father pointed at him. "You two." He moved his finger to a soldier lying on a stretcher in the sand abutting the tank. "Get that man on a landing craft."

Unaware there was a soldier next to him until his dad pointed it out, Jack glanced to his right to find his Protector at his side. The intensity of her gaze focused around him caused him to follow it.

She stared at the tiny female soldier who was the spitting image of her.

The blood stilled in his veins. Was this woman a descendant of his Protector? The female he came ashore with had mentioned her granddaughter was here. Could two Protectors from the same lineage be in the same place at the same time?

He had no idea of all the Preserver and Protector rules. He remembered during the short conversations he'd had with his father as he began to prepare him for his role that he’d mentioned the few rules of engagement he knew. He also said that sometimes the rules change, and unfortunately, there was no actual rulebook he was aware of. At one time, he'd begun to write the rules down in a small leather-bound notebook, but it went up in flames while in his hand burning his skin and leaving a black burn mark on the floor where he'd dropped it. Nothing was secret from the Gods nor the Devil himself, the major players in this game. The Gods, with the use of their Preservers, worked to preserve history, and the Devil, with the use of his relentless troops, worked to change history. A never-ending battle.

Jack and his Protector lifted a wounded soldier as his dad ordered the other tiny soldier and her partner to carry another wounded troop, while the soldier bearing the same eyes tended to a third. He and his partner made their way to the vessels traveling between the ships and beach to unload troops and pick up wounded.

Focusing ahead, Jack waded through shallow waters toward a landing craft. Waves crashed against him, causing him to wobble. Salty water splashed into his eyes, blinding him until he was able to blink his vision clear. He tightened his hands around the handles of the stretcher and took a second to regain his footing all the while silently praying not to trip a mine along the way.

With a glance over his shoulder, he noticed his father and the other team were headed to a different landing craft. He had assumed they'd follow him as he paved the way around obstacles and mines.

Once the last soldier jumped off the swaying vessel in front of him, Jack hustled forward, and he and his Protector loaded the injured man aboard, then he turned to see how his father fared loading his troop onto the next vessel over. The tiny soldier and her partner lifted their wounded man onto the boat, then she spun back around toward the shore. Even among the hazy air, the frantic look on her face was clear. She yelled something to his dad, but Jack couldn't make it out among the continuous thunder of artillery. Fighting the waves, she hurried toward his father. Something wasn't right.

He hustled in their direction, watching the tiny soldier take the stretcher handles from his dad. What in the heck was going on? He narrowed in on them but still couldn’t hear what they said. His heart leaped into his throat when he saw his father still, then fall back into the water.

Jack lunged forward and grabbed hold of him.

"Evan's the helmsman on this landing craft!" the female soldier yelled.

Jack focused on the man driving the vessel. Evan Dupont. The resemblance to Arthur was uncanny. It was like they were identical twins, rather than father and son.

Evan's lip curled up the same way he'd seen Arthur do as he aimed a weapon at his dad. Then, the gate on the landing craft started to rise. The evil laugh escaping Evan’s mouth made Jack's blood to boil. So, this is how he would do it—change history, his relative would simply let his father die in the salty waters of the English Channel. That still wouldn't garner the Duponts a decorated military history, but it would prevent the Cornelis’ from having one following the First World War.

There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen. His father had served admirably in three wars—saved so many. Touched so many lives he couldn’t imagine what would happen to all those people and families if history was altered. And what about the lives—families those people touched?

With all his strength, Jack lifted his father toward the tiny soldier and the man she worked with who'd leaped onto the landing craft before the gate closed, and reached out to him. As they struggled to pull his dad onto the boat, Evan grabbed the male soldier, attempting to break the man's hold. He and his Protector pushed more adamantly. The soldiers on the vessel pulled with vigilance, Evan tugged harder. Good God, they were going to hurt—kill his father in the process. A close explosion shook the boat sending the soldiers on the vessel to fall backward with such force they pulled his father along with them. He could no longer see them. Debris pinged off the metal frame of the landing craft and pelted his body as it landed in the water.

His Protector reached out and grabbed his hand, her other was gripped to a rung on the side of the boat. She pulled him toward her, and he latched onto the vessel as well, then he hauled himself up using whatever he could find to grab onto on the side of the boat.

As Jack reached the top of the wall, he saw the soldier with similar eyes to his take over the controls. Evan sat on the floor with his back pressed against the side of the boat. A large piece of shrapnel protruded out of his bicep. The pained grimace on the evil man's face let him know he wasn't going to be a problem at present.

Jack ducked back down to tell his Protector what he'd seen. Keeping his grip tight as to not get tossed off the bouncing vessel.

She sighed. "That's great, but we're not finished here yet. If we were, the Gods would have whisked us away. Arthur must still be on the move."

Where was Evan's father? Was he still on the beach? Would he still be causing havoc?

He nodded in acknowledgment, then looked away from her toward the large navy ship they neared. He breathed a sigh of relief. His dad was close to receiving medical attention.

A jolt of pain zipped through his earlobe, and he pulled his head away from her.

"Sorry. I was just inspecting the damage," she said as she lowered her arm and glanced at the blood on her fingertips before refastening her hand to a protruding piece of metal on the side of the vessel.

"Huh?"

"Your ear is pretty sliced up. Your lobe is hanging on by a thread. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yeah, I guess. It must have happened when I crash-landed. A piece of the plane's canopy splintered off. Probably hit me along the way."

"This is your ticket into the ship's hospital to keep watch over your father."

"And what about you?"

"I'll never be far from you."

He popped back up to take a peek over the ledge to ensure Evan was still on the floor. He returned his gaze to the Navy ship and then back to his Protector. "Almost there."

She nodded.

Noticing her white knuckles as she continued to grip the small metal loop on the side of the landing craft he asked, “You all right yet. You going to be able to keep hanging on?"

"Yes."

It wasn't only her hands that worried him. She had a bizarre look on her face—puzzled and worried.

It occurred to him that in all they'd been through in a short period of time, he didn't know her name. He should at least know it considering she'd saved his ass when he fought with Arthur and continued to risk her life to help get his dad on this landing craft.

"What's your name?"

Tilting her head up, she fixed her ocean blue gaze on him and pulled her full lips into a soft smile. "Gabriela, and I'm pleased to meet you."

The vessel halted abruptly next to the large Navy ship, knocking her hold loose, but Jack snatched her arm, pulled her back up, then shoved her up to climb over the ledge of the landing craft.

A fairly easy maneuver now that the vessel wasn’t rocking and rolling with the crashing waves. He’d thought about climbing over the side when they were en route but he didn’t want to risk falling off and losing proximity to his father. He followed her over the side.

The stunned look on the faces of both the tiny soldier and the man at the helm didn't surprise him. Of course, it would be shocking for two troops to hurl themselves over the side of the landing craft.

Gabriela and other small woman stared at each other. Same bright blue eyes, delicate features, porcelain skin tone. It was as if they were twins.

Evan's wicked growl broke Jack from his stare. He offered a hard-eyed scowl as he bypassed him to rush over to his father whose shallow breaths and unresponsiveness scared him. He and the man who'd been at the helm lifted his dad and passed him off to the men waiting on the Navy ship.

Once on the ship, both his father and Evan were carried to the infirmary. He and the helmsman followed with the ladies in tow. A cloud of silence surrounded the four of them. With every glance over his shoulder, he caught Gabriela and the other female soldier exchanging odd glances. When not looking at them, his gaze drew to the man who held his traits. He had to be some sort of relative as well. Another Preserver, Jack presumed. Were they allowed to ask each other? One of the things his father had mentioned when he informed him of his role as a Preserver, was that though there was no rule book, the one thing they—Preservers knew for sure, was that secrecy was required. The opposite was punishable by the Gods. Remembering that, he decided he wouldn't ask any questions of the two, but he'd observe them as much as possible.

Jack watched his dad float in and out of consciousness as the surgeon assessed his wound.

"Is he going to be okay," the helmsman asked breaking the uncomfortable silence.

The physician nodded. "It doesn't look too bad. Looks like Doc got lucky. We'll get him patched up."

The surgeon and an aid wasted no time wheeling his father into the surgical room.

Jack moved his gaze two cots down where Evan grimaced in pain as a different doctor inspected the large, bloody gash in his bicep.

Was it awful he didn't care the evil would-be thief lie in pain? Truly, he didn't give two shits about what would happen to his distant cousin. Preserving history was the priority. The guilt sifting through him on account of his not caring about Evan’s wellbeing was unwanted but made him feel more uncomfortable.

He shifted his gaze to the nurse who tugged the pack off the other Preserver's back then his shirt.

She eyed the man's injury. Her brows knit. "Is this a stab wound?"

The soldier hesitated briefly before replying, "Yes…it's a long story."

She opened her mouth to speak but then pinched her lips together. Then, she dabbed some copper-colored liquid onto a large piece of gauze and pressed it to the guy's wound. He winced and jerked slightly in one motion, then stilled and let her clean and stitch the cut.

Her focus shifted briefly to him. "Have a seat. You're next."

Jack took a seat on a cot, then glanced around the room. Without notice, his Protector had disappeared along with the other female. Did that mean their work here was finished? Were Arthur and Evan no longer a threat to history? If so, at what point would he travel back to the future—to his reality—1967? So many unanswered questions. The second he returned home, he'd talk to his father some more about this and the rules of engagement.

When the nurse finished stitching up the other soldier, she turned her attention to him. She leaned close to inspect the damage. She smelled of alcohol. Until this moment, he'd only noticed the oily ship scent.

"That's an unusual tear. It's hanging on by a thread. I'll try stitching it but…well, we'll just try attaching it."

He braced for pain as she lowered her fingertips to his ear. By the time she reached the lobe, he felt nothing and she hadn't even numbed it. That probably wasn’t a good sign. Was the tissue dead? Would he eventually lose the lobe? Just another battle scar to add to the list, but one well worth it if it preserved his family's military history.

The guy in the next bed rose and walked out of the room without so much as a glance back. Did he not see the resemblance they shared? It was uncanny to him, yet it didn't appear so to the other man. They say everyone has a twin, maybe this was just coincidental.

"Karen!" a voice yelled from the surgical area.

The nurse caught his gaze at him. "Sit tight. I'll be back when I can."

He nodded in response. His earlobe could certainly wait. Especially if she was being summoned to help with his father.

Moments later, Gabriela returned. The bounce in her step and the glint in her ocean-blue eyes let him know she was happy about something. What could possibly be pleasing on such a dismal day?

"Any word on your dad or Evan?" she asked.

He shook his head.

Her gaze zoned in on his ear. "And your injury?"

"The nurse said she'd be back in a bit to stitch it.”

She nodded and stepped closer to him. "It's not the worst. I would imagine they'd let you travel with it."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, I should be more specific since this is your first travel."

How did she know that?

"Since you didn't look shocked when we first met up, I'm going to assume you've been somewhat prepared about your role as a Preserver, right?"

"My father told me a little about my role and some rules, especially the secrecy part, and just a smidge about Protectors and Modifiers."

"So, you know, he didn't recognize you because we're in his alternate reality—1944, where you'd be, what, five or six years old."

"That'd be about right."

"It's an interesting thing this time travel. Most of the world will never know what it takes to keep things on track."

Jack no longer carried any doubt in regard to what his dad had told him about being time travel Preservers. Even as preposterous as it sounded at first, he knew in his heart it was true. And, here he was amid D-Day proving alternate realities existed. Now that he was in it, he had so many unanswered questions and didn't know where to start.

"The helmsman and the other woman soldier. Who are they? I swear I saw them before, in Vietnam when I was in the hospital. At the time I thought I’d dreamt them up but now I see I didn’t. Back then, I learned they go by Blake and Ariel. But who are they to me…us?"

Gabriela didn't answer him right away. She seemed to be contemplating how she would answer him. Her eyes went opaque.

"Gabriela."

She refocused on him. "Sorry. I'm in new territory here."

"But you've time-traveled before."

"Yes, but, not like this. I've never had a future team travel to the same place at the same time."

What was she talking about? "I don't understand."

"As I mentioned on the beach, the other woman soldier, that's my granddaughter."

"What? How?" was all he could mutter.

Gabriela ran her hand over her cheek and then rested it over her mouth.

"But you both look to be the same age. How could that be?" Jack asked.

His Protector dropped her hand to her side. "I don't know. There's no rulebook, no guidelines. I take this as it comes. But the one thing I know for sure is that woman is my granddaughter. I can feel it in my heart. She is probably here to ward off Evan as we ward off his father, Arthur. And until either one of those evil souls is healthy enough to travel back to their realities, we'll all remain here until the threats are over."

"She does look just like you."

"Yes. No doubt."

Gabriela wrapped her arms around herself as a melancholy look overtook her face.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, it's just so…I don't know. I wanted to run up to her, hug her, tell her who I am, but I feel like I can't—shouldn't for some reason." Her gaze landed on the floor. "In my current reality, she's not even born yet."

A strange sensation crept into his bones. His reality was 1967, what was hers? They were from different years? “I thought we only traveled back to save our ancestors, not descendants.”

Gabriela lifted her gaze to meet his. "That’s what I thought, too, until now. I know you probably think I'm crazy, but I know this is true. She's my granddaughter. I've seen things, known things there's no way I should know." She placed her hand over her heart with the tip of her pointer finger pressed to her chest. "When I get this all-knowing sensation, the one I have right now. I feel things—true things. They always prove themselves true, later."

The conviction in the woman's ocean blue gaze let him know she believed what she said; therefore, he believed it to be true.

So, the tiny soldier who looked like his Protector was her granddaughter. Then... Jack's chest squeezed. Then, was the man who bore the same eyes as him, his grandson? No, based upon their ages, Gabriela looking a bit older than he, would the helmsman be his son—future son?

His breath hitched. He refocused on his Protector. "The man with her is…"

"Your son," she confirmed for him.

An aura of satisfaction washed over him. A son. I'll have a son.

He swallowed hard. His son—Blake had been sitting on the cot next to him on two occasions, and he didn't know it. Thinking back, he now realized Blake had traveled back in time to save him in Vietnam. Had been injured and still helped him fly his chopper to safety. A sensation of warmth saturated every cell in his body. Brave, his descendent was brave. Strange though, in Vietnam, only months ago, Blake probably recognized him because he'd been sent back to specifically preserve that moment in history as their relatives attempted to change it—steal it. Yet now, the man didn't seem to know who he was. With further thought, it was probably because they were all there to preserve and protect his father’s life. No, make that his entire family’s military honors and those whose lives were touched by all of them. The ripple effect was endless. He shook his head. This was all so complex.

Needing to find his son, he launched himself off the cot. Before he hit two long strides, the nurse who'd said she'd be back wrapped her hand around his arm.

"Whoa there. We need to get you stitched up."

He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm fine. It'll be fine."

Tugging his arm free, Jack managed another step before Gabriela's hand landed on his chest. A scorching hot gust of air brushed through the doorway. The heat level of it was akin to the one he'd experienced when he'd been whisked away from his real reality to WWII. Was the threat to his father over? Were they headed home?

"Let her fix your ear."

"But…"

She pressed her hand more firmly to him. "It's too late. They're gone. Your son and my granddaughter are gone. Evan's gone. That threat is over."

Sheer disappointment rocked his extremities and weakened his knees. He wanted to see his boy. Talk to him.

"But, we're still here. Are you sure?"

"Yes, until the threat of Arthur is over, we will remain. The eerie sensation I get when an evil soul is present has lightened but still persists." Quizzically, she studied him. "You do feel it, don't you?"

He knew what she meant. Since the moment he landed in the Spitfire he couldn't ignore the dark, unnerving awareness clinging to him. But, for the past few minutes, he'd been so caught up in thoughts about his son, he selfishly pushed that sensation—assignment—aside.

He sat back down, and the nurse began to stitch his earlobe.

Gabriela paced the room.

Where was Arthur? Would he attempt to gain access to the surgical room—to his father in order to change history?

His ear tugged. He sighed. Would the nurse finish already so he could ask his Protector more questions about how this time travel worked, and more importantly, more questions about his son. She seemed to be in the know.

The nurse leaned back and studied her handiwork. "You're all set."

"Thanks," he replied as he slid off the cot and headed for the doorway pulling Gabriela along with him.

Once out of proximity of the nurse, he stopped and spun to face his Protector. "So, regarding my son…"

A fiery gust of air encircled them, spinning so fast it sucked them off their feet. His head went light. Bile rose in his throat. His vision blurred. He reached toward Gabriela but she faded out of sight.