Page 11 of Destiny Reclaimed
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.
