Chapter Last

Now

Home is the hunter…

Agnes Billy's eyes popped open and she grinned at the rising sun. "Thomas, man who will marry my Rachel, she is home."

Thomas jerked out of the blanket he had wrapped himself in and tried to blink himself awake. He heard the words, but they didn't seem to register and then his sat phone rang, "Rachel?"

"Well, hello, there you handsome fellow? Doing anything this evening?"

He could hear the ragged edge of something in her voice. It wasn't hysteria, Rachel was way too calm for that, but there was something that told him things were going to take a lot of explaining. About that moment, he heard yelling from the camp site and knew that someone had picked up on either the GPS chip in the hummer, or another sat phone was in use, either way, she was back and she didn't sound hurt.

"Um, Rachel, your Grammy Agnes says that we will name our first child, Samuel."

"Oh, she is so right. He's an Army Sergeant, but I won't hold that against him, from another time and war. He saved my life and I told him our first kid was Samuel."

"Hon, what if the first one is a girl?" Thomas knew he was just making conversation to hear her voice, but somehow that little fact seemed very important.

Her laughter rolled out of the phone, "Asked and answered, handsome, asked and answered and when we have some privacy, I'll tell you what I told Sam Troy."

Then

What next…

Hans Dietrich leaned back in his chair and swirled the brandy slowly in the glass, watching the ebb and flow of the liquid, and thought about the mutability of time. He had sent Heine to his blankets with a glass of brandy under his belt and warned him that no one would believe him if he told what had happened.

"Herr Hauptmann, I was there and I do not believe me." Hans had smiled as he watched the young man trudge across the sand to the tent he shared with three others. He knew the Heine was not a drinker, or a braggart, nor a Nazi. He was a steady young soldier and he had a fine sense of honor. Hans hoped he would be able to get him back home alive and in one piece.

He smiled gently and patted the buttoned pocket of his shirt. A kiss from a woman not yet born. It made for an interesting paradox and one that was worthy of serious study. The little doll-like blonde had talked about a thing called the internet, which was also not thought of yet, but would come to pass. From a few things she had said, he gathered that it was possible to find people, their history, their family, and their locations. That might also be worthy of study. Captain Rachel Y. Donovan, Air Force. He would need to write that down so that he did not forget and when the internet came into being, he would see if he could find her…and four others.

A long way aways…

Sam looked across the fire at Hitch and Tully and then sideways at Jack. "Seems kind of lonesome now, doesn't it?"

Jack nodded, "I had always considered the four of us quite a crowd, but somehow we seem, well, like less now."

Tully clenched his jaw and then relaxed it. "Think they made it back alright? I mean, it's sort of confusing, all of that, it hasn't happened yet and that's why you don't remember it, but now it has and we don't know if you'll remember this or if things'll go back to the way they was."

They all thought about it for a few minutes and then Hitch pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "Well, there's one way to find out what happens. The Captain dropped this out of a pocket when she was looking for that spooky green light thing of hers. I meant to give it back but we got a bit busy right then and I forgot till just now." He grinned and passed the paper over to Troy.

Troy read and started to grin, "Hey, our Captain is getting promoted to Major. Good for her. This is a set of promotion orders for December 1st."

Moffitt grinned, "That's only two weeks away. I wonder if we can figure out some way to be there."

Troy laughed, "Doc, its two weeks and sixty five years away."

Moffitt gave him an innocent stare. "Do you have any objections to a spot of long range planning?"

Male laughter rang out across the dark sands.

Now

Epilogue

As they say in Hollywood, picture this, and then they do that weird frame thing with their hands…anyway, picture this. I'm walking through the door into my Queendom, those gorgeous gold leaves gleaming on my dress blues (which I wear about once a year and then it takes a direct order), Dan right behind me, both of us grinning foolishly from the promotion ceremony. Now, here is where it happens. I keep forgetting about that new 702, you remember, the Administrative Specialist? Anyway, the General, damn his eyes, sent me a MARINE! Not just a Marine, but a female Marine with lungs like leather and one of those, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am," every other sentence out of her mouth types. Oh sheesh.

Ready for it? No, I didn't think so. I wasn't either.

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" The bellow rolled over me, lifted me about three feet in the air, turned me 180º and had me trying to climb over Dan to escape the building. And Dan, damn HIS eyes, was laughing and preventing my escape. I will get even with him…and her.

"Ma'am, you have visitors in your office, ma'am."

I lifted one corner of my mouth and snarled at her, she grinned back. No respect, I get no respect. "You know, Silent Insolence is still an active crime in the UCMJ?"

She just smiled at me, no teeth, and lots of twinkly eyes and continued, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

"Oh I give up!" I slammed my garrison cap (Thank God, they don't make us wear those stupid hard shell berets anymore) onto the hat rack and stalked into my office where my jaw hit the floor, bounced a couple of times and then I staggered like a drunk until I could grab the back of a chair.

They were old. Hell, sixty five years had passed for them, but they were still tall, mostly straight and, by God, still handsome. Grammy Agnes wouldn't kick any of them out of her blankets. Come to think of it…no, no, think Thomas, think Thomas. He is not the kind to share. Think Thomas. Anyway, back to the lovely subject, Moffitt had gone stone white, very distinguished. He was dressed in the best Savile Row could offer. His suit was obviously bespoke. Hitch, being blonde to begin with, didn't look as old as the others with that baby face of his. He was leaning on a silver headed mahogany cane and looking very dapper. Tully still had that matchstick and his one sided grin. The rugged lines of his face were just a bit deeper, his face a bit more weathered. Dietrich was standing slightly to the side and he grinned at me, reached into his suit pocket, pulled out nothing and blew it at me. Without even thinking, I caught it and tucked it away. He'd saved the kiss I had blown him. His hair had darkened over the years and was mostly pepper with a dash of salt, and he'd put on a few needed pounds, and there was a mustache but those eyes still had the look of an eagle.

I looked around and my heart hit the floor, "Where's Troy!?"

Moffitt laughed, "He decided that he needed to check your facilities."

"Well, hell, the first time I met her, she caught me with my zipper down, why should this time be any different?" Arms that trembled a bit and weren't quite so strong anymore went around me from the rear and hugged. "Looking good, Major."

I turned to look at him, standing there with that cocky grin of his, "Hiya, Shorty," and just for an instant, we were all back in 1942.

The End?

Now, before anyone starts telling me that the Rats could not still be alive, and that Dietrich was dust, please, take into consideration the average ages of the fighting men of WWII, on both sides of the war.

We are not speaking of the "regular" Army, of which there were actually very few at the beginning of the war. We are speaking of the volunteers and conscripts.

The average Private was 17.5 years old.

The average Sergeant was 22.

The average Lt was 22.

The average Lt-pilot was 21. In fact, it was not unusual to follow the career of a fighter pilot and watch him go from Lt to LtCol in the course of one year, or less. Attrition was deadly.

The average Capt was 26.