Author's note: Hi there everyone. This fic is actually a rewrite of my very first fic I posted two years ago. Its title was "The Day I Met Rosette Christopher." At the time I was still very much an amateur at the whole fanfic authoring thing. Man, I made a lot of mistakes. At first it looked like everyone was going well: I got good reviews that were full of praise for what I was doing. However, I now realize that it wasn't the best time to want to experiment. You see, I had written that fic in the first person perspective, and too be honest, I suck at the first person perspective. When I look back on it all, it was a pretty poor effort. Now it may sound like I'm being hard on myself, but sometimes a writer has to be his own critic. I guess I was motivated by the need to be different. However, in doing so I had done myself an injustice. I guess that you don't really need to be that different. If you know you've done your best then usually people will read your fic. As a side note, those who are in the know will recognize me as the author of the fic "The Girl Next Door", another Chrono Crusade fic.

In rewriting my first story I've also given it a much shorter title. The original title was too much of a mouthful. I've also stuck to the original plot mostly, albeit with a few changes. I've decided to make the chapters much longer. Also, expect some strong language her and there. The biggest change is that I've now gone back to what I write best, and that's the third person perspective. I hope that in rewriting the original fic that the people who have read it will agree this effort is much better than the original and that newcomers will enjoy it as well. To all the new people: at first the plot might not make sense but hang in there, all will be revealed in due time. That said, here's chapter one, enjoy!

The Return

Life in the thirteenth century was often marked by wars and violence, as well as religious upheaval and superstition. Every event had some kind of cause, whether it be divine decree or infernal interference from some or other evil force. Yet unknown to the people of the era, a battle would take place that would finally be seen through to its conclusion only centuries later and would forge a legacy of warriors such as the world had never seen. Indeed, the world would never know about them, for these men and their descendants carried on their fight in secret, away from the eyes of those who wouldn't understand.

It all began with one humble knight in the time of the Crusades. No one knew his origin, yet he would be the start of the legacy that would span the ages. His first battle against the unseen forces of darkness would also be his greatest, yet it would not be finished until many centuries later.

Somewhere in Europe, mid-thirteenth century…

A lone knight surveyed the battlefield; before him laid his defeated opponent, a tall demon with long horns possessed of unprecedented power and unholy ambition. Yet he knew that this fight was far from over. His opponent was defeated, but not slain.

The knight stood over the demon, his body aching all over. It was easily one of the most intense battles he had ever experienced in his whole life, far different from his time in the Crusades, yet his faith had carried him through.

Smiling, he looked up into the blue yonder, and silently gave thanks to God and all that was good for his victory. He was soon joined by a young monk who had witnessed the battle.

"My lord", the young monk said, "it was a battle worthy of song and legend! Never before had I seen its like!"

"Thank you", the knight said, "but it was not my own strength that led to victory. The strength I needed for the fight was merely borrowed to me, to use until such as time as it shall be taken. Remember, young monk, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and I suspect it shall be no different with me, for I am but a man of flesh and bone. Wherever my Lord sends me, there I shall go."

"Lord Knight, your humble spirit is an inspiration to all! Permit me to write of this battle and your exploits! Surely it should be preserved for future generations to read and marvel over!"

"If such is your fancy, I shall not stand in your way, for this is not the last time we shall meet, of that I am certain. But now, there is a fallen enemy who demands my ministrations."

Having said that, he walked over to the demon. He knew he did not have the power to completely destroy his enemy, and he could not understand the reason for this. Why would God, Who laid this task upon him, allow the demon to live? Yet he did not trouble himself over it any further. He knew what he had to do…

Many years later…

Much time had passed, and the young monk was not so young anymore, his face serving as a silent witness. Wrinkles were starting to appear, and even the hair on his head was showing signs of thinning and turning grey. Yet for all his time spent traveling, he had become so much wiser. The dirt road he was on led to the residence of the same knight who defeated that demon so long ago. He had a reason for visiting his friend; he had nearly finished writing of the knight's exploits and merely wished to share it with him.

The trip had been long and exhausting, but soon he could make out the knight's estate in the distance, a welcome sight to the weary traveler. His donkey, which served as his mount, was not so young anymore either, and would soon need shelter and food.

Upon arriving at the estate, the monk received a warm welcome, and soon he and the knight were talking about old times. This they kept up until the late hours of the night.

"Ah, old friend", the knight said, "So much time has passed since the day we first met. You and I were both so young, yet look at us now."

"Age is nothing to be ashamed of, lord knight. Grey hair is a like a crown of wisdom on our heads, and wisdom is more precious than gold."

"Yes…yes, that is true. But before we retire for the night, there is one last matter that must be discussed."

"What ails thee, old friend?"

"You have seen my son, have you not?"

"Aye, indeed I have, and he is a fine lad. Only eighteen years of age, yet he exhibits the same greatness as his father."

"I had already begun teaching him my ways when he was but a child. And yet there is still so much to teach him, and I fear my time is short."

"Old friend…?"

The knight stood up from his chair, walked over the open window, and stared outside before continuing his tale. "That hell spawn I defeated…he is still out there. Even now he plots his revenge on me."

"Are you certain?"

"I wish I was wrong, but I fear it is not so. I must tell you this: Last night, an angel appeared to me and told me that I am the first yet I am not to be the last. Long had I struggled with the meaning of the message but now it is clear to me. My son is destined to take up the sword against the spawn of hell, just like I was. But it shall not end with him either, for his son shall do the same, and so shall his son, until the very end of the word itself."

As the knight had predicted, he died not long after of natural causes and his son took his place, and when his time was done, so did his son, and so on into the centuries to be…

700 years later, on the morning of June 6th, 1944, on an amphibious landing craft in the English Channel…

The nature of warfare had changed much since the time of the mysterious knight. No longer was warfare man on man, up close and personal. Advances in firearms had rendered that kind of warfare obsolete long ago. Modern weapons were now capable of destruction far beyond what the Crusaders of so many centuries ago could ever have foreseen.

But every war has its casualties, and on this morning of June 6th, 1944, it would be no different. Some would live and some would die, that was just the way it was.

The whole world, it seemed, was at war, a war that would come to be known as the most costly and devastating war in human history. It even had two sides: Axis and Allies, with the Allies fighting the Axis for the cause of freedom. At least, that was what Allied propaganda tried to tell the thousands of Allied soldiers who gave their lives for the cause.

The fighting had gone on for so long and had been so brutal and gruesome that many soldiers no longer cared anymore. All they knew that for every one of the enemy they killed, there was another one to kill, and another, and another, while the enemy tried to kill them as well. It had really come down to killing in its simplest form, a slaughter not so different from what the Crusaders had experienced. Victory only meant that soon there would be another battle to fight until the far off day that the Axis forces would be annihilated or surrendered.

At this point in the war Germany, one of the member nations of the Axis alliance, had taken many a defeat and now the Allies were standing on their very doorstep. Operation Overlord, the largest amphibious assault ever launched, was well underway. Ships loaded with troops from Britain, Canada and the United States were embarking from England, speeding towards the French coast to start the invasion into occupied Europe itself. The "Atlantic Wall", the name given for the defenses constructed along the French coastline, was about to be breached…

None of them could have known that by the end of the day, over a thousand of them would have lost their lives on that stretch of beach. As if expecting the slaughter to come, the sky itself appeared sad as the clouds gathered overhead, creating a feeling of foreboding.

Nobody ever said a soldier's life was easy, and for a soldier on board an amphibious landing craft on a rough sea it was no picnic. The motion of the waves tossing the small craft around made more than a few of them lose their breakfasts. The rest just waited for the moment the ramp would be lowered and they charged across the beach in the face of overwhelming defenses. One of the soldiers on board one of the craft looked at his comrades, and reminded himself that today might be the last time he would see any of them; it might also be his turn today. The thought made him grip his weapon tighter as if it would be his salvation.

This same soldier thought back on his life thus far. Unfortunately, it offered him little comfort.

"How did it all end up here on this godforsaken steel coffin? Man, times were so much simpler when I was still a kid back in Chicago. No…that's a lie. It wasn't much better."

He was born James Michael Patterson in the year 1923 but as long as he could remember everyone called him Jim or Jimmy. His childhood and teen years were not some of the happiest times in his life. He lost both parents when he was but a small child of six. His father was suspected to have been involved in the organized crime syndicates that plagued Chicago during the 1920's but his talent for crime was not overly praised by his peers. He made mistakes, costly mistakes that warranted the gang he worked for removing him from the picture once and for all. His continued existence was a risk they could no longer afford to take.

His mother, when she heard the news of her husband's death, was overcome with grief. It would be the final nail in her coffin, because she was given to ill health. She would constantly be stricken with some or other disease. This, added with the shock from the loss of her husband, would be too much for her to handle, and not long after she joined him in death, leaving their young son behind.

Fortunately, fate would not be so cruel as to leave him alone in the world with no one to care for him. The task of raising him would fall to his grandparents. However, the untimely death of his parents would be followed by a worldwide economic disaster that would be forever known as the Great Depression. Millions of people the world over would lose their jobs and their livelihoods. Young Jim and his grandparents somehow weathered the storm but an economic recession is not an ideal time to want to raise a child, especially during the 1930's in Chicago.

Young Jim would develop a headstrong attitude during his teen years, and would often defy his grandparents and do exactly what he wanted when he wanted. School was for losers; he had better things to do. It wasn't like there was any chance of him getting an honest job during the Depression anyway, so what did he need an education for? Like many young men his age, the life of a gangster was very alluring. What they saw was the expensive Italian suits, the expensive cars, and the respect everyone in the lower social classes had for those involved in organized crime. However, they were too spellbound by outside appearances to care much about what was even involved in getting the expensive suits, the expensive cars, and the respect. Anything was better than living the life they had now.

Jim was no different to those young men, and had many opportunities to join one of the local gangs and live that life. But two things always kept him from going down that path fully: his conscience, which by some miracle was still functioning, and his grandparents. For all the grief and heartbreak he caused his grandparents, he still loved them. He knew that choosing the gangster's life would be too much for them to handle; it might even break them completely. They knew about his connections to the gangs and feared he would become like his father. Because of this, he eventually chose not to go down that path.

But things aren't always that simple. Hanging around on any one gang's turf will definitely make a rival gang think your one of them, especially if you're often seen at their hangout. Jim had no way of knowing that in the year of his eighteenth birthday, 1941, he would be a victim of gang violence. Rival gangs didn't like the encroachment on their territory, and it was Jim's rotten luck to be at the target gang's hangout when the attack happened. He was lucky to be alive; multiple gunshot wounds are nothing to scoff at.

Two weeks spent in the local hospital's intensive care unit was the result. The doctors all agreed: it was a miracle he even made it to the hospital alive after the police arrived on the scene and called for an ambulance. One might say his guardian angel was working overtime that day. This was Jim's first time under fire, but it was not to be his last. When he was discharged from the hospital, his grandparents handed him an envelope as soon as he set foot through the door of their house. In it was a recruitment letter; he had been drafted into the U.S Army and had to report for duty in a week's time at the nearest military base.

It came as a shock to them all. They knew what had been happening in Europe for the last two years: Germany had rearmed its military machine under Hitler's leadership and its forces had occupied most of the European mainland. Only Britain still held out, but it would not be able to do so much longer. Washington kept an eye on what was happening and even though the U.S was not directly in the fighting yet, it didn't stop them from drafting thousands of young men and other civilians into the armed forces. Rumors had been doing the rounds that German submarines had been sinking American shipping and that the Coast Guard had sighted such craft near the American coastline. Whereas a few years before the American populace didn't really care about Hitler's rise to power, now the threat of Nazism was becoming very real very fast.

Jim didn't really have a choice. The next week he packed his few possessions into a suitcase and boarded a train bound for the military base he was supposed to report at. Upon arrival, he soon learned what it meant to have a drill sergeant insult you day and night. Long marches in full gear and hard training were all part of the daily routine yet it would turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Being so far away from home and in a different environment gave him time to think about his life thus far. Because of this he realized that he needed to make a few changes; his old lifestyle just wasn't going to cut it anymore.

But the threat of war was looming on the horizon and became a reality on the morning of December 7th, 1941. The soldiers and civilians stationed at the Pacific naval base of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii had no way of knowing that they would be attacked by naval forces from Japan. At the end of the day three thousand soldiers and civilians had lost their lives, and the Pacific fleet lay in ruin. The result was that the American people, after having heard the news, demanded revenge for this unprovoked, aggressive act of war. The next day an angry President Roosevelt asked Congress to declare war on Japan and her allies. Jim would be seeing some action soon.

Early the next year Jim's unit, the 34th Infantry Division, was shipped off to Ireland, and was some of the first U.S infantry units to arrive in Europe. Many of them were eager to get into combat, but it would be a long wait before they got the opportunity. After a few months, they heard of a new special unit being formed from the soldiers already stationed there. This unit, led by Colonel William Orlando Darby, was to be called the Rangers. The promise of action and adventure lured many a young soldier to join, and Jim was no exception. He was tired of sitting around doing nothing while others were out there fighting.

Those who joined up were sent to Scotland to a place called Achnacarry for intensive training. The training they had to endure was even harder than regular Army training, and not everyone made the grade. The Rangers were meant to be superiors soldiers, and soon those who were the toughest, the strongest and the fastest were all that remained. Jim was one of them. There were times he thought of giving up, but he had run away from his problems enough times in his life. He endured because he wanted to make a fresh start and prove to himself that he was capable of finishing what he started.

However, all the training in the world could not have prepared him for what he experienced during his first time in combat. On that day he saw two men no older than he was die in front of his very eyes. When it was over, the reality set in: the same thing could have happened to him. It might as well have been him whose number had been called. For the first time in his life, he was really scared.

It wasn't that Jim was heartless or didn't care; he just didn't want to commit to any kind of friendship with any of the other soldiers during his tour of duty. His logic told him that if he had no friends he wouldn't feel devastated if any of them were killed in combat. In short, he didn't want to set himself up for any emotional trauma. He might have seemed emotionally distant to his fellow soldiers, but he had his reasons. It really amazed him how they talked about what they were planning on doing with their lives after the war was over. Weren't they scared? Didn't they realize how quickly death could claim them?

Jim just did what he was trained to do: to be a soldier and to deal out death to an enemy that wanted him dead as well. Because of his fears of a premature demise, he often fought like it was his last day on earth, and that made him dangerous. His attitude was "get them before they even have a chance to get me" and in the event they did get him he was sure as hell taking a few of them with him.

His reminiscing was brought to an abrupt end when he heard the voice of his squad leader over the sound of the waves crashing against the sides of the landing craft. Reality quickly made it apparent that he was no longer on a journey through his own memories, but on board with members of the 5th Rangers, the outfit he belonged to, heading towards a beach military intelligence had designated as Omaha.

"Alright, listen up", the squad leader, Sergeant Baker, said. "Our rendezvous point is the shingle on the far end of the beach. As soon as we land, use the tank barriers and anything else you can find as cover. Keep moving and you should be fine. I'll see you all at the shingle."

The Ranger next to Jim turned to him and with a smile said, "You know, he's got a nasty habit of making this shit sound easy."

Jim, however, had withdrawn into himself again. The beach was getting closer and closer. It was killing time; he had to be sharp, had to be focused. One slip-up could mean the difference between life and death. He readied his weapon and steeled himself for what was to come.

All of a sudden, an explosion rocked the left side of the landing craft. A German artillery shell had found its target and destroyed the craft next to Jim's. The men inside never had a chance. By now, the German defenders were alerted to the presence of the invaders heading towards the beach and were preparing their defenses. Barely seconds later machinegun fire peppered the craft making everyone inside duck for fear of getting hit. Artillery fire was falling like rain all around them now.

"30 seconds, Yanks! God be with you!", the skipper of the craft, obviously British, shouted, letting them know how much time they had before they had to exit. Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves. Now was not the time to be either scared or nervous.

The craft made a slight bump before it came to a halt on the beach where sand met water. Almost instantaneously, the ramp was lowered and they all charged forward, but as soon as they did, the soldiers in front were riddled with bullets from the German machineguns. Jim was fortunate to have been one of the last to exit because it gave them a gap while the machineguns found new targets. By now the beach was littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers, some dead and some alive but suffering from grievous wounds. Some were floating in the shallow water, their blood coloring it a crimson red. Those who were still alive and unharmed were scattered across the beach, hiding behind tank barriers. Jim found himself cover behind one of those barriers.

He looked at what was going from behind the barrier. The German defenders were deadly efficient at what they did best. Artillery shells kept pounding the sand and unceasing machinegun fire tore into it, ricocheting off the tank barriers. The screams of the wounded and dying filled the air.

Jim had been through a lot during his service in the Army and one might say he had seen it all. But this…this was a slaughter straight from a nightmare.

"How the hell are we supposed to even get close to those bunkers? Those goddamn machineguns are having us for breakfast and if that wasn't enough, the artillery keeps pounding us to hell! This is insane!"

Somewhere in the madness, he heard a soldier addressing his commanding officer. "Sarge, this is hopeless! We can't do this without the tanks! Where the hell are they?"

"Forget about any tank support 'cause they're all at the bottom of the Channel, and you can thank the Kraut artillery for that! We're on our own!"

"Then what do we, Sarge?"

"All we can do here is die! Now I suggest you shut the hell up and follow me if you wanna live!"

"Yeah, real sound advice, Sarge."

Jim's train of thought was interrupted when he felt a hand touch him on his shoulder. He turned to identify the owner of the hand and looked straight into the face of Sergeant Baker, who by some miracle had survived up until now. "Patterson, what the hell are you doing here? Our men are getting killed out there and you're sitting on your ass!"

"Sir, I…uh…"

"I don't have time for your excuses! Get on your feet, your squad needs you!"

Jim promptly did as he was told and followed his squad leader up the beach, dodging the incoming enemy fire and hiding behind whatever cover they could find. The worst was yet to come though: to reach the shingle, the designated rendezvous point, they had to sprint across open beach where the enemy gunners had a clear, unobstructed view.

Sergeant Baker turned to face Jim. "Okay, here's the deal: when the Kraut gunners reload their weapons, we run like hell. With any luck we'll make it to the shingle in one piece."

Jim looked at the shingle from their current position. He saw at least a few soldiers had made it there and were waiting for everyone else to join them. Between him and the shingle stood the Germans defenses. So close and yet so far.

Without warning, Sergeant Baker shouted, "Now's our chance! Get ready to run!"

So began their suicide sprint to what they hoped was their salvation from the hell they found themselves in. Jim couldn't remember the last time he had run this fast but right now he didn't care. Survival was the only pursuit, the only goal. As he was sprinting, an artillery shell exploded close enough to him to nearly give him a concussion. For a moment he stood there disoriented but that would prove to be fatal. The explosion was followed up by renewed machinegun fire that tore into the sand. The next thing he felt was a searing pain spreading through his left shoulder. Instinctively he used his remaining hand to cover his left shoulder but when he did so he felt something wet and sticky cover it. Upon inspection he found it covered in blood, his own blood. With a shock he realized: he had been hit!

Baker had seen what had happened and shouted to Jim to get down. The German gunners would no doubt try to finish the job. That assumption was proven correct when Jim was hit in his torso and right leg in rapid succession. The force of the bullets penetrating his body made him fall over backwards on the sand.

Ignoring the enemy fire, Baker was by his side quick as a flash. "Patterson! Can you hear me? Goddamn it, say something!"

Pain was Jim's whole world now, his very existence. He was losing blood fast. His breathing was rough and shallow. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he became yet another casualty statistic.

Using what little strength he could spare, he replied, "Sarge…leave me. I'm not…gonna make it."

"Don't talk, save your strength. I'm getting you out of here and finding you some help."

Seconds later, a concerned Baker was dragging him back to the tank barriers by the collar of his uniform. He propped Jim up against one of the barriers as best he could, faced him and said, "I'm gonna go find a medic. Now don't you dare die before I get back! That's an order!"

Even through the pain, Jim found that order ever so redundant in the situation he was in.

"I don't think it's my choice if I live or die, Sarge."

Now he was alone. The pain was everything now. Blood kept flowing from his wounds unceasingly. He didn't know what would kill him first: the blood loss or the pain, maybe both. Gradually he felt his strength leaving him, his vision becoming blurry and his hearing going down the same route.

"Sarge, where are you?"

His sergeant was nowhere near unfortunately. No one was there to comfort him, to keep his mind off the pain. Or so he thought…

"So this…is how it ends. All alone. Grandma, Grandpa…I let you down. I'm sorry."

What happened next was the last thing anyone would have expected. It had often been said that in your last moments, your brain tries to ease your pain by bombarding you with pleasant memories. But what was happening was too real to have been imagined. From out of nowhere, a sharp, heavenly light appeared above Jim. He looked up and to his amazement he thought he saw a human figure descend upon him from within the light. He was unable to get a good look because the light had become too sharp for him to see.

He didn't know why but gradually he started feeling calm. A feeling of serenity unlike anything he had ever experienced came over him. Slowly he opened his eyes. The light had disappeared, but if he still possessed the strength he would no doubt have jumped from sheer fright, for at his right a young girl was kneeling! A golden light was emanating from her, making her blonde hair shine brightly. Her lips were formed into a radiant smile and her eyes were color of the noblest of sapphires. Jim thought to himself that he could easily become lost in those pools of blue if he stared long enough. She was wearing what looked at the time like a nun's outfit, only slightly modified.

Now was not the time to admire some strange girl he had never met before, however. Rational thought took over; who was she? What was she doing here?

"There aren't supposed to be any civilians anywhere near here. How'd she even get past the Krauts?"

"I'm not a civilian, Jimmy."

Nothing could have hidden the amazement on his face after she had spoken the first words she had ever said to him. Somehow, she had read his mind and further more, she knew his nickname!

"How did you-"

"Do that?", she responded before he could finish his sentence. "There's more to me than meets the eye. Next you're going ask me who I am and what I'm doing here, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"You could say I'm your guardian angel in a way. I know everything about you. Ever since you were a little kid I've always been there watching over you."

Jim found this a bit hard to digest. "Guardian angel? And just how much do you know about me?"

"Well, where should I start? I know about the time you met up with Joey from down the street in your old neighborhood to try smoking for the first time. You nearly coughed your lungs out and since that day you haven't touched cigarettes again. I know about all the times you skipped school and all the times you lied to your grandparents. I was even there when you were shot during the gang attack three years ago. I even know about-"

"Okay, you've made your point! I believe you."

The mysterious girl smiled at him. "Glad I got your attention. By the way, I'm not here to guide you to the afterlife or anything. It's not your time yet."

"Then why are you here?"

"Before we get to that, let me take a look at that shoulder. Looks pretty nasty."

She reached over to the injured shoulder. Jim wanted to stop her; he didn't want any of his blood getting on her. However, she cut him off with a swift move of her remaining hand. She reassured him that everything would be fine. "Don't worry. This'll only take a second."

He allowed her to have her way for the moment. She placed her hand on the injured shoulder and closed her eyes. A few seconds passed when she opened them again. "There, it's done. How does it feel now?"

It felt better than even Jim could have imagined. The pain in his shoulder was gone! He even noticed that she had no blood on her hand. If ever he had any doubt about who she said she was, now there was no more.

"It feels great. Thank you."

"I wouldn't be your guardian if I didn't take care of you one way or another."

"Yeah, but you still haven't told me why you're here."

The expression on her face turned from joyous to serious. "Oh, that. I've kept you waiting long enough. I'm here to tell you that you've been given a second chance. It's a gift few other people will ever receive. Don't waste it."

Jim found this to be a let down. He was expecting something huge. "Is that it?"

"Actually, no", she responded. "I'm just getting started. Now I know you're scared of dying in battle, and that's normal. Every soldier has gone through it. But you…you've become so fixated on death that you're not living anymore! When was the last time you sat down with the other members of your squad and actually talked to them? You don't know, do you?"

"But-"

"No buts! I know your reasons, Jim. You can't let fear control you. That's not the way to go through life."

"I'm just worried about my grandparents. I'm the only family they have left and I don't want them getting a letter from the Army that says I've been killed in action. I feel like if I were to die I'll have let them down. I've given them enough grief already; I don't want to burden them with my death too."

"I understand, Jim. But your grandparents aren't why I'm here. I'm here for you."

"Then answer this: how can a man stay focused on life when all he sees around him is death?"

"Jim, have you ever wondered why you're fighting this war? For freedom, that's why. You're here because the world needs people like you to fight for those who can't fight for themselves. This war will end soon because of your efforts and the efforts of people like you. Don't give up yet. You're helping to make the world a better place."

"By killing people? That's how I'm making the world a better place?"

"This is war, Jim. Sooner or later one side has to lose and the other has to win. You know as well as I do killing is just part of the deal. It's what you were trained to do. I don't agree with all the carnage but it was bound to happen. I promise you this: all the men who die here today and who have already died since this war began didn't do so in vain. They died so that others might live. They are the ones who will be remembered in the history books."

Jim took in what she was saying and slowly it began making sense to him. All this time he had been so afraid of what could have been that he never gave a thought to the bigger picture. It all became crystal clear to him now that he heard it from another perspective. For the first time in a long time a genuine smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you. Thank you for everything and for being there for me all those years even if I never knew you were there up until now. I promise you that I won't let fear control me anymore. It'll be hard getting over my fear but the only way to conquer it is to face it head on. You've taught me that much."

The mysterious girl smiled back at him. "Actually, I didn't teach you anything. You realized for yourself what you need to do. If that's the case, I'm not needed here anymore. I've done what I came to do. I've been here longer than I should have anyway."

"Patterson!"

Sergeant Baker had been gone so long that Jim had forgotten about him. He turned his head and saw Baker coming at him with a medic by his side.

"So he found a medic after all."

Soon Baker was at his side. The medic gave Jim one look and said, "Shit! Damned Krauts hammered you pretty good, buddy. You got more holes in you than Swiss cheese."

Baker was not a patient man. "Never mind that. Just help him."

"Wait, I know you guys. You're both from 1st squad, right?"

Baker was quickly losing his patience with the young medic. "This is not the goddamned time for introductions! Now help him or I'll report you for dereliction of duty!"

The young medic got the fright of his life when Baker came down on him like that. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! I'll get right on it, sir!"

The medic went to work and applied bandages to all of Jim's injuries. It was the best he could do for now. Jim noticed the mystery girl was still there but neither the medic nor Sergeant Baker had noticed her. He couldn't understand what was going on. Before he could say anything, she had an answer for him. "You're the only one who can see and hear me, Jim. That's why those two haven't noticed me yet; I'm invisible to them. Look, I have to go now. Remember, I'll be watching."

The same sharp light from before appeared and slowly she began her ascent into it. Suddenly, Jim remembered one last thing he wanted to ask her. Not caring if Baker and the medic heard him, he half shouted to her, "Wait! You never told me your name!"

By now it was almost too late to hear her. He could hear her saying something but it was very faint.

"R…o…s….e…t…." was all he could make out but he was sure there was something he was missing. By now Baker and the medic were looking at him with puzzled expressions on their faces.

"He's hallucinating. It's the pain talking now. A shot of morphine oughta do the trick. I really can't do anything else for him, sir. He's lost too much blood. He's gonna need a doctor's help now", the young medic remarked.

He promptly took a syringe out of his first aid kit and injected Jim with the necessary amount of morphine. Jim was very much tired now; he had a rough morning behind him, he had lost of lot of blood and then the mystery girl showed up as well. By now she was gone completely. His eyelids started feeling heavy. No matter how he tried he couldn't keep them open for long. Baker noticed this and started to panic which wasn't something he was prone to. "Patterson, stay with me! I didn't come this far just so you could die in front of me! Listen to me! We're getting you out of here. Just hang on!"

Jim, however, didn't really have a choice in the matter. He had lost all control now. The last thing he remembered before his head slumped to the side and everything went black was Baker calling his name over and over again.

Author's note: Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Most of the fic probably sounded like a cleverly disguised history lesson and you're probably wondering what it has to do with all things Chrono Crusade. Don't worry, it will all make sense soon. I'm just a sucker for history and I've wanted to do this for a long time. As you might have guessed, the latter half of the story takes place after the original Chrono Crusade timeline. Remember, the world did not stand still after Rosette died. The march of time went on regardless. Also, don't expect any kind of character reincarnation. This is not that kind of fic. Not that I don't like reincarnation fics. I'm just saying there won't be any of that in this story. Well, I suppose I've said everything that needed to be said. Until next time, this is Saracen RedHawk signing off. (cue sound of static)