I am an idiot. There's really no other explanation.
I stand there in the dimly lit tunnel, surrounded by silence. I'm assaulted by a huge wave of fear which threatens to drown me. What if everyone's evacuated? What if I miscalculated and the war is over already? A flurry of 'what ifs' snowball through my thoughts for a brief moment until I try to shake them off and take stock of my situation. I look up and down the tunnel, trying to figure out which way I should go. I'm scared but I need to move. I'm also claustrophobic. Should have remembered that before aiming for the tunnels in the first place, but honestly, I figured they would be big enough I wouldn't have a problem (they seemed it on the show – mind you it was a set where they had to accommodate an entire film crew). Panic is now rising in my chest. I attempt to swallow it. I want to go home. Change is never a good thing with me. What the heck was I thinking?
I try not to whimper, then try to get a grip on myself. I tend to react one of two ways to a new situation; either I go introvert or extrovert. It depends on if I'm ever going to see these people again. I tend to be a lot more introverted around people I'll be expected to get to know better, not wanting to make a bad first impression. So grabbing the bull by the horns so to speak, I figure this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I'll never have another chance to meet the Heroes, and I won't be running into them on a street at home, or in a business meeting or whatever. I have nothing to lose. Extrovert comes to the fore. Besides, it's either that or cower in the corner and wait on the off-chance someone is around to find me.
I stride down the tunnel, guessing one way is just as good as another but I've always had a sense of direction. If I go some place once, I can generally find it again even without knowing street names. Our GPS drives me crazy. I even gave it a nickname: Nutty Nancy the No-Good Navigator. Give me a real map any day.
Seems I chose the right way as the tunnels widen slightly (thank heavens) and I pass more connecting branches and store rooms. I poke my head in to see if anyone's around, finding LeBeau's pantry and the sewing room where they store German uniforms and civilian clothes. I have to stop for a minute, utterly fascinated by the number and variety of uniforms they've acquired over the years. I'm doing the spine shiver thing again. I wonder if this is what they mean by a 'squee' moment?
I hear some noises a little ways off. Part of me is relieved; I'm not here alone after all. Another part of me is panicked; I'm not alone here after all! I suddenly remember from the original story how displeased Colonel Hogan was when he was beset by all the time travelers and now here I was, going to face him on my own. My belly is in severe knots now.
For someone who usually plans everything down to a tee, I surely didn't think this one through at all, completely enamoured by the opportunity to be part of something fantastical. Perhaps a large part of me didn't truly believe it would happen anyway.
Well, if I really want to go home, I need to go introduce myself to whoever is making the noises down the tunnel. Perhaps they can just hand me the travel device and I can disappear without anyone being the wiser, after I swear my rescuer to secrecy. No need to upset the Colonel. I'm sure Kinch is great at keeping secrets. With luck, I'll run into Carter instead. He always seemed the most friendly.
I make my way further through the tunnels and I can see where it opens up to a large room. I edge my way to the door way and what I see steals my breath away. Holy Hannah! It's Kinch. It just has to be Kinch. A large dark skinned man with Sergeant's stripes working on something about the size of a bread box, which just had to be the radio.
I duck back against the tunnel wall, close my eyes and take a deep breath. This soooo cannot be happening! But I know it is. They were right, all of them: GSJessica, Linda, Tuttle, Hexiva, IronAmerica, 96Hubbles, Jake…they were all right.
"Don't move."
The threatening words are all but growled an inch from my ear and reinforced by the mechanical clicking sound of a gun being cocked. It sounds amazingly loud compared to what you get on TV, but then again, my heart was racing and the adrenalin was coursing through my veins a mile a minute. It was also very, very close.
I'm not really what I would call the nervous sort, but I always seem to startle easily so you can imagine how high I jumped. It's a wonder it didn't get me killed. I'm sure my eyes are wide as saucers as I stare at the gun. I've never had a gun aimed at me before. It's all I can fixate on. I don't even know who's holding it.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
I'm vaguely aware of being spoken to, but with the blood pounding in my ears, I don't really hear or comprehend the question. I don't even have my hands up to show I'm not going to make any threatening moves or that I'm unarmed.
I finally calm down enough and I return to my senses, just in time to lose them again. My eyes flick up to see who is holding the gun. Oh. My. Gawd. It's Colonel Hogan, looking larger than life and angrier than a stirred hornet's nest.
It's him. It's him. It's him. It's him. It's him. It's him.
I think my brain short circuited.
He has such a commanding presence, I automatically snap to attention and salute (British style I might add, with palm out), not saying a word. Probably couldn't if my life depended on it, which it just might at this point.
He cocks an eyebrow at me, but not the gun unfortunately, leaving the safety off. His gaze takes me in, head to foot and I can tell he doesn't know quite what to make of me. I certainly don't fit the profile of a soldier. I have no rank on my army surplus fatigues although I had added the Royal Marine globe and laurel collar dogs on a whim which I'm seriously regretting at the moment. I'm short. And sadly, rather rotund. I guess if you had to describe me according to the characters on the show, I'm LeBeau's height, Schultz's shape (although not quite as big!), and Hogan's age. I'm not winning any beauty pageants here.
Hogan motions with the gun for me to enter the large room where Kinch was with the radio. I drop the salute and do as I'm told, sitting on the cot against the wall while Hogan covers me with the gun as he leans against the table.
"Kinch, get the others."
Oh Lord, I'm going to meet them all at once. So much for going back home with no one the wiser. Still, this was the reason why I had come in the first place and odds were good I was going directly back home. Guess that makes it a win-win.
Kinch returns. I hear muffled banging and thumping, then suddenly the room is filled with bodies as Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau come pouring through the door, only to pull up short when they spot Hogan and myself. I almost give a little wave but there's something in their expressions which stops me.
"Stand up."
My first official order by Colonel Hogan. I'm glad I don't swoon; I'm too practical for that nonsense. I suppose it's technically my second, since 'Don't move' would have been the first. Regardless, I comply and Newkirk steps forward to give me a thorough patting down. LeBeau steps forward to retrieve my satchel which Newkirk has removed from my shoulder and makes moves to dump it on the table.
"Careful!" My first words to the Heroes erupt from my lips. Good grief! What was that about good first impressions?
LeBeau hesitates before setting the bag down gently, then flips back the flap. His eyes widen when he spots the item on top.
Hogan notes the reaction. "What is it? A bomb? A weapon?" He obviously has a one track mind.
"Non, mon Colonel." Ooooh, LeBeau's speaking French. This must be a 'squee'. "Oeufs."
"Oeufs? As in eggs?" asks Hogan with surprise.
"Oui, oeufs. Real oeufs. A full dozen. They're beautiful." I can see the glimmer of pleasure in LeBeau's eyes.
"They're a gift. For you," I add. "I've heard how hard they are to come by. Much better than powdered."
"Why are they cold?" asks LeBeau, puzzled.
"They've been in the fridge." I almost smack myself. "Of course, you don't refrigerate eggs. I should have remembered that from…" I trail off before my tongue gets away from me. I am not telling them about the story I wrote called Executions. They'd surely get the wrong idea. "It's a North America thing," I finish lamely, forgetting Hogan and Carter are American and probably don't refrigerate their eggs either in this time period. Heat rushes to my cheeks. "I brought something for all of you," I add meekly.
"She's clean," puts in Newkirk, distracting the others from the eggs. I'm grateful the subject's been dropped. Hogan puts the safety back on his weapon and walks around the table, putting the gun away somewhere behind Kinch's table. He must be feeling safety in numbers, I think. After all, it wouldn't take much to overpower me.
"What else is in there?" asks Carter, attempting to peer over LeBeau's shoulder.
LeBeau starts pulling out items. "Tea bags…"
"I'll take those," says Peter, snatching them out of LeBeau's hand.
"Duct tape…"
"That must be for me," says Carter, taking the large roll from LeBeau.
"A set of precision screwdrivers…" reads LeBeau off a hard case.
"I could use those on the radio," says Kinch, quickly confiscating my gear.
"And a bottle of Pusser's Rum. Think that's for you, mon Colonel?"
"I'll take it, even though I'm not Navy," he replies. "That it?"
"Not quite," says LeBeau, dumping the remaining items, like my jack knife and digital camera onto the table. The others sort through my stuff while Hogan comes to stand in front of me. I can tell by the look on his face my interrogation is about to begin.
"You're from the future," he states plain as day.
A wave of relief washes over me. I must have done something right to end up in a time after the original time travel adventure. Thank goodness! That means I won't be messing with the time line by letting Hogan know about the time travel before he's supposed to. It also means I have a way home because he has the device.
"Yes," I confirm.
"What year?"
"2010," I answer.
He mulls that over for a bit. "Any more of you coming?"
It must be his biggest fear, to be overrun by travelers from the future again. "Shouldn't be," I reply. "I'm the only one who knows about the device."
"You come from the National Archives?" he asks. "Because anyone could access it there."
"No. I've never even been to Washington, although it's on my bucket list."
"Your what?" he asks, quirking his eyebrow just so. Squee.
"Oh, my bucket list. You know, things you want to do before you 'kick the bucket'."
He sighs. Apparently, this isn't the first time he's been confused by 21st century idioms. He rubs the bridge of his nose. Headache coming on I think.
"Look, I bought a box of military odds and ends at an auction sale. The device was in a pouch at the bottom of the box. I recognized it from the story posted on the internet by GSJessica. I'm the only one who knows what it is or what it does. I thought I would just pop back in time and meet you all, then you could send me home since you have a device here and know how to use it. I'll be back before dinner and no one will be the wiser…" I stop blathering as the expression on his face changes. Suddenly my mouth goes dry and I get the sensation I'm in serious trouble. "What's the matter?" I manage to croak.
"The device isn't here," he says and all thoughts of being home for dinner flee from my mind.