The jungle stretched endlessly beneath Lieutenant Wyatt Coleman’s wings as his Curtiss P-40 Warhawk cut through the humid skies over Burma. The shark-toothed fighter roared steadily as he scanned the horizon.

Then a flash of silver appeared behind him.

Wyatt’s eyes snapped to the mirror above the cockpit.

“Damn it.”

A Japanese fighter dove onto his tail.

Tracer rounds tore past his wing and the Warhawk shuddered violently. Wyatt rolled the plane hard, the jungle spinning beneath him.

“Control, this is Falcon Three—I’ve got a bandit on my six!”

Gunfire erupted again.

Then the engine screamed.

Rounds ripped through the wing and warning lights flickered across the panel. Smoke filled the cockpit as the aircraft lurched.

“Mayday, Mayday! Falcon Three going down! Engine’s shot—losing control!”

The Warhawk spiraled toward the jungle.

“Come on, sweetheart… stay with me…”

But the sky suddenly warped.

The clouds twisted strangely, the horizon bending in a way that made no sense. For a moment everything went white.

Then—

CRASH.

The fighter slammed violently into a roadside ditch, metal screaming as it tore through gravel and dirt. Wyatt snapped forward against his harness as smoke filled the cockpit.

“God… damn…”

Flames licked along the wing outside the shattered canopy. Wyatt coughed, trying to force the jammed canopy open.

Then he heard it.

A scream.

Through the smoke he saw a woman rushing toward the wreck, a glowing glass device lighting her face.

“Ma’am! Stay back!” he rasped. “She’s gonna blow!”

But she ignored him.

She climbed into the ditch and yanked the canopy latch. With a violent shove the metal finally gave way.

Fresh air rushed in.

Together they stumbled from the wreck as flames crawled along the aircraft behind them. She dragged him up the muddy slope and onto the road just as the fire spread across the fuselage.

Wyatt pulled off his flight mask, breathing hard as he finally looked at her.

Her clothing was strange. The style, the fabric—nothing he recognized.

Behind her sat a sleek metal vehicle unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Wyatt slowly stepped back, scanning the road, the lights, the machine.

None of it made sense.

“Lieutenant Wyatt Coleman,” he said automatically. “United States Army Air Forces.”

He gestured weakly toward the burning wreck.

“Curtiss P-40 Warhawk. Falcon Three.”

His brow furrowed.

“This… this ain’t Burma.”

He looked around again.

“And it sure as hell ain’t Vietnam.”

His gaze returned to her.

“Ma’am… where exactly am I?”

She answered.

Wyatt stared at her.

“…2025?”

The strength left his legs and he dropped to his knees on the asphalt.

Eighty years.

Everyone he knew… gone.

The woman quickly knelt beside him, speaking urgently into the glowing device as she eased him onto the pavement.

Wyatt barely heard her.

Through the ringing in his ears his eyes stayed fixed on her face.

And through the shock one quiet thought crossed his mind.

For a woman from eighty years in the future…

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.