Future Soldier

Chadwick Schaeffer had never believed in fate until the day it reached out, grabbed him by the collar, and hurled him headlong through history.

It was supposed to be a simple favor—drop Amelia off at work, share a quick goodbye kiss, and head back home. Instead, he stood awkwardly in the underground lab, walls humming softly with secrets he wasn't cleared to know, while Amelia's eyes danced with excitement.

"It's revolutionary, Chad!" she said, gesturing animatedly at a shimmering metal archway bristling with cables and pulsing with energy. "We're calling it Project Trans Temporal. We're literally bending time."

He smiled, half-understanding, half-amazed. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted it—a single screw gleaming faintly on the immaculate floor. His marine instincts kicked in immediately: unsecured equipment meant accidents. He stepped forward, reaching for the screw, just as Amelia turned away, absorbed in explaining some intricate detail.

Chadwick's boot skidded slightly; his hand shot out for balance, seizing an innocent-looking lever. With a cold, metallic snap, it moved beneath his fingers.

Amelia spun around, eyes wide with sudden terror. "Chad, no—"

The world detonated into a kaleidoscope of blinding light. A roar deafened him, gravity shifted and collapsed, his stomach lurched violently, and suddenly, silence—deep, suffocating silence.

Then, chaos.

He opened his eyes, gasping, choking on smoke and the acrid taste of gunpowder. Mud plastered his face, caked in thick clumps to his uniform. Wait—uniform?

A bullet screamed past his ear. He dropped to his knees, heart thundering, instincts razor-sharp from countless Marine drills kicking in. Soldiers screamed orders, shouted prayers, cried for their mothers. The stench of death, sweat, and iron filled his nostrils.

Verdun. 1916. One of history's bloodiest battles. Chadwick knew every detail from books and documentaries—now he was living it. His mind raced, adrenaline surging. There was no time for disbelief. He grabbed a fallen soldier's rifle, checking the chamber instinctively, feeling the familiar weight grounding him in reality.

A nearby soldier stared wide-eyed, confusion and awe etched across his dirt-streaked face. "Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?" Before Chadwick could answer, another explosion shook the earth violently, silencing further questions.

"Move forward!" someone roared. The ground shook as shells exploded nearby, sending plumes of dirt skyward.

"Forward," Chadwick repeated grimly. He surged to his feet, plunging through the churned earth and barbed wire like a force of nature. Soldiers around him fell, others followed, instinctively rallying around the strange newcomer who fought with a precision and ferocity beyond their comprehension.

Enemies appeared from trenches, bayonets glinting menacingly, but he spun, ducked, fired—each shot methodical, perfect, devastatingly effective. His presence electrified those fighting alongside him, rallying cries growing louder as morale surged. Enemy troops recoiled in fear and confusion, their commanders barking frantic orders to counter this sudden, inexplicable threat.

Yet, as he battled through mud and blood, Chadwick knew this was just the beginning. History's greatest conflicts lay ahead, each demanding every ounce of his strength, cunning, and determination if he was ever to find his way home—and back to Amelia.

Days turned into weeks as Chadwick fought alongside Beaumont's company, facing prejudice, awe, and suspicion from men unaccustomed to seeing someone like him in command. Yet his undeniable skill in battle slowly overcame their initial doubts, forging bonds of camaraderie born of fire and blood. News of Chadwick's exploits spread rapidly, capturing attention and stirring rumors both behind allied lines and among the enemy ranks.

Then, on a bitterly cold morning, as dawn painted the horizon in shades of red and gold, another flash—painfully familiar yet shockingly sudden—tore Chadwick from Verdun, thrusting him violently through time once more.

Blinking against sunlight and choking dust, Chadwick rose slowly to his feet. He recognized this scorching heat and dusty terrain instantly: North Africa, El Alamein, 1942. The roar of approaching tanks shook the ground beneath him. With a resigned determination, Chadwick squared his shoulders and stepped forward, ready to meet history head-on again.