After Riley landed in the middle of a WW2 battlefield and the American G.I. found her roaming around in her cowboy uniform, he struggled to return her safely to their army base. While they crawled through the grass, bullets flew over their heads as soldiers scurried about in every direction, picking off enemy combatants like some kind of frenetic paintball game. Except this was no game, and the red splotches exploding on the chests of the fighting soldiers wasn't paint.
"Where are we?" Riley whispered as she listened to the sound of stomping boots around them.
"You're in Ardennes, France, with the U.S. Second Army," the G.I. said, peering anxiously around him. "Although right now, I'm not sure whether you're on the American or German side of the front line."
Ardennes, Riley thought. She'd studied WWII history in high school and remembered that was where the brutal Battle of the Bulge had been fought.
"What time is it?" she said.
"Seriously?" the G.I. said, peering at her with a furrowed brow. "You're in the middle of a major battle and you want to know what time it is?"
"Not so much the time, as the year. More importantly, the month."
"All this shelling must have really jolted your memory," the G.I. said. "It's December, 1944."
Riley scrunched her face, trying to remember the details of the decisive battle that turned the tide of the war. Suddenly, she remembered the date of the huge German counteroffensive: December 16.
"What day?"
"Jesus," the G.I. said, shaking his head. "The last time I checked, it was December 13. Although in the heat of the battle, I've kind of lost track of when the clock ticked past midnight."
"Can you take me to the headquarters of your commanding officer?" Riley said. "I've got some important information he'll want to know."
"Let's get you to the base camp first," the G.I. said, ducking another bullet. "Then we'll worry about getting you in front of the right brass. I'm pretty sure my C.O. will be just as interested as I am knowing how you managed to infiltrate this far into the front lines wearing not much more than a cowboy hat."
Suddenly, a German soldier lunged at the G.I. with his bayonet and the corporal stumbled onto his back, trying to evade the spear. As the soldier raised his rifle to shoot the stricken G.I., Riley pulled her revolver out of her holster and shot the soldier in the chest, sending him flying in the opposite direction. Within seconds, three more German soldiers materialized from the tall grass, and Riley whirled around, picking them off one-by-one with her six-shooter.
"Holy shit!" the G.I. said with wide eyes. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
"I had a little target practice back at the range," Riley said, looking around nervously. "But never with this many bad guys around. We better get out of here before we run out of ammo."
"Good idea," the G.I. said, holding his hand over his eyes and peering into the distance. "Our camp is only a few hundred yards away. Can you run in those boots?"
"Something tells me we're about to find out," Riley nodded.
The G.I. grabbed her hand, then the two of them stood up and raced through the grass with shells exploding beside them until they reached a fortified bunker surrounded with sandbags, leaping over the wall and falling into a dusty trench.
"What the hell, Johnson?" a military officer with two bars on his collar said, approaching the couple. "Why aren't you out there fighting with your platoon?"
"I found this woman wandering around in a daze and brought her here for safety," the G.I. said.
The officer peered at Riley in her strange western garb and held out his hand to help her up. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, only a few years older than Riley, and she smiled as he pulled her to her feet.
"What's your name, ma'am?" the officer said. "And what in God's name are you doing in the middle of this battle?"
"It's a little hard to explain," Riley said, dusting off her vest and leather chaps. She knew no one would believe her story of being transported back in time via a time machine. "Let's just say I fell into it accidentally."
"Accidentally?" the officer said, peering at her strange clothes. "Is that a sheriff's badge you're wearing?"
"Yes," Riley said, suddenly wishing she'd changed into less obvious clothes before leaving Cody. "Like I said, it's a bit complicated."
"Where are you from?" he said, glancing down at her open V-neck shirt.
"Boston," Riley said. "By way of Cody."
"Wyoming?" the officer said, widening his eyes. "How the hell did you get all the way out here and past the front lines?"
"I don't have time to explain right now. I need to see your C.O. to warn him about an impending enemy offensive. It's going to be the biggest one of the war and if you don't prepare properly, thousands of lives will be lost."
"And you know this how exactly?" the officer said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why should I believe a teenager wearing a cowboy costume?"
Riley peered at the officer's heavily muscled arms and broad shoulders, barely concealed by his tight-fitting uniform.
"I know a lot more than you can imagine," she huffed. "I can tell you how many U.S. troops are in France, and who is exactly where on the battlefield, on both sides."
"How could you possibly know that?" the young officer said, squinting at Riley's sweaty cleavage in her checkered shirt under her leather vest.
"You're just going to have to take my word for it," Riley said, feeling her face becoming flushed from the combination of anger at the officer's petulant tone and his hunky appearance. "In the meantime, you can use my skills. I know how to handle a gun, and I'm not afraid to use it."
The officer paused for a moment, peering down at the old-fashioned revolver resting in her holster at her side.
"It's true, captain," the G.I. nodded. "She's a dead aim. She took down four Krauts while we made our way back here."
"I don't know what your story is, sweetheart," the officer said, staring Riley in the eye. "The C.O. is likely to have even less patience than me for tolerating little girls in costume near the front line. But we need to get you away from the front lines, and command HQ is as good a place as any."
"Would you like me to drive her, captain?" the G.I. said.
"No," the captain smiled, running his eyes over Riley's curvy figure. "I think this shipment needs special handling."
