Colonel Centuri pulled back on the stick of his Z-84 fighter. He made a climbing right-hand turn and leveled off at 10,500 feet. He reached for the time dial, tuned in to 1910 AD, and with the flick of a switch he was traveling inside a beam of light. The Colonel blacked out as the Z-84 approached 670,616,630 mph.

“Collision imminent, collision imminent,” said a female voice from the cockpit speakers. “Collision imminent.”

The Colonel lifted his head, dug his heels into the cockpit floor and pulled back hard, clearing the top of a dirigible by inches.

“What the hell happened there? Why didn’t you warn me sooner?”

“I tried to, Colonel Centuri, but your reaction time has slowed by 4.993744 seconds since your last time jump.”

“Smartass digital copilots,” he said. “Flying time jets is an art, not a science. Byte me!”

He pushed the stick forward and descended to 3,000 feet. “Let’s get the show on the road. I got a date with a USO girl in 1940. Time to kick some biplane ass and jump to the next World War.”