The Last Roman
( Praetorian - 1 )
Edward Crichton
Edward Crichton
The Last Roman
Prologue
Rome, Italy
September, 37 A.D.
The streets of Rome are not to be traversed carelessly by night, for all forms of vagabonds dwell within the shadowed corners and narrow alleyways that dominate the city during its nocturnal hours. It is there where many a pickpocket and thief lurk in anticipation, hoping for the simple chance that an aimless passerby would wander their way, and be it known that there were those who would do far worse. But such thoughts were far from the mind of young Marcus Varus, who could think of little else but how brazenly stupid the learned men of Rome actually were.
The thought dominated his mind as he approached the Palatine Hill and the great Temple of Lupercal located beneath. Now the home of the Caesars, legend told that this unassuming mound of earth was where the divine founders, Romulus and Remus, were raised by their adoptive she-wolf nearly eight hundred years ago. It was the place of Lupercalia, one of Rome’s most sacred rituals, and where Varus had come this night to defend with his life.
Where are they? This is where the manuscript said to go.
Varus, old at the age of twenty eight, was a scribe of the highest caliber. He was the personal documentarian, historian, linguist, and advisor to the Caesar himself, Caligula, but most importantly he was proud that Caligula also considered him a friend. As he entered the temple, however, Varus began to resent their friendship, as his most recent assignment to research a point of interest for the Caesar had led him to the precarious position he now found himself in.
Documents of a very strange origin had been discovered deep beneath the Palatine Hill, buried in a hidden chamber that was found during Caligula’s most recent renovation project of the Domus Augusti. They were wrapped around a perfectly round orb the size of a melon and were composed in a shaky hand, as though transcribed moments before death’s cold grip seized hold of the author. They were written in an antiquated dialect of Etruscan, a tribe that had resided North of Rome centuries ago.
When word of the discovery reached the Curia Julia, ambitious senators immediately sent word for both the object and the documents to be brought to the Senate building for inspection. But Varus had been overseeing the renovation project during the initial discovery, and was the first man to analyze the artifacts. In the short time he had with them, he’d held the sphere and attempted to translate the documents himself, but it wasn’t long before the Senate’s sycophants forced both from his possession.
Varus later learned that their linguists had transcribed a message that spoke of a treasure which the co-founder of Rome, Remus, had hidden away beneath the Palatine upon hearing of his brother’s treacherous plan to execute him. Riches were expected that far exceeded anything Rome currently held in its coffers, effectively guaranteeing its fiscal stability for centuries to come. The Senate dispatched its lackeys immediately to secure this treasure to help fund a private coup against the great leader of Rome, a plot Varus had suspected for months, but had only just confirmed.
But the Senate had been wrong.
Upon learning of this treachery from Varus, Caligula had sent him to reanalyze the documents and discover their true contents. What he found hidden in the nearly dead Etruscan language was a message that told of something far more powerful than a simple cache of lost treasure. Where the Senate had read of a treasure in the form of gold, silver, and gems, its reality was of something entirely different.
It hinted at Remus’ association with Druids from northern Germania, me who while currently simple priests, were once rumored to have possessed great power and mystical abilities. Although any magic they may have wielded in the past was long considered extinct and forgotten, the fact remained that those powers were feared by many. If they could indeed summon aid from realms unknown to Rome, the empire’s survival could be in question. Varus only hoped he was in time to stop the traitors from unleashing whatever untold evils the document spoke of.
Finally, with the short run from the Curia Julia completed, Varus entered the temple, bowing in reverence to the sacred tombs ensconced on either side of the small dome, the final resting places of both Romulus and Remus. Early each calendar year, all of Rome would gather outside the small temple to participate in the rituals of Lupercalia, an event meant to promote fertility for young men and women. He thought back to his teenage years, running around the walls of Rome, whipping young girls with bloody goat skins, full of energy and vigor with nothing in front of him but the future.
Varus felt sad that all that was left of those innocent days were distant memories, but forced himself to focus on his duty.
Creeping forward as quietly as he could, Varus found a small hole dug in the center of the magnificent structure. Grabbing hold of a rope, he slowly descended several meters into the dark abyss before making contact with the floor. He then followed a narrow tunnel before he emerged onto a slight ledge overlooking a vast chamber. It was large enough to contain the entire senate floor and Varus marveled at how it had remained undiscovered for so long.
Then he found who and what he was searching for.
Six men stood around two others facing a lone object at the far end of the chamber, their faces glistening in the dim flicker of their torches. It was too dark for Varus to identify any of them, but two were wearing their togas with a broad, purple stripe running along its border, likely identifying them as augurs, Rome’s priests and seers. Their skills at interpreting and analyzing omens made them crucial for directing the future, and decisions were never made unless these omens were read favorably. Varus had never put much stock in their mystical abilities, instead trusting hard work and determination to drive his own fate.
As Varus crept through the shadows, he noticed the rushed dig project had resulted in weak bracings holding back the tons of dirt above the freshly dug tunnel. His eyes panned the walls and ceiling, looking for any way to bring down the hill and crush his adversaries, when the two augurs approached the simply adorned and seemingly harmless altar at the back of the room. They were carrying the orb-like object that had been found with the documents which now exuded a dim greenish-blue glow.
Those below knew little about the object, except that it was adorned with illegible markings, but Varus knew better. His translation that associated Remus with the Druids convinced him that the object was the key to unlocking whatever evil secrets the document described.
Sorcery. Bah! If Druids could utilize such powerful magic, how is it that they no longer possess such power?
It was with this thought that Varus realized the Druids’ destruction perhaps had less to do with the overpowering might of the Roman war machine, and more with their own tampering in such dark realms.
By the time Varus found a cross beam he was certain would collapse the makeshift cavern, the object’s glow suddenly flared into a brilliant blue. His eyes turned towards the incandescent glow, and he found himself unable to turn away from the alluringly beautiful object for he had never before witnessed such a glorious sight.
How could something so beautiful be used for such evils?
As Varus stood there deep in thought, a magnificent blast emanated from the object that shone brighter than the sun itself, accompanied by a sound louder than the roar of a thousand legions’ battle cry. The force of the eruption was enough to knock Varus back against the wall and he knew he was too late.
When his vision cleared, he realized he was right. Emerging from the mist left over from the explosion were gigantic figures, rivals to the Titans of legend. He knew his last moments were upon him as he gazed upon the monsters, and when he closed his eyes, wai
ting calmly for his journey to Elysium, his last thoughts were of Caligula, and how he had failed him.
Part One
I
Hunter
C-130J Super Hercules(II), Over the Mediterranean Sea
July, 2021 AD
C-130J Super Hercules(II) aircraft have often been lauded by servicemen and women as the smoothest ride in the skies. First deployed only a year ago, the Super Hercules(II) were the most advanced military aircrafts on the planet, and after only a few months of active service were practically considered luxury liners by those who flew in them.
It was unfortunate then that the hurricane type conditions currently surrounding my particular C-130J, didn’t care what people thought, and proceeded to toss and bounce my plane around like any other aircraft. I’d often wondered why it deserved the super moniker, but I had to admit that since we were still flying, and not plummeting to the ground, was a good place to start. Even so, the ride was no smoother than my first HALO drop out of an old C-130 over Palestine three years ago, or the countless times since. I’d long ago concluded that people who name these things should really fly in one every once in a while.
After all, perspective was a wonderful thing.
I smirked at my wayward musings, my companion for years. They’d become a constant for me, a simple way to pass the time when nerves became most acute. While five years in the US Navy, the last three of which spent as an elite US Navy SEAL, had extinguished any ability I may have once had to feel fear over something as mundane as a flight through a storm, that didn’t mean I was completely steadfast. I could feel nervous before a mission and even fearful during them, but I was never totally afraid. Fear can compromise an operator’s initiative or lock them up in the heat of battle, and that can get people killed. The one thing that always hits a nerve, however, is a loss of control. I knew I couldn’t do anything if something happened to the plane. I didn’t possess the skill set required to help, and that made me feel helpless, hence the wandering thoughts.
Being in control has always been important to me, ever since I was a kid, which is what brought me on this trip in the first place, to retake control of my life. I was a fourth generation Navy man, following in the illustrious footsteps of men who had served in Vietnam, Korea, World War II, and World War I, even if I hadn’t started my career right away. Annapolis, America’s finest naval academy, had accepted my enrollment straight out of high school, but I turned them down. Instead, I chose to attend Dartmouth to pursue a life studying history and the classics, much to my father’s intense disapproval. I’d never seen him so disappointed. It wasn’t until a short time after I graduated that I finally redeemed a sense of honor in his eyes when I finally joined the Navy five years ago. I was his favored son once again.
Until today.
After turning down the appointment to Annapolis, I had wondered if my father would disown me. He hadn’t, but after the events of a few hours ago I wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t now because to him boarding this C-130J Super Hercules was paramount to high treason.
Treason to family, to country, and to code.
But not to God. I had my mom to thank for that.
I rubbed my eyes to cleanse the contentious thoughts from my mind. There was no sense in continuing to go over it in my head. My decision was made.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
We would be in Rome soon.
***
“Commander Hunter? Do you copy?”
My eyes snapped open. I must have dozed off because it took me a heartbeat to realize who was actually being addressed through my earphones.
“Yes, Captain,” I replied, addressing the aircraft’s skipper. “I read you Lima Charlie.”
“Good. We’ll be reaching your drop off point soon. Keep yourself strapped in until we reach it. Turbulence is expected to continue.”
“Copy. Wake me when we get there.”
“Yes, sir,” finished the Captain, clicking off the intercom.
Newly promoted to the rank of lieutenant commander, I couldn’t help but smile, still not comfortable being addressed as “sir” by a captain. Navy captains were two ranks higher than lieutenant commanders, but Army captains were about the equivalent rank of a Navy lieutenant, which I had just been promoted from earlier today. I was barely used to hearing the formality from the men under my own command, let alone half the military.
It didn’t matter. I wagered that when I joined my new unit, it would be back to “yes, sir” this, and “no, sir” that. I suppose I couldn’t complain too much. Leading men into combat was always more stressful than being responsible for only yourself, and the enemy in your gun sights.
***
Thirty minutes later, the captain came over the radio again. “Sir, we’re minutes away from drop off. I suggest you get ready.”
“Thank you, Captain. And thanks for the ride.”
“No problem, sir. Good luck.”
“Yeah right,” I mumbled.
Stick jockeys always acted like they had brass balls, but I knew the only time they’d actually grow a pair and jump out of their own aircraft was when it was shot up, on fire, and dropping out of the sky like a flightless bird. And even then I questioned if they would. Jumping out of airplanes in the middle of the night during a bad storm was generally reserved for the certifiable. And people like me, of course.
The entire trip would have been far easier had I been allowed to land with the plane and walk off the ramp onto solid ground, but not today. America may have possessed military bases on the Italian peninsula that I could have used, but my trip required slightly more discretion than even your regular black op. My plane would remain on its scheduled route, but not before taking a slight detour towards my drop point.
I heard a sudden whirring noise, and looked to the rear of the plane. I saw the rear door opening, a gaping maw into the dark void beyond.
I tried to repress the chill I felt trickling down my spine, but failed.
Getting to my feet, part of my parachute reassuringly bumping against my ass, I made my way to another member of the crew, standing near a light mounted on the hull, currently illuminated in red. When it turned green, I would jump.
HALO jumps were nothing new. The first were performed by the Air Force way back in the sixties, but that didn’t mean they were easy. Currently, we were traveling near our maximum altitude of around thirty thousand feet. As a result, I had to carry my own oxygen supply with me on the way down, or else I would suffocate. In fact, I had been sucking on a tank of one hundred percent pure oxygen for the past half hour to help ready my circulatory system for the quick transition to the surface.
Moving to the end of the craft, I bumped my head on the ceiling. Glaring at the low hull, I swore for the millionth time since joining the military about my height. I was a few inches shy of six and a half feet which left me feeling cramped in aircrafts and pretty much ensured I’d never be a fighter pilot.
I was still rubbing my head when I made it to the crewman at the end of the plane who attached a carabiner to my belt, securing my small go-bag on a rope so that it wouldn’t get in the way. He patted me on the shoulder and showed me a thumbs up, indicating all was ready on his end. I returned the gesture, and pulled on my helmet, brushing brown hair out of my eyes. Always the rebel, even as an officer, I kept my hair slightly longer than military regulations permitted.
I shifted my oxygen mask for a more comfortable fit, and slid my helmet’s visor into place, blinking a few times when a digital readout projected itself on its interior. The heads up display was just one of the fancy new Future Force Warriors items slowly being redeployed by the U.S. military. My HUD displayed numerous mission critical details in bright, blue lettering scattered around every inch of the display. It boasted items such as a clock, compass, altimeter, barometer, targeting information, GPS, and night vision capabilities. Satisfied each of its functions were working properly, I bent my legs and waited for the light.
It wa
sn’t long before it turned green and the crewman began shouting, “Go! Go!”
Motioning a quick sign of the cross, I leapt into the abyss.
Free falling, I quickly began picking up speed. I let myself free fall in a dive for a while before I allowed my arms and legs to go spread eagle. In this position my body would generate enough resistance against the wind to slow me down. I glanced at the upper right hand corner of my visor which displayed my altimeter. I watched as the meters quickly ticked away towards zero, waiting for when it indicated I was low enough to open my chute, but still high enough to not end up as a red stain on the ground. Content I had plenty of time to burn, I tried to relax and allow myself the pleasure of enjoying the view. High enough to see the curve of the Earth, I used my time to watch as dawn slowly crept from the East towards the inhabitants below and as the storm we had just passed through tried to meet it from the West.
It was moments like these when I really loved my job.
I couldn’t let myself get too distracted sightseeing. Italy was quickly losing the boot-like appearance I had initially seen after my jump, alerting me that it was time to start paying attention to my altimeter. I would have to wait until I was low enough to spot an infrared beacon before I could accurately locate my exact destination, somewhere north of Rome.
After a few more minutes of free fall, I pulled my chute open, bracing myself as I was jerked in my harness. As the parachute opened, I reached for a pair of cords dangling near my head. It wasn’t long before I was in complete control, and safely making my way to the ground.
Activating my HUD’s night vision, I glanced around, looking for the beacon. Under normal eyesight, infrared was effectively invisible, but night vision had no trouble picking up the pulsating strobe that flashed brightly in the infrared spectrum. I spotted it with little trouble, about a mile to my left, and slowly began my turn and descent towards it.
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