As our heads came together, my mouth centimeters from hers, so close I could feel her breath on my lips and the heat radiating off her cheeks, I heard the most annoyingly ill-timed commotion I had ever heard. It sounded like someone had broken down our front door and were pillaging our home.
I looked up at Helena as she strained her head towards the door, trying to see what was happening. Gently, I placed my left hand alongside her cheek, shifting her face back towards mine.
She smiled as she looked down at me, and my mind went blank. I could only think of one thing to say. It was the most cliche line I had ever heard.
“Rain check?”
***
We recovered from the moment and rushed to the adjoining room to see numerous Roman Praetorians cramping our building, with plenty more outside. Helena and I had our side arms at the ready, but lowered them when we saw the recognizable faces of our new friends. I noticed Gaius near the door, and offered him a friendly nod. He returned it imperceptibly, but I saw a look of worry on his stone hard face.
Vincent was standing between us and them, his arms upraised between us to ward off any aggressive action before it started. Wang and Santino were kneeling in the doorway opposite the entrance, their rifles directed at our guests. Both men were shirtless and looked as though they had been preparing to get some sleep.
“Stand down,” Vincent ordered, motioning for all of us to put our weapons down.
He turned to face them, offering them a look of annoyed expectancy. The Romans waited patiently for us to put our weapons away. Once satisfied we wouldn’t shoot them, the centurion, Quintilius, stepped forward.
“There has been an incident on the Palatine which requires your attention,” he said, pointedly. “Earlier today, prior to your return from Gaul, Caligula became very ill, and is now bed ridden.”
Vincent and I exchanged glances. This was it. The pivotal point in Caligula’s reign, the catalyst for his legacy, but the timing was off. Caligula wasn’t even in Rome when he got sick. I now knew it was no longer a question of whether or not we were changing things.
We were.
“We are unsure of the cause,” Quintilius said, “but up until this morning, Caligula was in perfect health. We suspect poison. We…” he trailed off, glancing at his comrades before continuing, “we’re here of our own accord. No one sent us. We were hoping maybe you could help him.”
Vincent looked thoughtful, but Quintilius continued before he could say anything.
“There’s more. We also have information of an armed mob congregating on the far side of the city, led by members of the Senate. Rumors of an uprising have been circulating for weeks now, and it looks like dissenters plan to take advantage of Caligula’s weakened position. If you are truly here to help us, you must commit to our cause now. We may need to flee Rome at any time, and you won’t be able to come back.” He took a step forward, and stared coldly at Vincent. “Are you with us?”
Vincent’s eyes met the floor before he glanced over at me. I shrugged. We were well beyond the point of no return in regards to maintaining the status quo, and the alternative to helping seemed like a death sentence, anyway.
He nodded. “We’re with you.”
The centurion nodded as well. “We thank you. Please, make your way to the Palatine as quickly as possible. I believe the need for you to stay under guard is at an end, so please leave at your discretion, but do hurry. My men and I will attempt to quell the uprising before it ignites, but we cannot make any guarantees. Take what you can with you, and we will arrange to have your extra supplies moved. Gaius will remain here with you, just in case. He’ll follow whatever order you give him.”
Vincent nodded, and tapped his closed fist against his chest. “We’ll do what we can, Centurion.”
The man returned the gesture before rounding up his men and leaving as quickly as he could, Gaius remaining with us.
Vincent started moving towards his room.
“All right, people. I want you ready in ten minutes. Get your three day assault packs ready. I want you heavy with ammunition. Looks we’ll be saying goodbye to our little home away from home.”
“Damn,” Santino said, “and I was just about ready to plant a garden out front. I was thinking tulips.”
***
Helena and I rushed back into our room even though most of our gear was already ready to go, and donned our night ops combat fatigues. The past month had given all of us plenty of free time, so even though our weapons had sat idle, they were clean, loaded, and ready for use. Vincent’s order for a three day assault pack was basically code for bringing as much food and ammo as you can muster. Finding my small-go bag, I crammed in as many fully loaded magazines as I could. Thanks to the bag’s versatility, I tightened the shoulder strap to the point where I could fit it around my waist for use as a butt pack. It would allow for quick access to as much ammo as I hoped I’d need, without needing to hassle with a cumbersome bag.
That thought in mind, I made sure to attach a dump pouch to my belt as well. Normally in the field, a soldier’s empty mag could simply be discarded on the ground and forgotten about. When they returned home, the military would provide them with replacements. Here, in ancient Rome, we no longer had that luxury, and while we had more than enough ammunition to supply the entire Normandy Beach invasion, we couldn’t afford to frivolously waste the magazines.
Finding my assault bag, I gestured for Helena to toss me her own. When she did, I ran to our supply room. I stuffed both of our bags with a half a dozen MREs, enough food to last a month if rationed very, very scarcely, as well as extra empty magazines, and a few boxes of additional ammo, 5.56x45mm for me, 5.57x28mm for Helena’s P90, and 7.62x51mm ammo for her DSR-1. To round out our supplies, I added an entrenching shovel, a few hundred feet of paracord, a survival gear, E amp;E kit, some bottled water, and plenty of extra batteries with a solar panel charger into my bag. Besides the food and ammo, I added two sets of night vision goggles to Helena’s pack, as well as a two man tent, which when packed was no larger than three pairs of jeans stacked on top of each other, and not much heavier. She had to travel light in case she needed to run off and play sniper. Plus she had to carry two weapons.
Just as I was about to head back into my room, Bordeaux rushed in behind me, almost running me down with his bulky frame.
“ excusez-moi,” he mumbled mockingly. “Rush, rush, rush.”
Smiling at his own silliness, he shoved me into my room.
I stumbling through the doorway and shot him an ugly stare, which he, of course, completely ignored.
Helena noticed my clumsiness, and laughed. “Boy, you are quite the klutz, and not just around ‘attractive women’,” she said, batting her eyelashes at me. “I’m amazed you made it through puberty.”
Offering her a sarcastic smile, I threw her assault bag at her a little harder than I should have. She caught it with a “whoof.”
“And a temper too,” she said, pressing the back of her palm to her forehead. “Hold me back.” She continued smiling as she pulled on her vest, and began snapping her thigh platforms together. She had her pistol on her right leg, and magazine pouches for her DSR-1 on her left. She pulled on her bag, slung her DSR-1 over her shoulder, somewhat awkward with the large bag, and shouldered her P90. “I’ll meet you outside, Jacob.”
She tried to squeeze past me to get through the door, but just before she could, instinct took over. I lashed out and grabbed her arm, swinging her around into my own arms. Before she could protest, which I was mostly sure she wouldn’t, I leaned her back, pressed my lips against hers, and waited for her to punch me again.
I felt her stiffen ever so slightly, not out of apprehension or protest, or even fear, but perhaps just from the novelty of the experience. Her lips were soft and tender, and I felt her resolve tighten quickly. Almost immediately I felt her arms snaking around my neck, and I knew I’d avoided another excruciating black eye. Pulling her even closer, I drank in as many details a
s I could. The sweet scent of her hair, the subtle, yet equally pleasing odor of her skin, and the texture of her delicate lips. The stimulation was so intoxicating that I didn’t want to let go; only doing so when I thought she might run out of air.
Backing away, I saw her eyes were closed, and her lips still puckered. It was an expression as innocent as a young woman could wear after her first kiss with a new guy. Cupping her chin in a hand, I waited for her eyes to open.
When they did, I gave her a smile. “Just in case something happens.”
She looked at me, her mouth moving, but with no words coming out.
I heard someone clear their throat, and for a second I thought the moment would be ruined by a horrible joke from Santino. Instead, I looked over to see Bordeaux, still standing there, smiling in our direction. Catching my eye, he just shook his head with a smile, and left the room.
Helena smiled as well and gave me a playful shove away from her. “Just don’t get yourself killed, Lieutenant. I’ve decided I like you after all.”
“Knowing there’s someone to come home to makes surviving that much more important. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t.” She said as she left. I watched her go for a half second wondering if I’d just won something. Like an Awesome Contest of something. Helena’s affection was a prize any man would die for, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that kissing her was some grand victory, but it made me remember I had something to fight for again. Like I said. Someone to come home to. Trapped in Rome kind of took away that luxury, and I nearly kicked myself for almost depriving myself of it. Grabbing my own gear and snapping everything together on the run, I rushed out of my room, a grin worthy of Santino himself on my face.
Upon arrival, I noticed the front door was still open where Gaius stood guard, and the rest of the team just started to file into the room. Helena was standing near the door and gave me a smile. Santino seemed to notice her joyful expression and arched an eyebrow in my direction. I gave him a shrug, and left it at that. Let him figure it out for himself.
Vincent was last out of his room, clipping his belt together as he rounded the corner. Not one to waste time on endless speeches, he moved towards the door. “Here we go. Remember, we don’t know what’s going on out there, so don’t get trigger happy. We don’t need to be the cause of an uprising that would never have happened had we not gotten involved.”
I had to laugh at the hypocrisy of that statement. We’d already caused more than our share of problems that wouldn’t have happened had we not been here. The riot most probably included.
Following Vincent, we made our way to the Palatine, with Gaius in the lead. Night had fallen, and we immediately noticed the glow of numerous fires popping up near the outskirts of the city. It looked as though Quintilius couldn’t do much to stop the rioters after all.
With the riot in mind, I was having trouble understanding why this was happening now. Caligula had ruled for a number of years before he was finally deposed by his own Praetorians, and that was well after he had gone insane. So, why was this happening now? The only theory I could come up with is that our presence sped up someone’s timetables, and instead of letting Caligula’s insanity do the hard work of turning his own people against him, they were going to force the issue.
It didn’t matter. We were on our way to the Domus Augusti, and I didn’t have time to think about it. We double timed it and made the trip in less than fifteen minutes. Greeting us was a small unit of Caligula’s bodyguards, fifty strong, guarding the front door. Seeing Gaius, they waved us through.
The home was sparsely furnished, but majestic, inherited from Tiberius, and before him, Augustus. Moving through the atrium and main foyer, complete with a simple, but elegant fountain, we made our way into Caligula’s bedroom, which, like the rest of the house, was nearly empty. His bed dominated the room, taking up almost half of the space, but leaving enough room to hold a hundred men. Moving inside, we immediately took up defensive positions. Bordeaux posted up on the main doorway we had just entered, and Helena moved to a balcony opposite his position, overlooking the city, pulling out her DSR-1. Santino and I moved to cover an adjacent hallway, the only other way into the room. Each of us pulled off our assault bags, and tossed them in a corner.
Vincent and Wang moved towards Caligula with Gaius.
The could be great emperor of Rome lay in the center of his bed, with a light sheet covering his body. He was sweating profusely and his skin was gray and clammy. His closed eyes were fluttering rapidly.
Vincent stepped to the left side of the bed while Wang went to the right, both looking down at the seemingly dying man. Wang placed his hand on Caligula’s forehead, as a mother would do her sick toddler. Shaking his head, he pulled out a stethoscope and a thermometer, while simultaneously checking his pulse. After using both tools and consulting his watch, his expression only seemed bleaker.
“What’s the diagnosis?” Vincent asked.
Wang shook his head again. “People don’t go from perfectly healthy to a bedridden fever in a matter of a few hours. If I had to guess, I would have to agree that poison is the primary suspect.”
Vincent nodded, understanding the Romans’ penchant for poison. “What can you do for him?”
“Well, I don’t have the equipment to perform a full spectrum analysis of his blood, so there is no way to determine exactly what’s wrong with him. However, I suspect that the poison isn’t what’s killing him.”
“Then what is?”
“The fever,” he said instantly. “A high grade one. I’m not the history buff you or Hunter are, but I know enough about medicine to know that poor sanitation is, and always has been, the leading cause of disease. As we’ve experienced, clean water is scarce here and people aren’t aware of proper dietary habits either. I suspect the poison is very simple, because it doesn’t need to work itself around the wonders of modern medicine. Instead, it attacks the immune system, shutting it down to the point where you easily contract the first disease you come across. It’s like cancer. It doesn’t kill you, but something as benign as a bloody cold that you contract and can’t fight because your immune system is destroyed does.”
“So what can you do for him?”
Wang sighed. “Well, treating a fever is not hard. Hunter said that when this happened the last time, or this time, or…” he looked confused, “…or whatever, when he recovered he went crazy. That’s because they had no way to treat it, and the fever lasted long enough to cause brain damage. It can even cause you to go blind, or lose your hearing, or both.”
“That means you can treat him?”
“I can, but it’s going to take some time.” Wang faltered for half a second.
He had just spoken more words in the past five minutes than he had over the past month. Interestingly, combat medics go through some of the most intense training the military can throw at them. They sometimes end up more combat qualified than even some of the most elite operators. It was with that training, and every medics’ ingrained primary instincts as a healer, that Wang was hopefully able to finally find something worth focusing on.
“Even in our own time,” he continued, “kids who have a fever have to stay home from school for a few days. Depending on how tough they are. I can give him an IV drip of liquids, provide him with painkillers, give him some of our water to drink, keep him cool with ice packs, and place a damp, cool cloth over his forehead. Very basic stuff. We probably shouldn’t move him until I have everything set up and give him at least a few hours to react to the treatment, but after that, we can load him in my mobile stretcher platform and take him wherever we need to go.”
“Good. Get to work. Hopefully, we’ll just stay here and leave when he’s better, but make preparations for immediate evac.”
“Aye, sir.”
Pulling off his bag, he extracted his stretcher, which he expertly unfolded next to Caligula’s inert form. Attached to it was a pole, so that IV drips could be used during transport. Just as
Wang pulled an IV pouch from his bag, I heard the clacking sound of hobnailed Roman boots running along the marble flooring.
It was the centurion, Quintilius.
Sweating only slightly, the man was breathing easily. He had his legion training to thank for that, as long marches and years of training transformed those men into triathletes. Stopping short near Vincent, he laid out the situation in an overly melodramatic fashion.
“We are undone. The mob is on the move, and will be here within the hour. They’re marching with most of the Senate’s approval.”
“Damn it, Quintilius,” Vincent growled. “How did this happen?”
“I am not certain” he said, shock evident on his face. “Even before your arrival, there had been grumblings in the Senate about Caligula’s ascension, but never to the point where open rebellion would result. Many favored Claudius over Caligula, and while he has stirred up trouble during Senatorial sessions, I cannot believe he is involved.”
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching the two commanders, “but did you say many wanted Claudius as Tiberius’ successor, and because he didn’t get the job, he’s been causing trouble?”
“Basically, yes.”
“What are you thinking, Hunter,” Vincent asked, no longer skeptical about my reasoning abilities.
“Two things.” I said, holding up two fingers. “First, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we not only went back in time, but also jumped into a parallel universe. The multiverse theory…”
“Hunter!” Vincent put some force behind the name.
“Sir?”
“Do not even start!”
“Sorry, sir. Anyway, number two. What if Claudius was behind this, or was even the mastermind? I got nothing but a bad vibe from him today, and if what Quintilius says is true, he’s got the means and the motives to do it.”
“Maybe,” Vincent agreed reluctantly, “but even though things have changed slightly, that theory really isn’t in sync with our own knowledge of history.”
“Right. But like you said, things have changed. Maybe Claudius really ordered the assassination of Caligula in our history, and made up the story of hiding in the curtains to throw off historians. Hell, from what I’ve seen, he’s done a fantastic job of rewriting history already. Nothing seems right. I think that when Caligula originally got sick, Claudius was behind the poisoning, just as he is this time. Except this time, since we’re here, Caligula is here too. Not out of the city. Also, since we’re here, we can stop him from getting so sick he never fully recovers.”
The Last Roman p-1 Page 22
