The Last Roman p-1

by Edward Crichton

  By the time we cut the enemy’s number in half again, I lost Helena somewhere in the confusion, and I could only pray that she was all right. Cut off from my swim buddy, I found myself in the middle of a line of three legionnaires. So far I had only been involved in small skirmishes and I’d seen many men cut down, but had yet to bloody my sword.

  With only seven enemy combatants remaining, they had no time for heroics. Hitting our line, I blocked and stabbed, and blocked even more, before I saw a clear opening for my first kill. An enemy was engaged with the legionnaire to my right, and had over extended himself, falling onto his shield. I saw the enemy’s exposed flank, and drove my sword up through the man’s armpit, driving it into his neck. Freeing my sword, a stream of blood spewed all over my clothes and face. No time to react, I saw one of the last men swinging his sword with both hands downwards, in an attempt to split me in two.

  I gave him no such chance. I caught the slice on my shield, blocking and sweeping his sword away, giving me an open shot at his entire front side. I looked right in his eyes and he looked back, immediately realizing his mistake. Gazes still locked, I thrust my sword right through the man’s chest. I felt the blade slip through his ribs, and out his back. I’d hit him right in his heart, and he fell dead almost immediately, blood spurting from the wound and his mouth.

  The last of the enemy slain, the surviving legionnaires bellowed a triumphant cry. They began checking the bodies, putting down any poor soul still left alive. It was a barbaric custom, but this was war, and definitely not one with any modern rules. Sanitation, food, medical supplies, guards, each of these things were at risk by harboring prisoners, and it would only hinder the siege. As immoral as it may have seemed, it was the only practical answer.

  Only a few dozen of our men had died, while another twenty had sustained injuries. Our men would receive help, of course, and I did what I could with the limited medical kit I had on me. Tending to a legionnaire cut along his bicep, I applied a few butterfly bandages to the wound after wiping it with some anti-bacterial cream. Applying the last of the bandages, I was prematurely pulled away from the man by Helena, who grabbed my head and kissed me with a passion I hadn’t experienced in her in days, well… hours really. My reunion with her incited most of the men watching to boo and throw dirt at us. The legionnaires had grown accustomed to seeing us together back in the winter camp, but now that we were clearly together, they let their humorous disapproval show whenever they could.

  Poor jealous bastards.

  That was the first of our mini engagements, and the only one I had participated in. Everyone else in the squad had received a small taste for sword combat during the siege as well, and each came away admitting they hated it, but happy they got some experience. These engagements had me worried though because if Claudius could afford to waste troops in these completely ineffective counter attacks, how many men did he really have? The enemy was losing far more than we were, and it led me to wonder if Claudius had recruited a larger army than Galba had estimated.

  As for Nero and Agrippina, I had no idea where they were, and frankly, couldn’t care less. A part of me wished the pair died in the initial artillery strike, but that seemed unfair. After all, young Nero was still technically innocent, and something as beautiful, albeit evilly beautiful, as Agrippina shouldn’t be wasted.

  On the thirty seventh day of the siege, I awoke early around four in the morning, and was not feeling well. I’d slept all right, but it must have been that damn beef patty MRE I had again the previous evening that woke me.

  I’ve sworn off the stuff since.

  With my upset stomach groaning, I got up slowly so I didn’t disturb Helena. She was still fast asleep; the remnants of her clothing strewn about the tent after I’d aggressively removed them earlier. She looked perfect in the dim light from a dying glow stick that softly illuminated her body, so I retrieved my rifle as quietly as I could and left to wander through the trenches. It was still dark, and there were only a few sentries posted and awake. As I passed by them, they offered me friendly, but tired greetings, mostly paying me little attention. I continued on my morning walk until I found a nice spot to watch the sun rise in the East. Since high school, I made it a point to just sit and watch the sun rise whenever I could. My time in the military, and in the Roman army, granted me many opportunities to be awake during the time, but never any to just sit and enjoy.

  It had been a beautiful dawn, followed by an even more stunning sunrise. I didn’t move until the entirety of the sun had cleared the horizon, and was floating just a few feet above the tree line, far in the distance. I could never figure out why I felt better after watching the daily event, I just knew that I did. It made me feel whole. I threw the sun a salute, and continued on my trek.

  Along the way, I stopped at each fort, and used my rifle’s scope to check out the walls in case trouble was abrewing. At the last fort before my camp, I set my sights just above a gate’s entrance, and saw the last thing I thought I’d see. Agrippina was standing there, and oddly, she seemed to be looking right at me. There was no way she could have recognized me from the distance we were at, but I could have sworn she’d smiled at me.

  I lowered my rifle, rubbed my eyes with my hands, and then the lenses of my scope with a rag. Raising my rifle again, I looked back at where I thought I had seen her only ten seconds earlier, but found nothing. Just an empty wall. I shuddered, finally realizing the odd contrasting similarities between Agrippina’s smile, and Helena’s eyes. Not a person in the world could either unnerve me or confuse me like those two women could. I went back to my tent thoroughly creeped out, and wrapped myself around Helena. In seconds I was back asleep with another hour to burn.

  By the time the fiftieth day of the siege rolled around, I’d just about given up any thoughts of it lifting. Besides the few moments of excitement and action, there wasn’t much to do. I spent my time running, practicing swordsmanship, cleaning and preparing my gear, spending some quality time with my reconciled lady friend, and working on my tan. I was a solid bronze, practically Helena standards, by the time Caligula called for a meeting of his senior staff. He told Vincent to bring the rest of us along.

  All the usual suspects were present and accounted for, so Caligula began promptly.

  “I am sure you are all aware of how the siege is progressing, so I’ll get to the point.” He paused, placed his fists on the table and leaned heavily on them. “We’ve just received reports indicating massive unrest in the city. Many of its citizens are calling for an end to the siege and demanding Claudius do something about it.

  “Seven months ago, news of my apparent death didn’t go over well with the public, and while Claudius’ ascension was taken in stride, it was not overwhelming popular. Therefore, our arrival, and my apparent rise from the dead, has made the people question what actually happened the night we left. Thanks in part to Vincent and his people, many felt the gods themselves had fought against my Praetorians. Now, however, they are not so sure.

  “This works in our favor. Claudius now has no choice but to face us in open combat, or risk the city rising against him. I do not care how unstable he may be, he is not stupid. He’ll come out and face us.”

  He looked at each of us present and met each of our gazes. Most wore stone faced expressions, but some, mostly those of us who had never seen a military engagement of this kind, looked worried. He must have noticed our apprehension.

  “Vincent. What can I expect from you and your people?”

  Vincent shifted his feet, and looked at each of his operators. I gave him a reassuring nod.

  “We’ll fight for you, Caesar,” he replied, confidently.

  “Good.”

  “I think what the emperor meant is how can you help us?” Galba asked, still looking for a reason to keep us around.

  “Three things,” Vincent said, ignoring Galba. “First, we can lay a field of explosives on the battlefield the night before the engagement along a path where we expect our e
nemy to be. They will trigger when passed by. It should cause significant damage to small portions of the army.”

  “Wouldn’t that require them to attack us? As it is that we are besieging them, it would seem that the orders of combat would be reversed,” Galba said, continuing his skepticism and sarcasm.

  “Not necessarily, sir. We can sneak close enough to the walls to lay them in the area the enemy will use to form their battle lines. We can hit them any time we want.”

  I groaned quietly. That would mean we, probably Helena and I, would have to spend hours crawling under the cover of ghilli suits just to get close enough to lay out a field of demo. It wouldn’t be fun, but it would definitely work.

  C-4 was very good at blowing up walls and bringing down buildings, but its blast radius and direction was very concentrated, so laying it on the ground to blow at the enemy’s feet wouldn’t work. We did have a few claymores left, provided in our supplies but what would really help were the few dozen antipersonnel mines we discovered. Nearly invisible to those not directly looking for them, the mines were equipped with laser trip wires. Once triggered, the mine would launch a device a few feet in the air, and explode outwards as it spun, tearing through skin and bone in a twenty yard radius. The few dozen of these we had would be very helpful, indeed.

  “Second, we can provide rifle fire to help weed out the enemy at a much farther range than your pila volleys. Since we are within our range already, our sustained fire might force their hand, and cause them to charge us. Once both sides are within pila range, no matter who charges who, we will fall back through your lines and fire when targets of opportunity display themselves only.”

  “And the third?” Galba asked insistently.

  Vincent looked around the room, maybe deciding if he wanted to continue or not. “Before the battle even begins, should Claudius be present on the battlefield, we, and by ‘we,’ I mean her,” he said, pausing for emphasis as he pointed at Helena, “can eliminate him before he takes two steps onto the field.”

  Galba opened his mouth to speak, but just as quickly shut it. He had seen her shoot an apple off of a wall from a few hundred yards away, and must have known she could do what Vincent was offering. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, and since she was a better shot than even I was, Helena, not her rifle, was currently the single most effective weapon on the entire planet.

  Caligula appeared more thoughtful than his general, as he too realized Helena could perhaps end the war before it even began. Still leaning on his fists, he looked up and for maybe the first time since both had known each other, looked her square in the eye, and spoke to her as a commander would any of his soldiers.

  “Are you willing to do this?”

  Helena looked at Vincent, who nodded, then at me. All I could do was offer a weak shrug. It wasn’t my place to decide for her. She looked down at her feet and thought it over before meeting Caligula’s face.

  “I am,” she answered, mostly confident.

  Caligula looked at Galba, whose face was unreadable. I knew what he was thinking, and it couldn’t have been an easy decision. Just because you had the power to end a life on a whim, doesn’t mean you should do so. Besides, enemy or not, crazy or not, Claudius was still Caligula’s uncle, and I’m sure that fact had to weigh heavily on his mind. He turned his back on his staff, and rested his chin on an upraised fist.

  Five minutes passed and he still hadn’t made a decision.

  “Caesar?” Galba queried tentatively.

  Caligula’s head dropped, but he soon turned back to face us.

  “No,” he said quietly. “No. Thank you, but I cannot condone that. He is my uncle, and both sides are aware of why they are fighting. Assassinating him at the onset of battle would do little to dissuade the troops. Whoever has more men standing at the end of the day will prevail, and will be able to maintain their hold on power through their own loyal troops. The less dissenters the better. This must be decided on the battlefield.”

  Bravo, Caligula. I had to imagine emperors both before, and definitely after, would have jumped at the opportunity to wield the kind of power Helena possessed. Sure, he’d used her before for the exact reason, but it seemed as though the past few months had matured the man, his arrogant personality abandoned. If we could defeat Claudius, I saw a bright future for Rome.

  As for Helena, she was obviously relieved. She’d gotten a taste for both combat and assassination lately, and had a definite knack for it, but I knew it didn’t come easy for her. I knew she didn’t like it. It had been a topic for many a late night conversation. I wondered if she would have cut it as a sniper back home. She had no choice here. Here it was kill or be killed, but it wasn’t so black and white back home. She wasn’t a bloodthirsty killer, and I had a renewed regret for bringing us here and causing all this shit.

  “So, when the day comes,” Caligula continued, “I expect your people to be at my side. They will have a place of honor, right beside me.”

  “It is indeed an honor, Caesar,” Vincent answered, “but I believe we would be put to better use in a more active part of the field.”

  “Do not worry, I do not plan to loiter in the rear and stay safe in this battle. The troops will need their emperor guiding them, as much as their eagle. I leave it to you to keep me safe. Believe me when I say, I wouldn’t be so quick to do battle myself if you were not there.”

  “We will do our best. Thank you, Caesar.”

  Caligula smiled, and looked over at his Praetorian primus pilus. “Don’t look so glum, Quintilius. I would not be so eager to fight if you and your men weren’t there as well.”

  Quintilius returned the smile, his dignity and pride restored.

  “Let us talk strategy then,” he said.

  Finding his favorite map of the walled city, he began explaining his preliminary battle plans. Before he could make any headway, a commotion from outside the tent forced us to stop.

  “What now?” Santino asked.

  I turned to Helena. “If it’s Agrippina, just shoot her this time.”

  She flashed a toothy smile, but we breathed a collective sigh of relief when a simple messenger entered the tent instead, handing Caligula a sealed letter. The emperor thanked the man, and started reading. I saw his eyes grow slightly before he crumpled up the letter and burned it with a candle.

  “General, alert the troops,” he ordered Galba. “Tomorrow we do battle. It seems Claudius has decided to come out and meet us in open combat. We’ll continue this when you return.”

  Galba smiled, his expression itching for a fight. “With pleasure, Caesar.”

  XII

  Endgame

  Plains outside Rome, Italy

  June, 38 A.D.

  The following morning, I prepared for war.

  It would be the kind of war I’d never seen before, and for the first time in my military career, I was truly afraid. Not just nervous like I had been many times before a mission, but genuinely scared shitless. This was the kind of random warfare that left almost no room to control your own fate. That worried me. A random spear here or a wayward sword thrust there. Each could end your life before you even knew it. Back home I was always on the offensive, choosing the time and place for battle and the how and why shit went down around me. Those would not be options available today.

  I had slept well that night, capitalizing with Helena on the idea that we might not survive another day. It amounted to a good sleep, despite the predawn wake up time.

  However, prior to our nocturnal activities, facing a completely novel way of waging war, we prepared our gear as well as we could for the unfamiliar battle ahead. The versatility of my combat vest really showed itself as I removed every single pouch, pocket or other modular item already applied, leaving it a bare canvas for me to work on.

  The key to our effectiveness was the ability to maintain our weapons fire as long as possible. To help neutralize the fact that I had limited space on my vest to carry loaded magazines, I opted instead to carr
y a shoulder hoisted messenger bag. The bag allowed me to carry forty fully loaded magazines for my HK416, more than twelve hundred rounds of ammunition. On my vest, I attached dump pouches to catch my spent mags and a CamelBak on my back. Additionally, I set up my thigh mounted holster for my Sig on my right thigh, and prepared a similar thigh holster for my opposite leg that held pistol mags. Those added another forty eight rounds of ammunition.

  I felt like Jesse Ventura wielding a minigun.

  Last night had been productive, both emotionally and from a preparation standpoint, so I got up this morning feeling good. There were very few who could voluntarily face their own deaths and not feel even the slightest twinges of fear. Those of us who did took solace in good preparation and the companions we surrounded ourselves with. Between Helena, Santino, the rest of the guys, and an entire legion at my side, I felt confident, but not overly so. Overconfidence could be just as detrimental as ill preparation. Even so, I knew as the battle inched closer the fear would return with it.

  Donning the rest of my gear, I kept myself light, but did all I could to offer my vulnerable spots as much protection as possible. My vest protected my chest, abdomen, sides, back, and shoulders, and would easily turn away thrown spears and most sword thrusts, but it still left vulnerable spots beneath my vest. The precision stabbing of a Roman with his gladius might be enough to find a way through my defenses, but I was still better protected than a legionnaire with his lorica segmentata armor.

  The combat fatigues I wore would offer the most amount of protection. Their gel layers and Kevlar lining protected the majority of my body, but I still lamented the fact that the entire outfit wasn’t covered in the stuff. Finally, I opted to forgo the optical lens and computer for the battle. I didn’t expect to have much time to send E-mails today.

  The last piece of equipment I retrieved was the only one I dreaded having to use. It was thirty inches long, double sided, and had a tip which could skewer a wild boar. It wasn’t a gladius, like a standard legionnaire would use, but it would do the trick. During training, I’d found the smaller gladius simply too diminutive. It just didn’t work very well with my tall frame and long reach. The instructing centurions had noticed my awkwardness, and ordered a longer sword furnished for me with all the other design features its smaller counterpart boasted. I had quickly learned to use it well, and soon Bordeaux had been given one as well.