A Hunter and His Legion
Praetorian Series Book III
By Edward Crichton
Copyright 2013
This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only and is not to be shared, reproduced, resold, or altered in any way. The author thanks you for respecting his intellectual property.
Acknowledgments
Normally, this is where I thank all the people who I thanked in the acknowledgments sections of my first two Praetorian books, but they’re all too busy to read my work now. Instead, I’ll thank my sister Amanda (who did read it) and Teresa, my new editor who emailed me out of the blue and kindly offered her services… which I sorely needed. Thanks!
Books by Edward Crichton
The Praetorian Series
The Last Roman (Book I)
To Crown a Caesar (Book II)
A Hunter and His Legion (Book III)
Starfarer
Rendezvous with Destiny
Book Two – Coming Fall, 2014
Table of Contents
Haiku
I – Revelations
II – Paradoxes
III – Generals
IV – Alexandria
V – Mediterranean
VI – Britannia
VII – Wilderness
VIII – Anglesey
IX – Northward
X – Facepalm
XI – Answers
XII – Decisions
Author’s Note
Starfarer
Author’s Bio
How the F#!% We Got Here
In Haiku
By: Johnathon Archibald Santino III
It was World War Three,
The year 2021,
And the end seemed close.
Russians and Chinese,
Americans and assholes,
Fighting each other.
The war was pointless,
But then I joined a new crew.
Ended up in Rome.
I joined a new team.
Badass Special Forces, all
And Hunter came too.
Sent to Syria.
Our mission: Kill terrorists.
But we screwed it up.
Time travel exists.
How do I know, you may ask?
I’m in Ancient Rome.
That’s right, ANCIENT ROME!
Met all kinds of cool people,
Oh, yeah… ANCIENT ROME!!
We met the Caesars.
Caligula was awesome.
Claudius, a dick.
And Agrippina.
Damn, she’s a hot piece of ass,
But a total B.
Claudius rebelled.
Caligula reclaimed throne.
History was changed.
Caligula dead.
Agrippina was made queen.
Wasn’t my first choice…
So she exiled us,
And for years, we were homeless,
Wandering Europe.
Guy named Vespasian.
Hunter said he’s the right guy,
So we went to work.
Failed to capture her.
Big fight in Byzantium.
Broke Caesarea.
I’m struggling here.
Haiku can kiss my big ass.
Really… fuck Haiku.
So let’s wrap this up.
Agrippina kicked our butt,
Again. Yeah… again.
But then others came.
New time travelers arrived,
and saved our asses.
They helped us escape.
We went East to Damascus,
To hide and lay low.
I told you I could,
I just knew I could Haiku.
So F U, Hunter
fin
I
Revelations
Outskirts of Damascus, Syria
October, 42 A.D.
While indistinguishable from each other in terms of function, held within my hands were two objects vastly different in design. In my right was paper, the kind akin to what I remembered as printer paper from the nineties, perforated edges and all, while my left hand held a medium for writing that was heavier, stiffer, and far larger. It was a piece of papyrus rolled into a cylinder and then flattened, but yet to be opened. And in each document was information, but while I had no desire to actually read them, I knew I owed it to both authors to try, especially Him.
Him.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to think about Him just yet.
I let my hands fall into my lap, the weight of my arms heavy upon my legs, just as my shoulders felt around my chest, and my mind within my head. I looked up and out, surveying the small oasis where we’d made camp, located a few miles east of the ancient Middle Eastern city of Damascus. The scrub brush desert land around us was vast and desolate, the small blip that was Damascus notwithstanding – a perfect place to hide. An oasis may have been an obvious place to lay low, but the desert was immense. With luck, we’d evaded our pursuers long ago, giving us time to regroup and come to grips with our current situation, which again was something I’d rather delay thinking about for as long as I could.
The oasis was small, no bigger than a basketball court if adjusted properly. A few stray palm trees dotted its perimeter, lending a certain amount of shade to the area, but bushes and scrubs were the dominate flora in the area, as was the small lake, no bigger than a pond really.
With the sun setting on the horizon before me, the spot was quite beautiful, tainted only by the thoughts that raced through my mind and the pain that emanated from my side whenever I twisted or pulled in the wrong direction. But pain I was trained to deal with, and my mind could be placated when I concentrated hard enough, yet nothing could remove the foul existence of the two documents held firmly within my hands.
I looked at them again.
In that moment, instead of debating which to read, I tried to discern how such unassuming objects could feel so heavy in my hands. Paper and papyrus. Fifty pound dumbbells they were not, yet they felt even heavier, so much so that I had trouble lifting them from my knees to hold at eye level again.
But I did.
As I looked at them, I knew the object in my left hand could wait. The papyrus. The information contained there was likely more important, but the only thing that could truly soothe my curiosity and frustration was held in my right hand.
I gave the papyrus one last long look before leaning to my left and placing it within the bag that rested comfortably next to the rock I was perched on. A second bag just to the side of it caught my eye, but despite wandering fingers that inched in that direction, I fought off the urge to grab for it. With a clenched fist, I straightened carefully to avoid further discomfort in my side. I tried to relax my upper body but winced at even that slight gesture, and took a moment to lift my shirt and prod the thick bandage that covered my entire left flank, from nipple to shoulder blade. Its former whiteness was now a pale red around its edges, but a darker streak ran right through its center.
I suppressed a gag reflex from the sight of it, and turned to look out over the water at nothing in particular, carefully repositioning my shirt over my midsection at the same time. But after a few moments of quiet introspection, I again returned my attention to the paper held before me. Six in total, each page contained two columns of information. On the right side of each page were photographs of a tattered and ancient piece of paper with a barely legible but familiar scrawl written upon it, and on the left was a transcription of these photographs – or so I was told.
I separated the first page from the rest and turned it over a few times
and back again, inspecting its quality. It didn’t appear digitally rendered and enhanced, as I would have expected of such a thing from my own home, but more as if someone had simply taken both the original document and the transcription, placed them on a copy machine, and ran them off onto a single piece of paper together.
Considering what I already knew about where the paper came from, I couldn’t say I was surprised.
I placed the sheet back with its siblings and stared at them again without reading, preparing myself as I had done every night for the past few days. On each of those nights, I’d sit upon the very rock I sat upon now, and would look out over the small body of water, unable to read that which I had already written once before…
In another lifetime.
In an entirely different life completely.
Written by another me.
The Other Me.
I’d kept a journal for about the past six months of my life, something those of us in the military liked to call after action reports: a self-reflection of prior missions and an outlet for arranging thoughts. I’d written nine entries and my friends had provided two others, but somehow, someway, a twelfth entry existed within my hand.
They’d told me I’d written it.
But I hadn’t written it. Not me. Not exactly. It had been another me.
An alternate me.
The Other Me.
The one that hadn’t made it. A me that had died, initiating a chain of events that led this very document to reside within a cargo container for two thousand years before it was finally found, and then brought back to me, the actual me, the me right now. It had spent two thousand years rotting away in the desert only to travel back in time to the day it had been created – just three days ago.
I squinted at the top page, but a sudden dimming of light delayed my inevitable reading of it.
I looked up again, noticing that the sun had just kissed the horizon, and that dusk was upon us. At first I considered myself saved from the task before me, but then fate, as it always seemed to do, intervened.
“Here, Jacob.”
The voice was close, only a foot or so behind me, and I marveled at either the interloper’s stealth or my own distractedness. Either way, I didn’t bother to turn, as I already knew who it was by the sound of her voice alone. But even if I hadn’t, I knew there was only one female in our group who would risk approaching me in a time like this.
Preceding her was a bright green glow, the radiant light produced from a simple glow stick used by millions of raving teenagers back home. She held it out by my shoulder and I accepted it with my free hand, nodding in thanks for the gift. I clipped it to the collar of my shirt, letting it dangle in front of my chest, and I suddenly had plenty of light to read by.
“Thanks,” I told her.
“No you’re not,” she countered, but there was humor in her voice.
I smirked to no one but myself. “No, I guess I’m not.”
“Nobody’s forcing you to read it,” she said as she placed her hands on my shoulders and kneaded them gently. “Even Archer said it might not be a good idea.”
An annoyed breath escaped my lips as I sneered at the name. “I know, but I have to read it. I… just have to. I have to know what happened to the Other Me.”
She took her hands off my shoulders and I heard her take a step back. I waited for her usual monologue of encouragements and reassurances that usually followed such comments, ones that also usually fell on deaf ears, but they didn’t come. I continued to wait, but the silence lingered, and I felt sad. Maybe she’d finally given up on me after all.
Or maybe she was simply trying to see if I’d grown up a little.
“I may be here for a while,” I said, deciding a continued silence wouldn’t help either of us. I turned my head so that she could see the side of my face, and smiled for her benefit. I could just barely see her tall form at the edge of my vision, but I managed to catch her nod.
“Try not to be too long,” she said as her voice moved away. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Wondering what could possibly exist in this godforsaken world that was worth showing me, I completed my turn so that I could look at her, but she was already walking away. As she strutted away, my eyes were drawn downward to her backside, clad in the last of her black, tight fitting running shorts. But what really drew my eyes to her was the way in which she walked – lifting her hips high with every step in an exaggerated catwalk.
Just before she was out of sight, she turned her head to look at me, and while her face was concealed in shadow, too dark to make out her expression, my imagination filled in the rest. I turned back to the document eagerly, and like a kid who knew he had to eat his broccoli before he could have his ice cream, I settled my nerves and decided to read. When Helena was in that kind of mood, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t shovel that broccoli down my throat as quickly as possible and get back to her.
So I read.
Mission Entry #12
Jacob Hunter
Syria, October 42 A.D.
I’m done.
It’s finished. I’ve kept myself alive for months for reasons I no longer remember. I’ve been dying formonths, buried alive in a supply container, left with nothing more than the clothes I wore the day we were captured, a glow stick, my journal, andthe orb.
The orb. It works. I can work it. Every few hours, I’ve used it, and gone back. Hour after hour. Day after day. For months? Years? Gave me time to think. To think. To ponder. To remember how they all died. To relive each death over and over.
The memories, the pain, the anger.
They took us an hour after we survived Agrippina’s trap. SHE took us.
Wounded. Pained. Slowed. Hurt. No ammo. No chance.
They took us.
Killd my friends. Tried to break me. Made me watch. Them die, one by one, over the course of weeks… months? I can’t remember. Crucified them. Tortured them. Made them suffer. Made them die. Agrippina. Made me use the orb. Watched over and over.
They’d saved Santino and Helena for last.
Helena… I… She… Gone 4 good this time. Gone. They…
“Never thought you’d actually come around to reading that thing.”
I jumped, the voice so abrupt and my mind so enraptured that I hadn’t heard it coming. I tumbled from my rock and fell in a heap beside it, but somehow managed to hang on to the papers in my hand. I just barely avoided slipping into the cool water, and a spike of pain erupted out from my side and I was forced to clench my teeth to help bear the pain.
I let myself lay there for a few seconds, trying to slow my racing heart and stave off embarrassment and pain alike. While the latter diminished slowly, the former lingered, and I almost didn’t want to return to my feet at all. But a hand was lowered before my eyes, almost helpfully, surprising considering the source. I looked up to see a man with a bare upper body that was encased by a harness of combat webbing meant to carry gear. His entire physique was immensely strong, hard, and solid, with a series of weed like veins stringing their way along his outstretched arm. Atop his body was a chiseled face, not one I was entirely used to anymore, with blue eyes and topped with blond hair cut like an overgrown crew cut.
I looked at him suspiciously but brought myself to grip his dangling forearm, allowing him to pull me to my feet, surprised at how genuine the gesture seemed. Once upright, I ignored the man who’d helped me up, and dusted off my pants and shirt as I returned to my rock. He sighed as I reseated myself and held the pages out before me with my left hand, and wrapping my right around my body so that I could hold my wound. With no intention of speaking to my new guest, I prepared myself to pick up where I left off.
“How far in are you?”
I froze again and my eyes shot to the sky in silent annoyance. I let the papers fell between my knees as I glanced at my guest, who now stood beside me eating noodles from a steaming Styrofoam cup.
I took a deep breath and decided to play nice.
“Almost done with the first page.”
“Skip the second and third pages, Hunter,” the man said, his voice hard, as he twirled his eating utensil at me. “For all our sakes.”
I looked at him with chilly eyes as I inspected his face, which was illuminated by the light of his own glow stick attached to the right shoulder harness of his gear webbing. He was in full combat gear sans a shirt – at least what could be passed off as “full combat gear” by these newcomers, as their kit seemed no more advanced in terms of design and quality than what grunts had used back in WWII where I came from.
“Why?” I asked, not even trying to hide my frustration.
The man slurped another fork full of noodles into his mouth and chewed patiently as he gazed at me. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed his fork at me. “You’ve always been high strung, Hunter. The past six months especially. We could all read it in your journal. You let things get to you. And I know what’s in those next two pages. Listen to me when I tell you: do not read them. The Other You rambled, and it isn’t pretty.”
I nearly lost it at that point, no longer in the mood to hear what anyone thought about anything, especially when it concerned me, and I certainly didn’t care about his opinion.
“How could you possibly know anything about me?” I asked, looking out over the water. “I don’t know anything about you! From where I come from, you’re dead! You’ve been dead for half a decade as far as I’m concerned, in fact.” I paused and leaned away from him. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
He shrugged. “Believe what you want, Hunter, but you seem exactly how I remember, even if you are from some… alternate timeline, or whatever, and not the actual Hunter I knew. I can’t explain it and neither can anyone I’ve talked to, but that doesn’t meant I don’t know you. I do. Just try and convince me otherwise.”
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