by Tanya Allan
“Um, Jane, you’re not really decent.”
“I know, but let’s get out of this place. I need to get these men out of circulation.”
“What should we do with them?”
“Take them back to your regiment, but keep them separate, and don’t let them know where the others are. They will kill themselves if given the chance.”
“You keep telling me this, and I’m not sure I understand.”
“Roger, it is impossible to send a person in a body through time, so when I came here, this body was made for me here and I, that is my memories, my personality and everything that is me was transferred into it. If any of us die here, then we are instantly transferred back to where we came from, so then another body can be made and we can return to a minute before we left, or an hour after. Don’t you see, they will only come back at a different time and finish what they started.”
Roger shook his head.
“This is madness,” he muttered.
“Madness or not, it’s my job and I have to deal with it. Just have your men take them back and keep them from talking to anyone and harming themselves.”
“What will you do?”
“Oh, I’m coming back with you, but I have to drop off some mail as soon as I can.”
“Mail?”
After returning home and replacing my tattered clothing, I set off with Roger to send my findings to the Centre. The drop-point was at a church in a small township on the outskirts of Washington.
Having spoken to the minister, and having made a generous donation, he agreed to allow me to bury my beloved pet dog in the corner of the cemetery. In went the small casket, in which all the documents and other confiscated articles were now safely ensconced, wrapped up in waterproof, greased tarpaulin.
My last action was to take a small advertisement in the Washington Post in which Jane Chauncey announced the passing of her pet pooch Percy and where it was buried. Now, all I could do was wait.
The soldiers were very much like the men I’d fought alongside some one hundred and sixty years later. Roger and I arranged some beer and food to be served to thank them for their gallant efforts in detaining the three foreign spies who were planning to cause serious harm to the new democracy.
The camp was outside the city, comprising of lines of tents and a couple of semi-permanent buildings. I knew that on this spot, a military base would eventually grow, but we were in the foetal stage only.
The detainees were housed in different tents, far apart from each other. Each was bound and gagged, and each was guarded by a soldier with orders to render their charge unconscious at any sign of trouble.
The guards were relieved every hour, and no guard was required to work another post that evening. That way, no man got to guard more than one detainee and only pulled one duty.
I visited Soames first, just as the surgeon was leaving.
“How is he, doctor?”
“The ball has passed through his shoulder cleanly, but he lost a lot of blood. If you hadn’t packed the wound and made him keep his hand on it, he would have died.”
“Ah, you spoke to him?”
“It’s very hard not to, in my line of work. I find speaking to patients is essential if I want to know what’s wrong with them,” he said, quite sarcastically, I thought.
I smiled sweetly.
“Thank you for your help. Have to seen the man with the bad knee?”
“Yes. It’s an unusual wound, as the ball was lodged in the kneecap. It is like no other ball I have removed from a wound.”
“Will he live?”
“Yes, but he was quite unpleasant. He referred to a devil woman; I take it that might be you?”
“Might be, doctor. You see, my husband and I have thwarted his plans, and he is just a little frustrated with me.”
“That was no call to not allow my bag into his tent. What was the meaning of that?”
“You have scalpels and other sharp instruments in that bag, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Then he would have stolen one with which to kill himself. He would not have hesitated in killing you in the process.”
The doctor stared at me.
“What is happening?”
“Best you don’t ask, and then I don’t have to lie.”
“Oh.”
“Goodnight, doctor.”
“Goodnight madam.”
I watched the doctor walk away, shaking his head. Then I entered Soames’ tent.
He looked pale and his complexion had a waxy appearance.
“No morphine, I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded.
“You saved my life,” I said.
“Not really, I just couldn’t go through with their plans. Too many innocents would die and the course of my history would be irreparably damaged. I had to try to stop them.”
“What were their plans?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I do know that many people would have died.”
“How about the others, do they know?” I asked.
“Frost doesn’t, but he was in it for the money. Armes might, but I’m not even sure he was told everything.”
“Is it even worth my time trying to ask them?”
He smiled weakly, shaking his head.
“No. Armes hates you and Frost doesn’t know any more than I do. What will happen to me?”
It was my turn to shake my head.
“I don’t know, truly. It’s now out of my hands.”
“Who are you, exactly?” he asked.
“I’m a soldier recruited from the future, but sworn to protect the integrity of time.”
“So, they have beautiful women as soldiers in the future?” he asked, almost asleep.
“Oh yes, sure they do,” I said, leaving him.
They came at midnight.
I was in my husband’s tent, sitting with him, talking over the events of the day. Most of the men were in their beds, with a few on sentry duty around the perimeter.
I heard one of the sentries challenge someone, so was instantly alert.
“Jane, is this it?” Roger asked quietly.
“Who knows? Possibly,” I answered, slipping my shoes on again. I was still fully dressed, so we left the tent together to meet two sentries escorting five men through the camp.
“Colonel, these men are here to see Mrs Chauncey, sir,” one of the bemused sentries announced.
“That’s fine, Howard, stand down. You may leave them with us now,” Roger said.
“Yessir.”
The soldiers left us standing in the dark, the only light from flickering fires on the ground nearby.
“Gentlemen, if you’d care to come to our tent, we have light there,” Roger said, leading the way back to our tent.
“I have to check on my men, I shall leave you with my wife. Good evening gentlemen.” Roger simply ducked out, unwilling to be told that he wasn’t required. He was so sensible.
Once in the tent I was able to see our guests more clearly.
I smiled, for one of them was my supposed cousin, James Chauncey.
“Jane, you are well?” he said, taking off his hat. The other men stood there impassively.
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Never better.”
“I take it you are here for the prisoners?” I asked.
“If they’re still with us?”
“Oh yes. Mr Soames is cooperative, but the other two aren’t. Watch Armes, he’s a nasty one.”
Three of the men took very modern looking shackles from their heavy coats. I distinctly saw the butts of firearms in their belts.
“How are the kids?” James asked with a grin.
“Getting bigger. No more surprises for me?”
“No. Just heartfelt thanks from the boss. You’ve done good, Jane.”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Yup. I’m to tell you that your job is done. The threat is over in this timeline, so you can
go home anytime you want.”
“It wasn’t much.”
He shook his head.
“Jane, you haven’t got it, have you? You see, you were sent here because at one point, they succeeded and history became a very different place. The death and destruction that you have prevented is beyond description.”
“Look, put me out of my misery, what were they planning?”
He passed me a small booklet.
Things became very clear. On the cover was a familiar figure, with his titles emblazoned for all to see; Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Lower Germany, Italy, Portugal, Greece, North Africa and all of North America. Canada and the United states were no more than a whiff in history, as, according to this document, they were now all part of the French Empire.
“Look at the date,” James said.
It was only six months away.
“Shit!” I said.
“You said it, girl. Go on, go home, have a vacation.”
“You haven’t got it, have you, James?”
“I am home and now, well now I can have a vacation for the rest of my life.”
I accompanied them to each of the tents. I saw them take the men, load them onto a wagon and depart. James waved at me as he left.
“Good luck, Jane. I’ll see you; I’ll see you whenever.”
Smiling, I sought out my husband; I had a good feeling about tomorrow.
END?
Not really………….. but it is for the moment.
An excerpt of the beginning of:
MARINE
BOOK TWO: A Very Different Roman
PROLOGUE
The sentry on the wall was wet, cold and miserable. Lucius had wrapped his damp cloak around him, easing his helmet to try to prevent the rivulets of rainwater from going straight down his neck. The leather banding inside the helmet was chaffing his head, so his close-cropped hair was worn to almost baldness in places. There were at least a hundred places he’d rather be than this particular, godforsaken part of the Roman Empire.
He looked out across the damp landscape as the early morning mist was clearing. He originated from what would now be north-eastern Spain, so was unused to quite such damp and cold weather. He walked the rampart trying to generate some warmth. It wasn’t as if it was winter, this was summer, by the gods!
He loathed this misty, damp isle with a passion, often wondering what the hell they wanted with such a depressing place. Most of the terrain was forest, with patches so bleak that trees didn’t grow. With the tribes in the south outnumbering the rest of the country, he wondered why they bothered with those sparsely populated areas so far north.
The weather was foul, the natives unpredictably fearless and ferocious, and the food was barely edible. There were no olives here, so everything was either roasted to be tough as his sandals, or boiled until completely tasteless. He so desperately wanted to go home. He turned, about faced and marched back to cover the length of the rampart again. The other sentry returned and they met in the middle.
“Fuck this!” he said.
His comrade laughed at his discomfort. Gregorius’ father fought the Romans many years ago. He came from a Gaulish tribe in Amorica, from which, after being conquered, all the warriors were enrolled into the Roman army. Those that refused were taken as slaves. His father was posted to Palestine, where he took a local woman as a wife. Young Gregorius was born into the Legion, so his blood was closer to the locals than the stocky Hispanic, despite the fact he’d rarely lived in such northern climes.
“Lucius, just be happy that in one hour we get relieved and then we can get some warm food and some sleep.”
“It’s all right for you, Gregorius, you’re used to this kind of weather. Gaul is almost as nasty as Britannia!”
The other man laughed, as both men knew that Gregorius had spent little time in Gaul, having followed his father to whichever posting he had been sent.
Gregorius was taller and fairer than the dark Roman. Typically, the Roman legions were filled with men from conquered tribes. The promise of Roman Citizenship on completion of service had enticed many enemies of Rome to fight for her instead of against her.
“Sod it! Someone’s coming!” said Gregorius, looking over Lucius’ shoulder.
They both watched the mist as swirls formed around emerging figures of men. Then, lines of marching legionaries appeared out of the mist. It was with some relief that they identified that the advancing columns were Roman and, judging by the way they marched, they had seen battle recently, a fact reinforced by several captives being marched under escort at the rear, followed by several carts loaded with wounded Roman soldiers. Several walking wounded limped along, aided by uninjured comrades.
It was part of their own legion, the Ninth, returning from a campaign against the tribes from the north.
The two men sounded the alarm so the guard turned out.
The Centurion of the watch came up onto the ramparts, joining the two sentries looking out at the approaching men. Unlike them, his cloak was dry, as he had been sheltering in his nice cosy quarters next to a warm fire. The standards of the advancing soldiers were furled and all the mounted officers were wrapped up in their cloaks against the weather.
“It’s Tribune Marcus Gallinas with the first and sixth cohorts. It looks like they’ve been successful,” he announced.
The first and sixth were the two crack cohorts in the legion; the first always being the cream in any Legion. Unlike the other nine cohorts, the first had only five centuries as opposed to the normal six. However, their centuries were double the size with one hundred and sixty men in each. Normally, a century had only eighty men, so the sixth was a standard cohort with six centuries of eighty men.
Therefore, they watched as fifteen hundred men approached. There was an auxiliary cavalry unit with them, over and above the mounted officers.
“Who are they, sir?” Gregorius asked the Centurion, as the captives came in sight.
“Just some barbarians who will no doubt entertain the plebeians in the Circus in Rome. Don’t worry about them, for while they’re here, in chains, they can’t slit your neck on your next patrol.
The leading ranks were entering the gate, so Lucius could see the marks and scars of battle on the shields and on the men themselves. When the wagons rolled under them, the watchers could see the wounded men lying in the back with their wounds bandaged.
“Looks like they’ve been through a rough time!” muttered the Centurion.
Certainly, the soldiers marched like men who were glad to be back. No songs of glory or triumph were sung, and the trumpeters were silent, trudging with the rest, just relieved to be safe.
Several more carts were at the rear, carrying the supplies, cooking pots, blacksmith and armourer. To the rear of them, were the captives, around thirty individuals, roped together at neck and wrist, with legionaries escorting them, but the captives’ cowed demeanour showed little of the danger they were supposed to be. All were men, still dressed as warriors, with some still showing the leather armour that was popular with some tribes.
All bar two, that is.
The three men on the ramparts gasped as the last captives came into their sight. Two women were bound to an eight-foot length of wood strapped across their shoulders. One of them was taller than any of the soldiers who escorted her, or even the other captives for that matter, while the other was shorter, but powerfully built. The taller girl was supporting her friend, who seemed close to exhaustion. The men’s attention was riveted on the tall girl.
Her clothing was in tatters, her long limbs caked in a mixture of blood and mud, but in her flashing blue eyes, defiance and pride shone through the drizzle.
Lucius swallowed and glanced at his officer. The Centurion couldn’t take his eyes of the captive girl. Her long blonde hair was tangled and had vegetation caught up in the long tresses, but her face, once one saw past the muck and bruises, was stunningly beautiful. She glanced up at the wa
tching men; all three were surprised to see a gleam of her perfect white teeth as she smiled. She was laughing at them!
“By the gods!” the Centurion muttered, only looking away as she passed under the gate beneath them. With a swirl of his cloak, he turned and made his way to the steps, as fast as he could go without running.
Gregorius came over to his friend.
Now that,” he said, “is what I call a woman!”
Books by Tanya Allan Her AMAZON.COM PAGE: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004VTB5OQ
A Chance would be a Fine Thing (Knox Journals Book 1)
A Wedding and Two Wars (Knox Journal Book 2)
A Fairy's Tale
A Girl can but Dream
Amber Alert
United States of Amber
A Tale of Two T’s*
Behind The Enemy - Book 1
Beginning's End – Book 2
The Candy Cane Club – Book 1
Dead End – Book 2
Dragons & Stuff!
Emma*
Every Little Girl's Dream #
Extra Special Agent
Flight or Fight
Fortune's Soldier
Gruesome Tuesday*
In Plain Sight*
In The Shadows
It Couldn't Happen, Could it?
Killing Me Slowly*
Marine I: Agent of Time*
Modern Masquerade
Monique*#
Queen of Hearts*
Ring the Change
Shit Happens - so do Miracles*
Skin*
Tango Golf: Cop with A Difference
The Hard Way*
The Offer
The Other Side of Dreams
There's No Such Thing as a Super Hero
The Summer Job & Other Stories
The Torc (Book 1 – The Emerging)
To Fight For a Dream*
Twisted Dreams*
TWOC - A Comedy of Errors
Weird Wednesday*
When Fortune Smiles - Book 1
