by Tanya Allan
MARINE II
A Very Different Roman
By Tanya Allan
Copyright2016 Tanya J. Allan
The author asserts her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
All Rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited.
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental. Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone.
The Author
With enormous experience of life, the author brings to life some of the nastier sides of the human condition, with many of the better attributes. Having started writing as a teenager, but never publishing anything until the half century loomed, Tanya successfully brought together elements of the real world, her dreams, fantasies and failed aspirations to breathe life into three-dimensional characters and situations that warrant further attention. Known for producing happy endings (for the most part), but also keen to see true justice is seen to be done, which unfortunately doesn’t happen as often as it should in real life.
Now concentrating on writing, the author enjoys foreign travel, family, faith and furry friends.
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
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*
Entirely Blank
Every Little Girl's Dream #
Rise to the Challenge
Extra Special Agent
Fast Forward with a Twist
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*
Marine 2: A very Different Roman
Marine 3: Island of Dreams
Modern Masquerade
Monique*#
Monique (L’edition francais)
Queen of Hearts*
Ring the Change
Shit Happens - so do Miracles*
Skin*
Tango Golf: Cop with A Difference
The Badger’s Girl
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
Changed Fortune – Book 2
When I Count to Three #
Whispers in the Mind* - Book 1
Whispers in the Soul* - Book 2
*Paperbacks can be found here: http://www.feedaread.com/profiles/368/
# = Published on KOBO.COM
My heartfelt thanks go to Tom Peashey for editing my work, the commas (or lack of them) must drive him mad; and to Jenny Ellis for her wonderful design of the cover of this book.
Author’s Note
Welcome to Book 2 in the MARINE series. For those who may not have read the first one; then may I respectfully suggest that you do. If you don’t feel you can wait, perhaps it would be right for me to introduce the veteran Sgt. Ed Ryan to you.
In Book 1, we first met Ed as he left the US Navy Hospital with the results of his serious knee injury. After many years active service, his knee replacement, although suitable for every-day walking about, was no longer considered up to the purpose for the kind of activity that an active US Marine would expect from it.
Given leave by his Colonel to consider his future (he turned down a training role) he heads south to meet an old friend and ex-marine with a boat for a short task off the coast of Florida. This, he felt would give him time and space to consider what he could do with his life.
He never got there.
After a surreal meeting in a diner as he drove south, he finds himself recruited by a mysterious man called Michael. He joins an equally mysterious organisation that appears to be some form of Law Enforcement Agency patrolling the channels of time itself.
It is impossible, he was told, to send a human either backwards or forwards in time, so the agency utilises proxy humans, generated by the advanced technology at their disposal. They are fully human, genetically based on the original, but generated and improved to exist in the target time-frame only. The agent simply transfers their personality and memories through to the proxy and work it as if it was their own body.
However, such is the technology that the agent can select and assume a body of either gender, improving size, strength and skills accordingly.
He takes his first job, as a gutsy young woman in the early nineteenth century, initially in England around the time of the end of the Napoleonic Wars, but latterly in the United States.
Why a woman? You ask.
Quietly and without saying anything to anyone, Ed Ryan had successfully fought an inner battle all his life, for just beneath the surface was the inner conviction that he should have been born female.
It was never to be, so as he grew to be a very large and masculine male, he simply accepted his lot and focussed on being the best Marine he could be.
Here was his chance to release she who was within -Jane Chauncey was born.
To say she surprised everyone would be an understatement. After successfully thwarting those who would seek to assassinate their way to alter the stream of time, she settles down to live a full and amazingly productive life.
All good things come to an end, and so as Jane passed into dust, so Ed had to return to the present(?).
Having had a taste of how the other half lives, even in an era where women were almost second-class citizens, on his second assignment, Ed travels even further back, to a time where most women were little more than slaves!
For this time the threat is against the stability that the Roman Empire gave to the world, specifically at the end of the first century AD – the rise of the Emperor Trajan.
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 b
anding inside the helmet was chaffing his head, so his close-cropped hair was worn to almost baldness in places. In winter he, as would all legionaries, wore a woollen hat inside his helmet, but it wasn’t winter, despite the weather. There were at least a hundred places he’d rather be than this particular, godforsaken part of the empire.
He looked out across the damp landscape as the early morning mist was clearing. He came from what would now be north-eastern Spain, so was unused to 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 foul. There were no olives here, so everything was either roasted to be tough as his sandals, or boiled to as to be 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 Armorica; 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, don’t forget that this is supposed to be summer!” he said.
Lucius grunted.
“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 as 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 legionaries. Several walking wounded limped along, aided by uninjured comrades.
It was part of their own Hispanic legion, the Ninth, returning here to Eboracum (York) from a campaign against the rebelling tribes in the north. The Romans had only been in these Islands for a little under a century and a half, so they were still in the early stages of conquest.
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 filthy weather.
“It’s Tribune Marcus Gallinas with the first and sixth cohorts. It looks like they’ve had a tough time,” he announced.
The First and Sixth were the two crack cohorts in the Ninth 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.[i]
Therefore, the sentries watched as close to 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 entered 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 brought up 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. The captives’ cowed demeanour showed little of the danger they were supposed to be. All were men, still dressed as warriors, with some still clad in the leather armour that was popular with some tribes.
All bar two, that is.
The three men on the ramparts gasped as the last pair of 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 girl was shorter but still 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, what there was of it, was in tatters. She wore a leather breast plate, moulded to her ample shape, if anything highlighting her gender rather than masking it. Her long limbs appeared 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 off the captive girl. Her long blonde hair was filthy and tangled, with 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 watching 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.
Both men watched until the woman passed from their sight.
“Now that,” he said, “is what I call a woman!”
CHAPTER ONE
The unpleasant sensation was a familiar one to me, but only by virtue of having experienced it once before, on my first mission as Jane. That was either a few minutes ago, or many years ago, or even some time in the future.
Smiling, I thought about it for a moment, as this business could very well scramble one’s brain!
I lay on my back on the mossy bank where I’d landed, grateful that on this occasion they’d managed to miss whatever water happened to be lying about in this area. They hadn’t let me fall so far, either, so the few inches drop had been quite gentle. They were either getting better or got lucky this time.
The night sky above me was almost clear, showing a wonderful splash of stars and heavenly bodies. I saw a shooting star and smiled as I realised that there was a very long time to pass be
fore any satellites would be passing overhead. This was a couple of months short of 100A.D. so man-made satellites would not be around for quite a while.
The moon was full and low down near the horizon. I took my bearings, worked out which way was north and stood up. It wasn’t as cold as last time. Even so, neither was it that warm. A cool breeze played across my naked body, causing certain parts to react accordingly. I smiled in the darkness, as my new form was as sleek and wonderful as my last one had been at the beginning. That reminded me of everything that had happened in the last few days.
Death is an event that everyone dreads, whether it is their own or that of a loved one. It is the only truly common factor of the human condition, and one that everyone shares, regardless of race, gender, status or age. However, for we agents of time, it was an experience that may be suffered more than once.
I have never been a religious person, purely because I simply couldn’t be bothered to contemplate spiritual matters. On those brief moments when I have thought I was about to die, religion and God were far from my thoughts. Strangely, it was my experience as Jane that caused me to re-evaluate the spiritual aspect of life. It was all too cerebral for me; after all, I was a Marine, and so I would rather leave the thinking to other people. I did, however, think deeply on what was on the other side on occasion.
If the Christians were wrong, then they would not know what they’d lost. If they were right, then it might pay to throw out pride and consider their teaching, as an unbeliever must, therefore, lose everything. As I said, it made me think, but little more than that at present. I had too much else to think about.
