Wang turned to look at me and shook his head very slowly and completely deadpanned.
“Who’s Duran Duran?” Vincent asked.
“A rock band from the 80s,” I answered quickly before Santino could bash them. “They’re good.”
Santino rolled his eyes and laughed to himself.
“I’m partial to the Beach Boys myself,” Vincent commented.
“Really?” Santino asked skeptically.
Vincent looked hurt. “And what’s wrong with that? Can’t an old man enjoy quality music as well?”
Santino smirked. The Beach Boys were about as classic as music came in his opinion. I always enjoyed them though.
“Of course, sir,” Santino replied as he held up his hands near his shoulders, and raised and lowered them like a scale. “It’s just that when I add together European and Priest, the Beach Boys isn’t exactly the answer I get.”
It was my turn to smirk. Santino generally came off as dimwitted as a retarded donkey, usually in one of his ridiculous attempts at humor, but I knew better. The guy was Delta, the most hardcore of them all, next to my SEALs, of course.
They were trained not just to infiltrate, but to completely immerse themselves in a society, blend in, and systematically take it apart from the inside. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, or especially speaking to him, but Santino was one of the smartest guys I knew.
He spoke Russian, Arabic and Spanish fluently, and I knew he had been in the process of learning Mandarin Chinese in preparation for possible future operations in the area. The guy was a ghost, able to slip past borders on a whim, mingle amongst the natives, get the job done, and get home safely, making it all look easy.
“I just thought,” Santino continued, “a guy like you would stick to Mozart or Beethoven.”
Vincent leaned back in his chair, and grinned. “Ah yes, I enjoy them as well, although Vivaldi is my personal favorite.”
“The Four Seasons is one of my favorite classical pieces,” I offered, nodding appreciatively.
Vincent smiled at my recognition of his favorite composer’s most well-known piece, while Santino dropped his head and shook it. Wang and Bordeaux chuckled at the interchange, and the conversation quickly broke down into banter and debate about an assortment of topics. I followed passively as I finished my meal.
I was working on my so called dessert when Vincent checked his watch.
“Okay, briefing room in five. Hunter, eat it or leave it.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled around the goo in my mouth.
***
The briefing room was small enough that creature comfort was at a minimum, forcing everyone gathered to sit shoulder to shoulder. In front were a podium and flat screen monitor. Other than that, the room was completely empty, except that by the time I arrived, the rest of the team was already in their seats.
McDougal was at the podium checking his notes, while the rest of the team was seated amongst the chairs, which were arrayed three across and two deep, just enough for the team. Santino, Wang, and Vincent were in the first row and Bordeaux and Strauss were in the back, with an empty seat between them. Bordeaux turned and smiled, patting the seat next to him. The rest of the guys turned and tried not to laugh while Strauss sat, arms folded, completely focused on the chair in front of her.
Making my way to my seat, McDougal did a double take when he noticed my swollen eye and looked at me pathetically. I tried to ignore his disapproving stare as I took my seat, and made doubly sure I didn’t so much as glance at Strauss, deciding two could play her little game.
McDougal cleared his throat and began his briefing.
“Welcome to His Holiness’ Service. Hence forth, you are now a part of the Swiss Guard, specifically the Pope’s Praetorians as he likes to call us, and all allegiance to your former commands have been transferred here. As you know, you have come here in an effort to not only protect the Pope, but also to help end any threat facing Christendom and its allies. Each of you has brought unique combat experiences and skill sets, so get used to teaching one another and learning from each other as well.
“All right, since most of you have already gotten a chance to get to know each other, we’ll run through introductions quickly. My name is Dillon McDougal, Major, Special Air Service. I’ve been in His Majesty’s service for thirteen years, and have commanded troops in Afghanistan, Iraq, North Korea, Russia, and Iran.
“You all know Captain Vincent. He’s our liaison with the Pope as well as our Chaplain. Prior to joining the military, he studied political science and classical studies, speaks numerous languages throughout Europe and the Middle East, and is literate in ancient Greek and Latin as well.”
My interest perked up. I hadn’t been aware of Vincent’s educational background. I’ll have to pick his brain later about his knowledge of Ancient History.
“Next up is Lieutenant James Wang. Wang has served with me for over five years in the SAS and is extremely proficient in hand to hand as well as small arms combat. He’s also team medic.
“Lieutenant John Santino was a member of America’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, and has spent considerable time with the Green Berets. He specializes in stealth infiltration, reconnaissance, and believe it or not, is our cultural expert, having spent years of service behind enemy lines in Romania, Ukraine, Lebanon, and Brazil.”
There were a few mock gasps of surprise from the audience in response to Santino’s status as “cultural expert”, while Santino stood and offered an obnoxious wave and bow.
“Are you through, Lieutenant?” McDougal asked.
Santino merely smiled and I smiled with him. It was easy to see why we had always gotten along so well. We were both notorious jokesters. While Santino was more of a prankster and standup comedian, I was just a smartass with a penchant for his sense of humor.
McDougal continued his briefing, waving a hand towards the large Frenchmen.
“Lieutenant Jeanne Bordeaux was a member of the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group. He’s worked mainly in Africa subverting terrorist activity before it reached Europe, and played an integral part in planning Operation Raven Claw, stopping the only major African offensive at Gibraltar in 2019. He’s our demo man.
“Lieutenant Helena Van Strauss is our sniper. She’s only been shooting in Germany’s KSK for a few months, but prior to joining, won gold in multiple shooting events at the Olympics. In the short time that she has served in the military, her kill count is quite impressive, so gentlemen, please try not to end up in her crosshairs.”
Santino tossed his head back and laughed, and I shifted in my seat.
“Finally, our newest arrival is Lieutenant Jacob Hunter. Formerly a U.S. Navy SEAL, Hunter is our water insertion specialist. Our location on the Tiber River is ideal for covert departures and arrivals back here to base. To do so, we’ll be utilizing underground sewers that require us to swim out to a tunnel system constructed by the Vatican and fed by the Tiber, before continuing out to the Tyrrhenian Sea where a sub will pick us up and take us where we need to go. Each of you has done at least some water insertion training, but if you feel you need some extra help, see Hunter after the briefing. He is also cross trained in underwater explosives, Bordeaux you may want to get in touch with him in regards to that. Finally, he is also a qualified sniper. You’re quite the Renaissance man, Hunter. With that, swim buddy assignments.”
My stomach churned, knowing exactly where this was going.
“Our combat operations doctrine is that of two-man elements working in tandem as a unit. Santino, you’re paired with Vincent. Bordeaux, you’re with Wang, and I’ll tag along with you two when we’re in the water. That leaves Strauss and Hunter. Hunter, you’ll act as her spotter, and since she’s the least experienced in the water, you two couldn’t have been a more perfect match.”
This time it wasn’t just Santino who couldn’t help himself, but the rest of the guys mimicked his laughter as well. I even saw Vincent’s shoulders
bobbing in silent amusement.
Grudgingly, I finally looked over at the one person on the team I would soon have to become closest to. I saw her turn and catch my eye with equally deliberate slowness.
I smiled, keeping it completely platonic.
Strauss let out a small sigh, resigning herself to the situation – and me – and offered me the first sign of affection since meeting me: a nod, and that was enough for me.
“All right lady and gentlemen. We’ve been granted leave for seventy two hours starting now. I understand Lieutenant Hunter has been in transit from the States for over a day, so go get some sleep. The rest of you, hit the gym, or the range, but don’t leave the base, not that it’s bloody likely you could find your way out. In sixteen hours, we’ll start running through combat and arms drills. You’re all professionals, so it shouldn’t be long before we’re operating like a well-oiled machine. Dismissed.”
The Praetorians stood and saluted smartly before filing out of the room.
I headed straight for the rack, having to ask Vincent where it was first.
It had been a long and tiring day, full of interesting surprises and developments. After finally finding my bunk, I thought of my lovely new swim buddy as I kicked off my boots and collapsed onto the bed. My final thoughts as my head hit the pillow were of soft knuckles and piercing green eyes.
III
Preparation
Vatican Undergrounds, Rome
July, 2021 AD
I awoke after ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, having dreamt of nothing but floating green eyes.
When I was a child, sleeping had been a tumultuous affair. Even after nine hours of restful sleep, I still awoke every morning drowsy and was fatigued throughout the day. Thankfully, years of military service easily kicked that habit. As soon as my head hit the pillow these days, I was out like a rock and rarely remembered what I had dreamt about. I woke up well rested and ready to handle whatever was thrown at me.
Glancing at the wall clock, I noticed it was only six in the morning, but as for what day of the week it was, I had no idea. After hours in transit, jet lag, more time zones than I could count and sleep deprivation; I had no clue what week it was, let alone what day. Pulling myself out of bed, I felt the calling of a long, hot shower, a shave, and a fresh change of clothes.
I found the shower almost immediately, noticing it was “male-only” and wondered where the ladies room was. I gave up wondering as soon as the steaming water began to wonderfully scald my face, and twenty minutes later, I felt fresh, rejuvenated, and ready to start the day.
Before leaving, I synchronized my watch with the wall clock and decided to head to the mess. On the way out, I noticed four sleeping bodies in the racks and figured the last was busy in the large multiplex outside. McDougal or Vincent could be anywhere. I also noticed another dozen or so empty racks, and immediately wondered if we shared a facility with the first Praetorian team, and also wondered if we’d ever cross paths. It seemed like I’d find out sooner or later, so I pushed it from my mind and left the barracks. It wasn’t long before I wandered my way into the large training facility and started my way towards the food.
A few steps in, I heard the crack, crack, crack sound of the same high powered rifle I had heard before. A quick glance towards the shooting range revealed my lovely swim buddy carefully firing down range once again. Five full magazines stood in a neat row on the table next to her, awaiting their chance to fire.
Girl was on a mission, or something.
I decided it was probably a good idea to ignore her for the time being, as I understood the Zen-like peace snipers experienced when shooting. I knew I hated it when someone disturbed me while I was shooting, and considering her obvious temper, I made sure to give her a wide berth as I passed by.
Instead, I followed my nose.
Not that there was an actual aroma wafting from the cafeteria so early in the morning of course. In most modern training facilities, at least the ones that housed the kind of Special Forces units that required around the clock feeding due to their erratic schedules, traditional cooks and cooking facilities were no longer up to snuff. Instead, new technology was developed that took orders, processed them, and finally, cooked the meals before delivering them to a serving tray. They were quite expensive, but the casual food consumer could hardly tell the difference from a flesh and blood cook and an automatic food processor.
I stepped up to the machine and punched up an order of bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, a bowl of cereal that looked like fruit loops, and hot tea, and waited while the machine worked its magic. A few minutes later, it dispensed a sectionalized tray that held extremely generous portions of my selection. Armies were run on their stomachs after all, as Napoleon’s disaster in Russia had proved, so the machines were designed to serve more than double of a normal serving, a detail I definitely approved of.
Even so, I called up an extra order of bacon.
Sitting with my back to the ever diligent Lieutenant Van Strauss, I put spoon to mouth and dove into my breakfast. I ate slowly, listening to the meticulous sounds of rifle discharges behind me. I’d barely made it through my first serving of bacon when the shooting abruptly stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her gather her rifle and spent magazines and carry them to the armory, emerging minutes later empty handed, undoing her tight pony tail.
I watched as she continued to ignore me, making her way to the automatic food dispenser. A few minutes later, tray in hand, she turned and walked straight towards my table, seating herself directly opposite me.
I put down my spoon, loaded with circular, fruity goodness, folded my hands on the table, and waited. Unsurprisingly, I found myself staring into those lovely green eyes, but managing to keep my cool this time.
“You know,” I said, breaking the silence. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. I’m beginning to think you actually like me, what with the way you keep staring and all.”
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally broke her gaze, shook her head, and spoke.
“To begin with,” she began apologetically enough, “I would like to apologize for hitting you yesterday. I let my anger get the best of me. I’m sorry.”
Her voice was just as lovely as her face, with a crisp German accent behind it that made me think of my childhood crush on Heidi Klum rather than say, Hitler. I was less than happy, however, with the reminder of her punch. I touched my eye socket and grimaced as the pressure caused a fair amount of pain.
“Yeah,” I said. “That one hurt more than just the pride.”
Her mouth tightened slightly. “Again, I am sorry. As I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, my… situation…” she sighed, “well I had my reasons for what I did, but they were the wrong ones. I shouldn’t have punched you.”
Reasons?
I decided to move on for the moment.
“I’m just glad Santino didn’t win the bet.”
“Why?” She asked curiously.
“Never mind,” I added, quickly glancing down at my tray, trying to push the thought from my mind. “Look, I accept your apology wholeheartedly and want to reassure you that I didn’t take it personally. In fact, I’d like to apologize too. The way I acted upon meeting you was totally inappropriate. It’s just something that kinda happens.”
She cracked a small smile, the first legitimate one I’d seen from her yet.
“You know,” she said, “on any other day, in any other situation, under any other circumstance, I would have found it rather cute.”
“Yeah,” I blushed, playing with my fruit loops, “I get that a lot. Anyway, I’m glad we were able to push through this. You’d be surprised how hard it is to not get along with someone as attractive, intelligent, and deadly up to three thousand yards with a sniper rifle as you are. How’d you manage such a combination?”
She pointed her fork at me threateningly. “You do realize that that was a very risky question, especially for someone like you?”
&
nbsp; “Like me?” I joked. “Whatever do you mean?
She smirked at me. “You’re just lucky we’ve been assigned as swim buddies or else I’d have to finish what I started with your face.”
I shrugged. “I’m told my curiosity gets me into trouble.”
“Well, you seem harmless enough. Fine. I was born outside of Regensburg, in the Bavarian countryside, on some of the most beautiful land I’ve ever seen. My father tells me we’re descended from an old offshoot of the Habsburg family, but obviously we are far from royalty. My ancestors were merchants who dealt mostly in Eastern goods with Turkish traders, so much so that some of them married their Turkish counterparts, which is probably where I get some of my features.
“My family has been wealthy ever since, and the first thing my father taught me to do by the time I could walk, as his father did for him, was how to shoot a rifle. It was a tradition so that I could accompany him on his many outlandish hunting trips. And I loved it. I practiced with my father whenever I could during school vacations, and qualified for the Olympics as soon as I was eligible. I’ve even medaled in the Biathlon, a rather difficult event.”
“The biathlon, huh?” I smirked, always considering the event something of a joke. “Ever think of becoming a Bond villain?”
“A Bond villain?”
“Never mind.”
She gave me a wry look. “I’d just graduated from Oxford, leading our marksmanship team to an international championship, when I decided to spend a year in America to further my education – a very interesting country, by the way.”
I shrugged. “We try.”
“Well, when I returned to Germany after the fighting had started, I debated joining the military, but it wasn’t until just a year ago that I decided to finally do just that. Papa was not happy, but I signed up despite his disapproval. He lives in a fantasy world with no idea what is going on outside his estate. He wasn’t even afraid for my life, just upset at my decision. I didn’t care. My life was without direction and I wanted to do something important. The war was only getting worse and worse and I knew I had to join now before it was too late.
The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) Page 6
