She had been surprised at how close my mom and I had been, and had jokingly called me a “momma’s boy” because of it. I told her to try my cooking and see if she still wanted to joke about it. She backed off immediately, admitting she could barely boil water herself.
I still held back my “nurse” story, figuring there’d be plenty of time to get into that one later.
The only one of us who seemed aloof was Vincent. Plagued by the duties of command, he knew better than to socialize with the rest of us in a casual atmosphere. Even so, we spent plenty of time in “Latin 101” as Santino dubbed it. A few times a day, we would learn the basics as best we could from Vincent’s instruction. It took me six years to learn what I know now, and the rest of the time since then to forget it, so I sat in on the basic grammar and vocabulary lessons as well. By the third day, I began to wonder if Vincent had actually written the text book I used in high school, as he seemed to follow the lessons almost to the letter.
While the rest of the team struggled, and would probably continue to do so for the months to come, I started picking things up rather quickly. Listening in, as well as trying my own hand at conversation when the Romans came to chat, I found myself slowly reaching my old level of proficiency and beyond.
I always knew I was good at Latin, even though my professors would never admit it.
All in all, things were going well, if not boringly well, but by the end of the third day, our patience was rewarded with the news that the Romans had recovered McDougal’s body, and our gear containers, thankfully locked from prying eyes.
The next morning, dressed in our BDUs, we met McDougal’s corpse a few miles outside the walls of Rome, an area we estimated was clear of the city in our own time. Interestingly, Caligula was also there, indicating his wish to be present both to honor the dead, and to observe our burial rituals.
Father Vincent, back in priest mode I had originally seen him in, began with a prayer.
“In nomi…”
He paused. As with many masses spoken in the twenty first century, much of it was still spoken in Latin. Vincent looked me in the eye, realizing how odd it would sound to the Romans to hear their own language spoken in our prayers.
He covered with a cough before starting again. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He cleverly left out the “amen” what was originally a Latin word.
We continued as many funerals did, with the reading of a scripture passage from a Bible Vincent kept on his person, as well as a eulogy, delivered by Wang. His delivery was heartfelt, but strong, the discipline of a military man showing itself. Nearing the end, we all gathered some dirt, and sprinkled it over McDougal’s body, buried roughly six feet deep.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We commence this soul into your heavenly embrace, oh Father. Look upon him kindly.”
With that, Vincent ended the funeral as it had begun.
The ceremony complete, we finished burying the body, staking a wooden cross in the ground at its head, wrapping one of McDougal’s dog tags around it. Vincent kept the other half.
Noticing our ritual had ended, Caligula approached, respectfully. “You have my deepest sympathy and my thanks for your permission to attend the ceremony.”
Vincent spoke up. “Who am I to deny the most powerful man in the world?”
Caligula smiled. “Who indeed? Still. I found it very interesting. Now, to discuss more important matters.”
“Of course.”
Caligula took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp fall air. “Such a beautiful day. Why don’t we walk back to Rome together?”
Vincent nodded, gesturing for the rest of us to fall in behind them.
“You seem to know quite a bit about my little empire,” Caligula began, strolling down the pristine Roman road. “Yet, I know almost nothing of you, except that you have capabilities far beyond anything I can muster. So, I ask you again, who are you, and where are you from?”
Vincent and Caligula walked side by side, with the rest of the team filed in behind them. Helena was limping on her own at this point, while Bordeaux had a cast around his ankle and a cane to help support him. Surrounding us were more of Caligula’s Praetorians, hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to protect their emperor at moment’s notice.
Vincent held out his arms, palms open, as innocently as possible. “I am sorry, but I cannot say. It may do more harm than good.”
“Yes, you keep telling me that, but your words mean nothing to me. You speak in riddles. How am I to fully trust you if you will not answer my questions?”
“We are here to serve, Caesar.”
Well, that was interesting, Vincent. Since when did we have plans to throw in with the Romans? I mean, really?
Caligula thought it over. “Very well. If that is truly the case, there is something you must do for me.”
“Name it, Caesar.”
“I mean to claim the northern island of Britannia into my domain. However, my plans are not yet ready and with the winter months approaching, will have to wait. However, with your abilities, you should be able to speed the matter up rather effectively.”
Speed things up is right. Caligula never made an attempt to invade Britain for at least three more years, and things didn’t go so well. Sources claim that he ordered his troops to gather seashells, and little else. It wasn’t until his uncle Claudius that Rome made any progress in the area.
“What would you have us do?”
“The country is far from unified. Or civil. It’s nothing but a barbaric hinterland. But, that is our goal as Romans, to bring civilization to the far corners of the world. For your part, there is one particular war chieftain, Adminius is his name, who is quite troublesome. I would like you to eliminate him, and cause as much destruction to his camp as possible. We have word that he is keeping a large portion of his military strength close to him, but we don’t know why. Additionally, we have learned that he has erected his winter quarters deep on the mainland, for peace talks amongst the Gauls. Probably not for any direct action against us now, but maybe to build up his strength for the future. We can’t have that.”
“I understand.” Vincent considered for a minute. “Very well. I will send three of my people.”
“Only three? Would not all be better?”
Vincent looked over his shoulder at us. “Two of my people could do it alone if I allowed it, but these are hardly normal circumstances, and I’d prefer only sending a small team.”
“Surely the woman is not one of these two?”
“Actually, she is, and she will be one of the three that goes. I will also send the man who destroyed your column, and myself. However, the two of them will need time to heal. At least two weeks.”
Caligula mulled that over. “That will do. It will allow me to send for a guide who is familiar with the area. Now. Tell me how you plan to accomplish your task.”
So he did.
Vincent went over every detail of what he planned meticulously, as if he had been planning it for weeks. The way things were going at this point, that wouldn’t necessarily surprise me one bit. He spoke all the way to the gates of Rome, with Caligula venturing questions at random.
Vincent’s plan called for a jungle creep, a term coined for any lengthy excursion through the wilderness. When they reached the camp, they would spend a day scouting the location and identifying the high value target, before using the cover of darkness to place demolition charges in key positions around the camp. Come morning, they would eliminate the HVT, blow the camp, and extract as quickly as possible. The team would have ample cover, not to mention at least a mile between their targets, so getting out wouldn’t be a problem. In theory it seemed simple, and for once in my military career, I could honestly say that it really was.
In our own time, the same kind of mission was relatively straight forward as well. However, the enemy here will have no idea what hit them, and will probably be more likely prostrating themselves before their gods than looking
for any mortal culprit.
It was a safe bet Caligula had already figured that out, and had planned exactly for it. We were a perfect way to inflict a crushing military blow against his enemies, with absolutely no expense to him, or fingers pointed at Rome. The man must have been planning this since the day we met him.
By the time we reached our little home away from home, Caligula seemed pleased with our plan, and told us he would call for us when our guide arrived. Until then, we were back to being his guests, under armed guard of course. We were stuck in our four bedroom apartment, allowed to leave only under the watchful eye of the Praetorians.
So, when we got back to the room, there was little more to do except pull out the cards and start playing.
It was going to be a long two weeks.
VII
Claudius
Rome, Italy
October, 37 AD
In all honesty, the two weeks turned out to be one of the most relaxing fortnights of my life.
The food provided was better, we were given cleaner and more comfortable sleeping accommodations, the Praetorians were much more casual around us, and we were invited to dine with Caligula himself on a few occasions. It was also the only time I could remember ever having a two week furlough without the risk of being spontaneously summoned by the Navy. The longest leave I’d ever had since the war began, the time recovering from my wounds notwithstanding, was five days, and that was to pay my respects after my mother’s passing, and included travel time.
The best part though, was that we were finally allowed full access to the entire city of Rome and at the start of every day, Helena and I would go for a morning jog. We took it easy at first, rehabilitating her leg and ankle with walks and light jogs. Helena still had a bit of a limp, even by the end of the second week, but she was getting stronger. By the end of the first week, while not quick, she was nimble enough that she and I could sneak away from our Praetorian escorts.
Once away from their watchful eyes, we’d wander around the city for a few hours every morning, becoming as familiar with its narrow corridors and back alleys as its residents became with us. Wearing our combat boots, shorts that hung above the knees and loose shirts, we stood out like a sore thumb.
Over the course of a few days, I noticed a few women gathering together on a street corner, giggling and pointing as I ran by. Their numbers grew as the days went on, and I always made sure to smile as goofy a smile I could and wave. Some of them were fairly attractive, and if not for my overly protective and combative swim buddy, I may have made a pass at one or two of them. As we made our way around their corner, Helena would always glare at me, quite the hypocrite since she didn’t have a problem with any of the guys who ogled her, of which there were of course many.
Vanity aside, our runs were really just a good way to pass the time. With little else to do after our daily calisthenics, Helena and I would head to those public baths I’d been dreaming about earlier, but we always kept our distance from each other, hoping to avoid any inevitable awkwardness. After a scrub down with scented oils, and a quick dip in warm water followed by cool water, we’d rendezvoused at the entrance and head back to our small building.
The rest of the team would be there, but not for long. We spent plenty of time in each other’s company throughout the day, but everyone went out to explore the city at one point or another. Generally, we all made it a point to gather for lunch, dinner, and Latin 101, but other than that, the day was ours. After dinner, Helena and I would head out and explore the sights again, continuing our exploration. I always brought my camera along, and took pictures that would have historians back home drooling all over themselves.
Occasionally, Santino would join us - “chaperoning” as he put it.
The truth is, despite his antics, charm, and pleasing disposition, Santino didn’t really fit in. Surprise, surprise. Most people could only take him in small doses, but I loved being around him. We gelled wonderfully.
Besides, Wang wasn’t really in the mood for jokes, Vincent had to remain distant from the rest of us, and while Bordeaux had a good sense of humor, Santino didn’t dare cross the big Frenchman. That left just Helena and me, which was fine by me.
Helena, on the other hand, was as uptight as they came around people like him, which only gave us the openings we needed to really piss her off. It didn’t take her too long before she realized it was all in good fun, and began a practice of slugging me in the arm to deal with her annoyances. Girls always thought it was cute to punch guys in the arm, but I never understood what was so fun about it. I didn’t mind too much, as long as she stayed away from my face.
Her childish antics notwithstanding, on the twelfth day of our vacation, I finally found the nerve to tell her my “nurse” story. I was starting to feel like I could truly trust her, and even though I’d been hesitant before, it was a story I’d been longing to get off my chest since the day it ended between the nurse and I. So, as we sat on the Capitoline Hill, with the Temple of Jupiter behind us and the Tiber River running south in front of us, I recounted my sad story.
With my first words, stating bluntly that the nurse who’d taken care of me happened to be very attractive, Helena rolled her eyes and turned away. We were seated on a low wall, with our feet dangling beneath us, a thirty foot drop below that. She used her position to kick my knee.
But not that hard.
“If this is going to be one of those ‘wild romps in the nurses’ ward’ stories,” she said in annoyance, “I’d rather not hear it. I’ve had enough of that from Santino.”
“It isn’t,” I said quietly, but she folded her arms in doubt anyway.
When I began the story, her interest level seemed low, but as the story slowly developed, just as it had in my head back in the HMS Triumph, her attention started to grow. Her look of disinterest quickly left her face, to be replaced by one of concern, and something else I couldn’t quite place. She seemed surprised at how close I’d grown with the nurse, and almost shocked at the revelation that I’d thought about proposing.
As I completed the story, just as the nurse and I had failed to find words as we parted, Helena and I couldn’t find any as well. But again, just like the nurse, it was Helena who spoke first.
“What was her name?”
It took me a moment to answer. “Cassandra.”
Helena paused a moment, giving me a chance to recover from the very personal story. She took my hand in her own and gave it a slight squeeze. “If it’s worth anything, Jacob, I think you handled the situation as well as anyone could have. It couldn’t have been easy.”
“Thanks,” I managed softly.
“Sounds as if we both come from depressing love lives,” she commented distractedly. She looked regretful for a moment before fixing her attention back on me. “I think it’s good that you told me. Thanks.”
“Want to know the worst part?” I asked with a frown.
“What’s that?” She asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“She looked exactly like you.”
She reeled back slightly, releasing my hand, and stared into the best puppy dog eyes I could muster. I almost felt bad using her memory that I resembled her late fiancé, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. My lips must have cracked a bit, because her eyes quickly narrowed, and she looked very angry.
“Wait a second,” she started.
I started to chuckle. I had a horrible poker face. “I’m kidding. She looked nothing like you. She was blond, five and a half feet tall, and you get much cuter when you’re angry.”
It felt so good to have the story off my chest that I couldn’t help but laugh. The rage in her eyes only made me laugh harder, but it faltered when I saw her eyes still ablaze in fury a minute later.
Settling down, I apologized. “Look, Helena, I’m sorry. It was a bad joke. I didn’t mean to bring it up again.”
Her mouth twitched, and her look softened, a smile spreading across her own face.
“Yo
u’re so gullible, Lieutenant,” she said slyly.
It took me a minute before I smiled as well. “Oh… oh, you’re good.”
After that night, the two of us never hesitated if either one of us needed to talk.
As for the team as a whole, we spent our nights going through our gear and cataloging it. Needless to say, there was a lot of it, much more than we originally thought. If the situation called for it, we could spend most of our lives working as a private mercenary group, and never need to pick up a shield and sword. We’d be pretty expensive too.
I was also very pleased to find at least some of the Future Force Warrior gear I thought I’d never see again hidden in one of the containers. While we all still had our eye pieces and computer systems, the only other gear we brought with us was on our backs. While the traditional BDUs we found were nice, the other clothing item we discovered inside was a godsend.
There was no official name for what they were, as far as I knew, but I liked to call them combat assault fatigues. Both pants and jacket sets had numerous pockets festooned over them, and were camouflaged in multicam, useful in almost any terrain environment. We also found duplicate pairs, colored and patterned in dark gray and black, meant for night operations. Because its defensive abilities required tight contact with the skin, each set seemed specifically sized for each of us, with a left over set for McDougal.
Along the shins, calves, thighs, hamstrings, groin, outer forearms and upper arms were thin pads that jutted out an inch from the clothing. Inside the pads was a polyethylene type gel that had a most unique property. In its normal state, the gel feels soft and squishy, like a stress ball, but when struck by a sudden and forceful impact, it instantaneously becomes as hard as titanium. The gel then liquidizes a heartbeat later, ready for another impact, and it could take the repeated hardening and softening transition over and over again. Additional protective measures the outfit provided were small thin strips of a very light and flexible Kevlar like material that ran vertically down the pants and horizontally along the jacket. For creature comfort, they were water resistant and additionally equipped with an internal A/C and heating system to keep the body comfortable in any weather condition
The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) Page 19
