“Even in our own time,” he continued, “kids who have a fever have to stay home from school for a few days depending on how tough they are. I can give him an IV drip of liquids, provide him with painkillers, give him some of our water to drink, keep him cool with ice packs, and place a damp, cool cloth over his forehead. Very basic stuff. We probably shouldn’t move him until I have everything set up and give him at least a few hours to react to the treatment but after that, we can load him in my mobile stretcher platform and take him wherever we need to go.”
“Good. Get to work. Hopefully, we’ll just stay here and leave when he’s better, but make preparations for immediate evac.”
“Aye, sir.”
Pulling off his bag, he extracted his stretcher, which he expertly unfolded next to Caligula’s inert form. Attached to it was a pole, so that IV drips could be used during transport. Just as Wang pulled an IV pouch from his bag, I heard the clacking sound of hobnailed Roman boots running along the marble flooring.
It was the centurion, Quintilius.
Sweating only slightly, the man was breathing easily. He had his legion training to thank for that, as long marches and years of training transformed those men into triathletes. Stopping short near Vincent, he laid out the situation in an overly melodramatic fashion.
“We are undone. The mob is on the move, and will be here within the hour. They’re marching with most of the Senate’s approval.”
“Damn it, Quintilius,” Vincent growled. “How did this happen?”
“I am not certain” he said, shock evident on his face. “Even before your arrival, there had been grumblings in the Senate about Caligula’s ascension, but never to the point where open rebellion would result. Many favored Claudius over Caligula, and while he has stirred up trouble during Senatorial sessions, I cannot believe he is involved.”
“Excuse me,” I said, approaching the two commanders, “but did you say many wanted Claudius as Tiberius’ successor, and because he didn’t get the job, he’s been causing trouble?”
“Basically, yes.”
“What are you thinking, Hunter,” Vincent asked, no longer skeptical about my reasoning abilities.
“Two things.” I said, holding up two fingers. “First, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we not only went back in time, but also jumped into a parallel universe. The theory of…”
“Hunter!” Vincent put some force behind the name.
“Sir?”
“Do not start!”
“Sorry, sir. Anyway, number two. What if Claudius was behind this, or was even the mastermind? I got nothing but a bad vibe from him earlier, and if what Quintilius says is true, he’s got the means and the motives to do perform a coup.”
“Maybe,” Vincent agreed reluctantly, “but even though things have changed slightly, that theory really isn’t in sync with our own knowledge of history.”
“Right. But like you said, things have changed. Maybe Claudius really ordered the assassination of Caligula in our history, and made up the story of hiding in the curtains to throw off historians. Hell, from what I’ve seen, he’s done a fantastic job of rewriting history already. Nothing seems right. I think that when Caligula originally got sick, Claudius was behind the poisoning, just as he is this time. Except this time, since we’re here, Caligula is here too. Not out of the city. Also, since we’re here, we can stop him from getting so sick he never fully recovers.”
“Doesn’t that go against your policy of interference?”
“We’ve already fucked things up as it is. If we don’t do something, who knows what will happen. We need to work on putting things right,” I paused, another thought growing in the back of my head. “By the way, we’re going to have a conversation about this when we get out of here, because I’m starting to formulate another theory, and it has nothing to do with Roman politicking.”
Vincent stared at me.
He was hiding something from me. I knew it and he knew it. Something that had been nagging me from the very beginning, ever since we were told about an equipment cache. Vincent looked was almost daring me to confront him, to create some kind of altercation, but this wasn’t the place. I would have to deal with it later. Our other legion friend, Marcus, appeared out of nowhere and approached the three of us hastily.
“Sir,” he said, likewise glistening but not breathing heavily. “We couldn’t hold them back. The mob will be here in minutes.
“Gods…” Quintilius muttered.
“There’s more, sir,” Marcus continued. “Claudius is at the head of the formation, and he’s somehow enlisted the aid of Praetorians.”
“How is that possible?” Quintilius asked sharply. “There has been no talk of dissension. Our loyalty has been unquestionable.”
I snorted. Yeah right.
Praetorians were notorious for their direct involvement in the ascension of nearly every emperor, save Augustus and a few later ones, but Augustus was the only emperor to maintain complete control over his bodyguards. Even Tiberius had to pay a tribute to them just to keep their loyalty, which later became a tradition for all newly appointed emperors. They would soon become political juggernauts with immense power over who might become emperor. They were known to have done away with numerous emperors they didn’t agree with. That said, from what I knew at this point in history, they should have been devoutly loyal to Caligula. Their current prefect, Macro, had been essential to Caligula upon his rise to power, and even though Caligula should soon have him executed while spending time in the East, for now, he was loyal.
If the Senate and Praetorians did have plans to overthrow Caligula, they’d need a considerable amount of firepower just to get past us, so what better to use than an entire city? I suppose it made sense. Armor, training, and Roman stubbornness wouldn’t to be enough for Praetorians to stop us. Twenty Roman Praetorians would be no more effective against us than twenty civilians, unless they got close, and then things would even up very quickly, but there would be a lot of bodies on the ground before they got that close.
Marcus didn’t respond to Quintilius’ question right away. Instead he tried looking around, maybe in the vain hope that Quintilius would find someone else to question. But Quintilius was not in the mood for tentative subordinates.
“Marcus!? How has this happened? Where is Macro?”
Marcus’ head snapped around and he looked at his centurion squarely. “He’s dead. He was stabbed in his sleep in the Castra Praetoria.”
Vincent and I shared knowing nods once again. Macro had played an essential role in the ascension of Caligula to the position of Imperator. But years later, as the emperor’s obsession and paranoia grew, he’d had Macro banished, where he and his wife took their own lives. But now, he was a staunch ally of Caligula. He was an important puzzle piece to remove if any potential coup was to succeed.
Quintilius didn’t appear saddened by the loss of his boss, but he knew the implications involved in his death. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Just how many of your Praetorians have gone rogue,” I asked.
Marcus paused, not even trying to hide his fear. “Of the two cohorts in the city, only the three centuries here are still loyal. We’re outnumbered seven to one.”
VIII
Betrayal
Rome, Italy
November, 37 A.D.
“Three hundred men!? Against two thousand?!” I shouted. “Have you people no sense of loyalty? There’s no way we can hold out against that many, especially when they’re aided by a mob of…”
Vincent motioned for me to calm down. “Settle down, Hunter. You’re not helping. Centurion, give me your strategic appraisal of the situation. Where are the remaining cohorts?”
“Two are on a training detail in the south, three are occupied on courier missions, and the remaining two are split up protecting various imperial family members, scattered throughout Italy.”
“Shouldn’t there be three cohorts in Rome?” Vincent asked.
Quintilius
shrugged. “There was, but we have been busy and we didn’t plan our training schedule properly. We’re stretched thin.”
I scoffed, completely flabbergasted at the entire situation.
Vincent’s look told me to shut up. “What about your tactical assessment, Centurion?”
Quintilius wasted no time thinking it over. “We can hold out here for a while. I’ve called for the rest of my century to get here as soon as they can. I am unaware as to the situation of the other cohorts outside the city, but we cannot count on their help tonight. I will post a maniple of men in the courtyard, with a century in reserve. Our reinforcements will take up positions in the halls.”
That would put just under two hundred men outside, with another eighty behind them, and the remaining century in the house.
“With your permission,” he continued, “I would ask you to remain here, and provide support for my men. Hopefully, we will be able to inflict enough casualties to make them rethink their position, and have them disperse. Even two thousand men will have trouble taking this position, especially with your help.” He paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “I know of your abilities, but am uncertain of your tactics. What exactly can you do for us?”
“First of all, tell your men not to attack mine, they will be leaving the house for a few minutes.”
He nodded, sending Marcus to inform the men outside.
“Santino, Bordeaux, get over here.”
The two men complied, stopping before Vincent at attention.
“Santino, gather up all the remaining claymores we have, and plant them along the streets the mob will most likely be using. Set them up at intervals so that they don’t all go off at once.”
The man saluted, and went off to collect his charges.
“Bordeaux, do I even need to ask if you brought plenty of explosives?”
“Non.”
“Good. Line the hallways with C-4. Not a lot, we don’t want to collapse the house, but enough to put some serious dents in the enemy’s lines should they make it inside. Place additional charges outside along the interior of the courtyard.”
Bordeaux nodded, and went to work.
“What are you having them do?” Quintilius asked.
“You were at our demonstration. Remember the column?”
Quintilius’ face immediately brightened, a shred of hope emerging.
“Tell your men to not wander far from the house, and make sure you redirect your remaining ones to arrive from the rear.”
That would be difficult. The back of the house was a steep hill, perfect for Helena’s sniper perch, but not for a reinforcing army.
“The rest of us will provide fire support. When they reach the house, stay low, and we’ll fire over you. If things get really bad, fall back and shield us while we put them down with sustained weapons fire. Remember the armor sets?”
Apparently the man did. Practically laughing, he struggled to salute before running off to inform his soldiers of our plans.
By the time Santino and Bordeaux returned, Wang had completed his setup and began a cursory inspection of Caligula’s vitals at regular intervals, looking for signs of improvement. I looked at him and he shook his head. We’d have to wait awhile before he found any.
“So what now?” Santino asked.
“Okay. Here’s the plan.” Vincent laid out his thoughts as clearly as he could. “Bordeaux, I want you upfront with the Romans. Provide as much support as you can from your position, but for the love of God, don’t get yourself killed. When things get bad, fall back. Santino and I will take up positions here, at the main doorway, and wait for you to fall back. Hunter, hang back with Strauss and provide additional sniper support from her position. From the looks of it, you two will have a decent angle on the mob’s flank. Try and make your shots count. If things start to get really bad, we’ll pack up Caligula, and move him out the back as quickly as possible. Make no mistake, we are now outlaws, and even if we get Caligula out of here and healthy again, we’ll be doing nothing but setting up a splinter government. If that happens, our best bet is to get in contact with the legions.”
“Sir!” Helena called from her balcony. “We’ve got friendlies incoming. Six o’clock.”
“Good. Direct them to the front.” He turned back to us. “Any questions?”
We shook our heads, and made our way to our assigned positions. Eighty Praetorians shuffled past me, and I had to push through them just to get to the balcony. Still shaking my head, I fought my way through and made my way to Helena’s position, thinking about how this wasn’t going to be a fight, but a slaughter.
I’d had to kill civilians before but never unarmed ones and each time I did, it was because I had a legitimate reason. Either I was going to die, or they were, and I never hesitated. The men coming for us were armed with pitch forks and torches, something out of an old black and white movie – mob of villagers storming the steps of Nosferatu’s castle.
They didn’t have a chance, and I wasn’t going to shoot them unless I felt threatened.
Reaching the balcony, I unslung Penelope, and released the spring keeping her bipod’s legs parallel to the barrel. They snapped into a V formation, and I rested them on the banister, giving me a platform to peer through my Version II Modular Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight. The VerII ACOG was a top of the line combat sight. It had a modular zoom from 1-power to 8-power, perfect for close range fighting and distance shooting. It was slightly longer and thicker than an ACOG from ten years ago, but it was no more cumbersome. A simple touch interface along the side allowed for a single finger to slide along the exterior of the sight to determine the magnification. It was more a camera than a magnifier. It was a major step forward in weapon optics versatility, and its night vision capabilities made it an all-in-one purpose scope. It had been damn pricy, but I loved it.
“So what’s the plan?” Helena asked. “And what’s wrong?”
I had to smile a bit, despite the situation. It was nice to know she cared. “We’re going to slaughter them. All of them. And for what? To save a man who will probably turn out all right anyway? I don’t understand what Vincent’s doing. We’ve already fucked up so much.” I sighed, knowing I had to clear my head before others had to start relying on me. It wouldn’t be fair to them. “Sorry. I guess none of that matters.”
She continued to look through her scope. “It’s nice to know you’re not just going to fold up and let us get killed, especially me. Now, what does Vincent want us to do?”
“About what you’d expect,” I answered. “Protect our flanks by keeping them from wanting to come this way. If any of them stray in our direction, we take them out. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to sit up here and pick off civilians. I’m targeting officers first, soldiers second, and only those civilians I deem an immediate threat last. If we can thin out the soldiers, our buddies out front can probably hold against the civilians all night.”
She looked at me with concern in her eyes, and I couldn’t help but notice her hands were shaking. “As simple as that?” She asked.
I tried to put on a sympathetic face. “It’s never that simple, Helena. It’s damn complicated actually, but if we don’t do what we can here, we may not make it home to regret it later.”
She nodded a few moments later, turning her attention back to her rifle to fidget with her scope.
***
Five minutes later, we saw the tip of the mob, led by rebel Praetorians, still clad in their ceremonial white togas. As I guessed, the plebeians were armed with pitchforks and torches, but some had clubs, axes, old swords, and other simple tools. They wouldn’t be an issue, but the Praetorians, as powerful as any military group, was another matter.
“Sir,” I called to Vincent. “Tangos inbound. ETA two minutes. Permission to engage?”
“Granted.”
And with that, Helena and I began to rain fire down upon the unsuspecting Romans.
At first, they took little notice of the fac
t that many of their co-conspirators were dying around them. I let Helena do most of the work in the beginning, her DSR- 1 and 10x scope far more accurate than I was with my ACOG. With it, she was able to surgically pick off men marching along the exposed flank of the column. She never shot two men standing next to each other, and was so far, was only targeting soldiers.
After a few dozen Praetorians had fallen over the stretch of a few blocks, the rebels seemed to catch on to what was happening around them and started to panic. Most had no idea that we, and not the gods, were to blame for the deaths, and many civilians fled out of fear.
But not many.
The vanguard’s next step dissuaded far more, as they triggered the first of Santino’s claymores. Each claymore was designed to explode in a hundred and forty degree arc, and was loaded with tiny pieces of shrapnel. Within seconds, dozens more were either dead or on their way towards the pearly gates. Crazily, the mob pushed on, still thousands strong despite the casualties and desertions. No longer hindered with the need to preserve the element of surprise, I opened fire in controlled bursts that sent maybe a hundred men to the grave. Combined with Helena’s pinpoint strikes, we racked up an impressive kill count before they even reached the house’s courtyard.
“What is it Americans say? Like shooting fish in a barrel?” Helena observed, disgust emanating from her voice.
“Yah, or like ancient Romans in the street. Real heroic.”
Helena mumbled an agreement but didn’t stop firing.
By the time the second claymore exploded, the mob had just reached the house’s gated courtyard. Even so, their line still snaked around behind the house, offering Helena and me a few stragglers to pick off.
We left the civilians.
Without any more targets of opportunity remaining, I patted Helena on the shoulder, letting her know that I was falling back.
“Stay here and watch out for a flank. I’m going to see if I can help out front. If you need me give me a shout on the radio.”
The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) Page 23
