Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion (21 page)

“It’s really best you didn’t know,” I
called back.

“Tell m
e you’re not going in the water!”

“Sorry, can’t do that,” I said, just before I was swept away by the sea of soldiers and
toward the steps.

Once above deck, I noticed
Archer speaking with Gaius and Marcus, who seconds later ran off.  I made my way carefully toward him, noting that the waves seemed even worse now, but before I arrived, he was already running toward the port railing.  I finally caught up with him a few seconds later, and reached out to grip the railing to steady me.  Together, we looked out at the pair of ships that had maneuvered to sit just a hundred meters or so away while we’d been below deck.

“So this is your plan?”  I yelled.  “Just swim over there blind, plant a bomb, and then swim back?”

“There was a bit more to it than that, honestly,” Archer commented, looking over his shoulder.  I followed his gaze and saw Gaius and Marcus returning with huge rolls of rope coiled around their arms.  Gaius handed an end to Archer, who immediately went to work tying it around his waist.

“Oh, this is much better,” I commented as Marcus handed me my own rope.  I grunted in frustration but took
it, and tied it around my waist as well.

“Like your plans are ever much better, Hunter!”
  Archer yelled.

“Yeah,” I said, “but
my plans are shit, not insane!

“Deal with it,” Archer said before taking a seat on the railing and rolling
backward off of it and into the water.  I didn’t even hear a splash.  I turned and gave Marcus a hard look and pointed a finger at him.

“Do
not
tell Helena!”

He nodded vigorously as he held onto the other end of my rope, knowing better than to tell Helena anything at all.  I gave him another frustrated look, but then leapt onto the railing and pushed off of it with a foot, diving far out into the water.

I hit like a knife slicing into a bowl of frozen yogurt, which was an apt analogy since the first sensation that hit me was the cold.  It seemed freezing, but my mind knew it wasn’t quite.  The next sensation, one I was mostly prepared for, was the intensity of the tide and savagery of the currents.  It was like swimming through an active ice cream maker.  Every stroke I took was a strenuous endeavor, and after only a few dozen meters of swimming, fatigue had already set in.

But
I kept swimming, working hard to keep Archer in sight ahead of me and my body near the surface.  It was hard with the rolling waves, but I didn’t want to go too low for fear of some sub-current whisking me off course.  But this was what Navy SEALs were trained for.  Sure, we took part in land battles and operations in every imaginable environment, and while other military units trained underwater as well, this is what
we did
.  We logged more hours in the water than any other operator on the planet, and while I never thought I’d ever need to free swim in a storm like this one, that training was paying off now.  Any lesser man would have been swept away, but my powerful lungs and well-honed swimming muscles, albeit underused ones, guided me straight and true.

Archer suddenly broke off to the right, but I kept going straight, pushing myself harder and harder when, finally,
my hand smacked into the hull of my target ship. I was exhausted and out of breath, and forced myself to breach the water to find air.  It was a struggle just to do that, and once above the water line, I found myself in a maelstrom of rain and waves and wind.  It was a hellish environment and I could barely move, but I still had a job to do.  With quick but methodic motions, I reached into my bag and removed the explosive.  I held it in my left hand and reached back in to grab a tube of waterproof epoxy.  I slathered it on haphazardly, threw the tube into the sea, and attached the explosive to the hull.

I was spent as I pressed
it against the ship, but with a last burst of energy, I yanked on my rope, hoping Marcus felt the sudden tug.  I grew lightheaded as I waited, struggling to breathe, but then I thought I felt myself being dragged through the water gently.  A moment later, the rope around my waist seemed to tighten, and I was certain Marcus had received my message.  Within minutes I was back at the ship and being pulled up from the water, two large, meaty hands picking me up and over the railing like he was reeling in a large trout.

I loo
ked up and saw Bordeaux standing over me.

“Y
ou are the craziest man I have ever met, Hunter!”  He exclaimed

I smiled
and glanced to my left, seeing that Archer was just now being pulled from the ocean himself.  He looked at me, panting for air as well, and nodded.

“Beat you!” I yelled, but then realized that the rain was
starting to wear itself down, and that it was simply the pounding in my head from the swim that caused my diminished hearing ability.  Archer smirked at me in good humor, and reached out a hand.  Gaius placed something there, but then he extended Archer to me.  I took it, recognized it, and then held it out for Bordeaux.  “Care to do the honors, explosion boy?”

He smiled
, took the detonator, and pressed the button.  A pair of booms and fireballs went off behind me, and I turned my neck painfully to see one of the huge plumes of fire spread up into the rainy air, and the ship begin to capsize.  The other did the same.

Bordeaux helped me off the railing, and I was thankful since I wasn’t sure I could have done it on my own.  The entire operation had taken no more than
eight minutes, but I felt like I’d just run a marathon.  I looked up at the large Frenchman and smacked his arm, his massive bicep as hard as a rock through his wet shirt.

“Does this mean we’re friends again?”  I asked.

“We never weren’t, Jacob,” He said, his voice apologetic as he dropped his head, “
Je suis désolé, mon ami
.”

“Nothing to apologize for, big guy.
  We all make mistakes.”

H
e looked up but said nothing more, and I took his silence in stride and looked out over the deck.  What I saw there was disheartening: a number of corpses lined along the starboard railing, some with blankets already covering their bodies.  There were at least two dozen lying there, but as I looked up, I was at least comforted by the sight of the remaining pirate ships breaking off as the storm continued to calm.

“What happened?”  I asked
.

Bordeaux started to answer, but was interrupted by Helena leaping off the bow deck in our direction.
She looked at me, clearly startled at what she was seeing.

“Jacob!”  She
yelled, rain sputtering from her lips, her hair matted flat.  “What happened to you?”  She looked down.  “And what happened to your clothes??”

I looked at my lower half, finally taking notice of the fact that my fears had been confirmed, and that I’d lost my
favorite boxer shorts.  A low laugh escaped my lips, too tired to be embarrassed, while Bordeaux looked away sheepishly as he too realized my plight, and took a step backward before rushing below deck.

I watched him go but answered Helena’s question by nodding my head
toward the burning ships that were just now beginning to sink below the water line.  She looked over my shoulder, but didn’t seem to understand what I meant.

“What happened here?”  I asked, trying to distract her
before she actually figured it out.

She crossed her ar
ms and shook her head, obviously confused.

“The
pirates never came close enough for hand to hand combat,” she said, not having to yell quite as loudly anymore, “but they pulled in close enough to throw spears at us, and hit a few legionnaires from what I’ve heard, but mostly members of the crew.  It looked like they were about ready to board when suddenly they broke off.”  She gestured at the burning ships.  “I suppose we have you to thank for that.”

“It was Archer’s idea
,” I clarified.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, before
stepping aside as Bordeaux returned with a pair of pants.  He held them out and I took them, embarrassment finally settling in.

One side of Helena’s lips tugged upward
, and she said, “Why don’t you give us a minute, Bordeaux?  Someone’s got to help him put his clothes back on…”

The hulking Frenchman nodded
awkwardly, and quickly stepping away, giving me the space I needed to get dressed.  I stepped a leg into the pants and looked up at Helena.

“I’m sorry, Helena, but it all happened so fast.  Archer and I were really the only two options.  No one else…”

“It’s all right, Jacob,” she said, reaching out a hand and placing it on my chest.  She leaned in and kissed me tenderly, and then pulled away with a small smile.  “I understand.  You probably saved a lot of lives.”

I looked back at the bodies
as I clasped the pants around my waist and zipped up the fly.  “But not all of them.”

“Hey,” she said softly,
placing her hand against my cheek, the rain no more than a drizzle now.  “It wasn’t your fault.  You did more than enough, believe me.”

She leaned in and kissed me again, and wrapped her arms around my neck.  I put my left hand against her lower back and held her, but
the comfort I felt at words was miniscule.  She clung to me there for some time, until Santino wandered over and coughed into his hand.  I looked at him and no longer saw the pirate persona that had been ever-present since the beginning of the trip, but instead saw my friend in a way I rarely saw him. 

He looked just as tired and beaten
down as the rest of us.

“Hey, John,” I called
tiredly.

He didn’t say anything at first
, content to simply stare at me blankly.

“There’s something you
should see,” he finally said, waving a hand for me to follow.

I nodded and Helena was already pulling away.  She gave me a
small smile, and I returned it before taking her hand and leading her to follow Santino.  We passed by the few dozen bodies on the deck, and I watched as those Romans who had lost friends, spend a few minutes presiding over their fallen comrades’ corpses.  Everywhere else, crewmen were scampering here and there, cleaning up blood, readying to make sail again, and surveying damage, but Santino ignored all this and continued his patrol, heading toward the stern.  He climbed the steps slowly, using the railing to balance himself as he ascended to the bridge, while Helena and I followed, hand in hand, wondering what was wrong.

We reached the top and found our
pair of teams gathered there in a circle, but I was too tired and there were too many people these days for me to perform a snap head count.  Santino took an open spot in the circle while Helena and I shambled closer, and that’s when I noticed the body on the ground.  Helena stopped walking the second she noticed it, but I was transfixed by the sight of it, and against my better judgment, knew I had to see who it was.  Vaguely aware of everyone’s eyes on me as I drifted toward the body, I knelt beside it and gripped the blanket.

I let out a breath and carefully pulled it back.

Recognition set in immediately, and my lower lip started to quiver. 

His eyes were open but lifeless, staring up
into the night sky as rain continued to sprinkle onto his face, an old and tired one that I’d never seen look so frightened and concerned as it did right now, as though he’d seen death approaching.  I squeezed my own eyes shut and lowered my head as the tears came, no longer sure I could continue looking at Vincent’s lifeless corpse without losing it completely.

But
then I lost it anyway.

I hated that tears came so eas
ily to me now.  It hadn’t been so easy in my other life, not since my father had smacked and punched the tears from my system when I was just a kid. 
Men don’t cry
, or so he was always so fond of telling me, and the only time I could remember crying before arriving in Rome was at the news of my mother’s death, and even then my tears had been light, and had dried quickly.

W
hen I cried now, however, I
wept
, no longer caring what others thought or even being aware that they were nearby to judge.  Even Homer’s Greek heroes had openly wept, all the time in fact, from Achilles to Hector to Odysseus, and I was no different now.  It was all I could do to keep myself from dying inside, all I could do to release my demons before they grew out of my control.

I felt myself leaning forward
now, my head dipping toward Vincent’s body so that my forehead could rest against his chest as I sobbed.  My hand reached out and grabbed for his head, and around my tears, I wanted to do nothing more than to rip his hair out or beat his face to a pulp for leaving me like this.  How many times had I gone to him for advice?  Tell him of my issues?  Seek his guidance in a time of need, knowing he’d never betray my confidence or lead me in the wrong direction?  Like a priest he’d once pretended to be, Vincent had been such a consistent force for good in my life, one I could turn to at every impasse and seek everything a man without direction could need.