The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (14 page)

“Is that a hint of concern I hear in your voice,
Lieutenant?”

“Well, umm, no,” I stuttered. “Just offering
unsolicited advice. I’m sure you love that.”

“Funny. But don’t worry,” she consoled. “This isn’t
the first time I’ve had to jump out of a moving vehicle.”

That sounded like an interesting story, but it
seemed best to just shut up at this point, no sense rising to the
bait. She wants me, she’s just playing hard to get, but two can
play that game. I liked the game. The hunt. It must have been the
sniper in me. It was always the best part.

“Listen.” She whispered, before I could come up with
a witty retort. “The crew is getting ready to put us in the
truck.”

I hadn’t heard, but after she mentioned it, I craned
my neck, and did in fact notice the obvious clanking sound of
machinery.

She had good ears, I had to give her that. Having
good eyes wasn’t everything for a sniper, but ears were important
too, especially when people sneak up on you. She probably carried a
myriad of motion sensors and fisheye cameras that she could hook up
to doors, ladders, or any other entry to guard her back as well. If
the sensors were tripped, a 3D map of her location would be
displayed on her eye piece to show where her sensor was triggered,
then fisheye cams would give her visual confirmation.

Clever little gadgets.

She also had a few claymores, which she could set up
as a last line of defense. These she could set for either proximity
detonation, when someone tripped the lasers, or for manual
detonation.

As our containers were loaded into the truck, Helena
and I tossed and bumped into each other uncomfortably. Once we were
finally secured we started to speed away down the road. I checked
my watch and hoped the dock boss waited until later this morning
before he started asking questions about why a half dozen
containers were loaded at one in the morning and mysteriously
transported away. I also hoped the guards around town didn’t ask
any questions either.

Currently, my eye piece showed real time imagery
from the Argos II Reconnaissance Satellite. Each member of the team
had a wrist implant that we received from our respective militaries
upon completion of basic training. They provided a few functions,
but were currently used as locator beacons that showed up as
pulsating dots on my screen. Seven of these dots were currently
spread out in a line, pulsing green, indicating life signs were
nominal. Another nice function of Santino’s UAV was that it not
only provided aerial imagery, but also updated the locator beacons’
positions as well as our vital signs. It allowed for continuous
data updates even if every single satellite somehow spontaneously
went off line.

Manipulating the small joystick that extended from a
wrist sheath, which worked just like a mouse attached to any
household computer, I zoomed out on the image to show our position,
and where we were heading. Using two small buttons I traced a line
from our position to the enemy cave, and had the computer calculate
the distance. A half second later, the computer estimated we were
about six miles from our target destination. Helena would be
jumping off about a mile out, finding a good spot to cover us.

The map also showed a green square deep inside the
city. I wasn’t sure what it was so I clicked on it, only to realize
it was probably our equipment cache. As a precaution, I had the
computer calculate the fastest route from our target location to
the cache, mapping it out with straight red lines, with blue
flashing dots as waypoints. Once it showed up on my screen, I saved
it and filed it away in case we needed it in the future. It was
better to be safe than sorry, and it was as easy as voicing a quick
command into my microphone to call it up.

I retracted the joystick on my wrist sheath and
opened the protective flap away from my forearm. It revealed a
small LCD screen about half the length of my forearm. It was a
touchpad readout for my computer stowed in my back pouch. I called
up a simplified E-mail system, meant to send small packets of
information that worked with Santino’s UAV that projected an
encrypted Wi-Fi network we were all connected to. The information
we sent to one another was coded, and nearly impossible to crack. I
quickly typed in
Cave -> Cache
, attached the file, and
sent the data containing our escape route on its way.

“Nice thinking, Lieutenant,” Helena said a few
seconds later. “It’ll be good to have this in a pinch if things get
nasty.”

“You being nice to me, Strauss?”

“No. Just keeping you honest.”

“Right. So, you ready to jump? Looks like we’re
almost there.”

“Yeah. I called up the info on my lens, I’m ready to
go.”

“Good. Just, umm, well, you know, be careful.”

She was silent. She knew I was serious. Combat was
tough, both physically and mentally, no matter how experienced an
operator you are.

“Thank you, Jacob,” she said quietly. “To be honest,
I’m a little nervous. I’ve been in the field many times before, but
something just feels wrong about this one. Like there’s something
we’re missing.”

No kidding, but there was no sense telling her I
felt the same way. I didn’t want to add to her discomfort, so I
stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

I felt her shift in her position. “But don’t worry,
I’ll cover your back. We’ll get through this with no problem, and
be back in Rome in a few hours listening to Santino complain about
something. Hey, maybe we’ll get a little down time. What better
place to be based out of than Rome?”

I felt the same way.

“You be careful too, Jacob,” she said finishing her
thoughts. “I’m just starting to like you, and I’d hate to have to
make Santino my new best friend on the team.”

I had to laugh at that. She’d soon realize that,
really, he could be as best a friend as they came.

“I will.”

Maybe we were having a moment here, but I had no
idea. Emotions were always high during operations, and could lead
to false positives. It was probably for the best.

Mission first.

A few minutes later she started shifting again,
ready to disembark the vehicle.

“Well, Lieutenant, if you’re quite done… what is it
you Americans say… ‘spooning me,’ I’m ready to go.”

I coughed but recovered quickly.

“Don’t worry, Strauss. I’ve had better.”

“Ooh, you’ll pay for that one.”

I laughed. “Just get out of here,” I said with a
gentle nudge.

“Good luck,” she said, opening one of the double
doors. Taking a deep breath, she clutched her rifle close, and
leapt out into the darkness.

I saw her hit the ground roughly, roll twice, and
come up on a knee. She immediately slung her rifle and pulled her
P90 from its secure location on her back all in one fluid
motion.

I spared a wide eyed look for just a moment. That
had been damn impressive. I shut the door as quickly as I could,
surrounding myself in darkness once again, this time alone. It was
more nerve wracking than I’d thought it would be. I tried to
comfort myself by slowly stretching myself out in the more
expansive space I now had.

I kept close watch on my lens, watching the green
dot that was Helena slowly move off into the narrow alleyways of
the town. She would be fine. I shouldn’t dwell on her. It would
only lead to distraction. I zoomed in the view on my lens so it
only encompassed the grouping of green dots surrounding my own,
eliminating Helena’s position from view. If something happened to
her, the computer will let me know.

***

It wasn’t long before my GPS tracker showed we were
coming up on what I assumed was some kind of military checkpoint.
The truck started to slow, confirming my suspicion, before coming
to a complete stop.

This was it. If the driver, whoever he was, couldn’t
smooth talk his way through the guards, we were as good as
dead.

Hearing muffled voices outside, I pulled out my Sig
P220. It was equipped with a suppressor, so I could make silent
work of any potential peeping Toms, and hopefully turn a bad night
into a slightly less shitty one.

I held my breath, hoping the additional silence
would prompt the checkpoint guards to send us on our way. Three
minutes in, I began to feel the need to breath, but knew I could
hold it for another two minutes if I needed. SEALs spent
considerable time training our lungs to be as proficient as
possible under water. As a result, we could withstand pressure at
slightly deeper depths than most people, and could hold our breath
well beyond the average minute and a half.

Just in case.

Thankfully, a few seconds after the fourth minute
rolled around, the driver gunned the engine and I slowly exhaled
under cover of the moving vehicle.

So far, so good. All we needed to do was make it
through the guards at the entrance to the enemy’s base, and we
could slip out of the containers in the unloading area. Hopefully,
most of the base would be asleep and only a few drowsy guards would
be milling around. At least that was the plan.

Thankfully, the rest of the trip was relatively
uneventful. We slowed as we rolled up to the base’s entrance, but
the guard must have waved us through because we quickly sped up and
moved inside. As we passed into the cave, my GPS stopped updating
through the satellite, and instead our green dots were overlaid
against a black background. Thanks to the UAV, stowed away but
still active, we could at least keep track of where we were in
relation to each other, but lost all terrain details.

The truck stopped, and I heard two car doors open
and shut quietly. Then came the sound of someone subtly tapping on
the container. All clear. I waited a few minutes until I heard the
double click over the radio, indicating it was time to move.

I opened the container door carefully, pistol aimed
and ready. As the door swung open, I tracked the opening down my
gun sights. It seemed to be clear, so I carefully hopped out of the
cramped container, finding myself in what looked like a large
storage room. It was a domed cave the size of a small warehouse
with a shit ton of boxes, crates, containers, and the like sloppily
arranged throughout the room. There was no order to the chaos, just
junk strewn about in as inefficient a manner as I could think of.
It looked like my old dorm room. I guess mommy terrorists didn’t
make their spawns clean their rooms or make their beds as baby
terrorists.

Holstering my Sig, I pulled out my HK416, checked
the inserted magazine, flicked off the safety, and formed up with
the rest of the team. With Helena playing sniper, I was teamed up
with McDougal. He quietly started issuing orders.

“All right, mates. Nice and slow and quiet.
Remember, don’t pop the first thing you see. We’re here for
Abdullah. Santino, you’re on point. Vincent, hang back a bit with
the rest of us. Bordeaux, place the C4 at your discretion, but keep
it subtle.”

There was a chorus of double clicks and a second
later my eye piece flashed. Quickly taping through the Velcro
sheath over the LCD screen, the most recent activity was brought up
on my lens. Helena had sent a data packet labeled “Strauss” which
consisted of a single green dot with two adjacent green lines
running out from the dot in the shape of a V. The area between the
lines was shaded a light green, indicating Helena’s field of fire.
She also had a few, smaller, red V’s, indicating areas where she’d
placed claymores. The red indicating they were set for manual
detonation.

Thoughtful of her.

It looked like she had taken position on the roof of
a building situated alongside the main road we’d driven along.
Three red V’s were situated along that road, intermittently placed,
for three individual explosions to cover out escape. The map I had
drawn earlier to the equipment cache ran right through the field of
explosions. If we had to bug out quick, straight ahead was our best
bet.

The cave complex we were in was typical of the kind
used by terrorist cells throughout the former Crescent Empire. It
was a honeycomb of passageways and dead ends, and no two complexes
were anything alike. The ceilings were low, forcing Bordeaux and me
to continuously keep our heads down, and the tunnels were poorly
lit, with a string of light bulbs hung sporadically along the way.
There was a dank, old smell in the caverns, even though they may
have only been dug out a few months ago. Santino, thankfully, was
an expert at navigating through this type of terrain. He’d been in
caves just like these before, and he had his innate ability to find
whatever he was looking for. He was a born tracker.

He carefully made his way along the walls, never
straying more than a few inches from them, pausing at each
junction. Occasionally he’d pause and drop his night vision for a
clearer look, but never long enough to break up our rhythmic
movement. We didn’t run into a single soul for most of the trio,
not surprising considering the unprofessional discipline of this
particular bunch, as well as the late hour. Occasionally, Bordeaux
would stop and place a brick of explosive along the ceiling,
inconspicuously hiding it away in the shadows.

Ten minutes of wandering through the seemingly
endless maze, we made it to a doorway guarded by two men leaning
lazily against a wall, flanking a curtained doorway. Santino
halted, and held up a clenched fist. He then pointed to his eyes
with his pointer and middle finger indicating the count of bad guys
with both fingers. Turning his hand into an open palm, fingers
spread apart, he indicated towards the bad guys’ position.

McDougal understood and slashed a hand along his
neck, indicating Santino dispatch the guards silently. Santino gave
him a sinister smile, completely devoid of the jovial attitude he
normally exuded. A smile filled with nothing but vehement
professionalism, a trait that had saved my life. He drew his nasty
looking combat blade and double backed along a side passage, coming
up along the guards’ flank.