The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (33 page)

Pulling Varus to the ground, I shouted, “Down!”

My men went to their knees, and locked their
shields, their backs to mine. Within the few seconds that followed,
I took a club to my side and a slash against my forearm, that one
drawing blood. The first man I shot in the head, but the second was
taken off his feet by the force of the grenade that had just gone
off.

In such close proximity, the grenade did maximum
damage. Men in a ten yard radius were either on the ground dead, or
dying. I took full advantage and shouted for my men to run. Before
I could flee as well, I had one more job to do. Twisting at my
waist, I took careful aim with one of the last bullets in my
pistol, and shot the lead centurion in the head.

Thankfully, my Praetorians, while disoriented by the
explosion, still had sense enough to run. Most of the civilian mob,
however, were either still on the ground, shaking their heads
clear, or fleeing in panic. Running on pure adrenaline, losing more
blood than I thought from my arm, I quickly grabbed Varus, and
rolled another grenade in the direction of the enemy soldiers. I
was well within my lines by the time it detonated within theirs,
taking out at least twenty more soldiers.

Frightened and temporarily leaderless, the
Praetorians outside the gates fell back, just enough to allow their
fleeing civilian allies to run, leaving only the professional
soldiers.

Dragging Varus up the steps, I pushed him in the
doorway.

“Go! Caligula’s in his room. We’re trying to buy
some time before we can move him out of here.”

“Th-thank you. I…”

“Just go! You can thank me later.”

He nodded and ran inside.

I watched him flee inside before stumbling against a
column behind me, but I managed to slowly slide myself to the floor
as I clutched my arm in pain. I pulled back my sleeve, revealing a
nasty laceration that ran from mid forearm to my elbow. Looking
over my shoulder at the battle, I didn’t see Helena crouch down
next to me.

I was rewarded with a slap to my face.

“Ow!” I yelled, clutching my stung cheek. “That was
the only thing that didn’t hurt!”

“Don’t you ever do something stupid like that
again!” Her tone was angry but her expression relieved. “What were
you thinking?”

“I had to save Varus. He’s... important.”

I guess he was. For all I knew, he may be a direct
ancestor of mine and I couldn’t let him get killed now. Who knows
what kind of paradox I’d create then. A “great, great, great times
one hundred grandfather paradox,” or maybe I’d just wink out of
existence. The universe might just implode for all I knew. Or maybe
I’d prove that grandfather paradoxes are nothing but shit
science.

“Well, he’d better be,” she said, grabbing my arm
roughly. “This is bad. It needs to be treated.”

I turned to look out over the battlefield again,
seeing that both sides of Praetorians had not yet engaged. One was
scared, while the other was just stalling for time. Once the enemy
found another centurion to rally his troops, the fighting would
reach a whole new level of bloodiness.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s just a
scra…”

I didn’t notice her pull out a package of QuikClot
and pour it on my arm. I almost screamed, grinding my teeth
together, settling for a painful moan to help maintain my
dignity.

“Quit being a baby. It’s just a scratch. Besides, I
owed you one.” She pulled out a bandage and wrapped it around my
arm, pulling it tight, forcing me to bit my lip again. “I’d
recommend you take it easy, but
that’s
clearly not going to
happen. Let Wang check it out ASAP.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I popped a few pain killers, enough to hopefully
dull the pain but not cause me to lose focus. Helena offered her
hand. I took it and let her help me up, wincing as I felt my back,
shoulder and the entire left flank of my upper body begin to
bruise.

“So now what?” She asked.

“We wait,” I replied, shrugging off the pain.

We didn’t have to for long. A replacement centurion
was quickly brought to the front, and after a little pep talk,
ordered his men to charge. Casting
pila
as they came, and
receiving a single volley in return, the men sprinted towards our
position as though the forces of Olympus were urging them on.

Their first volley incoming, I grabbed Helena and
held her close. We squeezed ourselves behind her original column
while Bordeaux hid behind my old one. As soon as the missiles fell
to the ground, many flying through the air we had just vacated, we
stepped around the corner, and started firing.

Helena’s first target was the replacement centurion,
while I went for the standard bearer, the soul of every legion.
While another man would pick it up after it fell, the continuous
falling of it would quickly dishearten those who noticed. After
that, I went back to my practice of only shooting those who were
immediate threats to my allies below. Helena did the same, while
Bordeaux used his elevation to pour fire into the middle of the
crowd, thinning it from within.

Despite our help, our line started to horseshoe
inwards almost immediately, with the center of the enemy’s line
extending well through our own. I still saw no end to the enemy’s
forces, while ours were wavering. They would never break, but their
fatigue was starting to show. Many of our people were hacked to
pieces because of it. The reserve century tried to move around the
left to get along the enemy’s flank, but while a good idea, they
just didn’t have enough room to maneuver in the ways that made the
Roman legions so effective. It would do little except stall the
enemy a little longer.

I decided to abandon my selective targeting policy,
and flicked my rifle’s selector switch over to fully automatic,
taking a moment to spray the most densely populated areas I could
see. I mowed down dozens of men before my magazine finally ran out
of ammo. I glanced over at Helena, who was likewise digging for
loaded magazines that didn’t exist.

I threw a rock at her to get her attention. The rear
of our formation had backed itself up the stairs at this point,
blocking clean shots, and making it hard to hear each other. When
she turned to look, I pointed inside, and waggled my middle and
pointer fingers, communicating my decision to fall back.

She nodded, and ran for the door. Bordeaux noticed
her retreat, looked at me and nodded. He backed his way into the
doorway, ready to fall back at moment’s notice, but sticking around
to provide as much support as he could.

Passing him, I thumped his shoulder to get his
attention, before yelling into his ear, “hold the line. I’ll report
to Vincent. Don’t forget to fall back.”

He gave me a wide grin, and turned back towards the
fighting while I ran as fast as I could towards the back of the
house. When I arrived, I discovered that Caligula’s room had
completely changed. It was littered with bodies, Caligula was now
on the floor, and Santino had his combat knife implanted through a
man’s chin, extending it into his skull. Pulling the blade free, he
wiped it clean on the dead man’s toga just before he slumped to the
ground, and placed it back in a sheath. He started to whistle as he
left the balcony, waltzing into the room as though nothing had
happened, tiptoeing and skipping over maybe thirty men. I observed
that most of the bodies in the room had died from similar knife
wounds to the face, neck, and chest. Noticing my appearance back in
the room, he pulled up short, as if surprised to see me. He
appeared as carefree as a father tucking in his kids.

“Jacob! Nice to see you. How are things?” He asked
as nonchalantly as a gossiping golden girl. He pointed at my
arm.

“Oh, you know… had to play the hero and all
that.”

“Ah. Slayed the dragon, rescued the damsel in
distress, and saved the world did you?”

“Something like that.”

Helena rolled her eyes, before offering her own sit
rep. “The situation is rapidly deteriorating outside. We’re going
to need to hold in the hallways soon before falling back
completely.”

I nodded. “She’s right. How’s our patient?”

Each of us turned to Wang. He had his fingers around
Caligula’s feverish wrist, checking his pulse. I glanced at my
watch, surprised to see that only forty five minutes had elapsed
since the fight had begun. Wang said we’d need at least an
hour.

When he looked up, his face seemed satisfied. “He’s
surprisingly well. His temperature has dropped and his pulse is
steadying. I think it’s safe to assume that he’s made it through
the worst of it. He should make a full recovery, but he could
easily relapse. Let’s give him another twenty minutes before we
move him.”

“Twenty minutes it is,” Vincent replied. “Prepare to
defend the room.”

As if to capitalize on his words, Bordeaux came
rushing in with Gaius and Marcus, who had lost track of Helena and
I in the battle.

“They’re breaking through,” Gaius reported. “We have
five minutes before our troops must retreat to the atrium.”

Vincent nodded, turning to Bordeaux. “When I asked
you to line the halls with demo, tell me you placed more than you
were ordered to.”

Bordeaux gave Vincent a look that suggested he’d be
crazy to think anything but. “Of course. I have a backup detonator
which should bring down the front structure of this house, but
preserving this room.” He paused as he surveyed the room.
“Hopefully.”

I sighed. Demo-guys.

“Great. Detonate the small charges at your
discretion, but bring down the house only on my order.”

“Sir,” I spoke up. “I’m not all that fond of blowing
up Augustus’ house.”

“Deal with it,” he replied, moving to the doorway.
“They’ll rebuild it.”

Around the time I said the word “house,” loyal
Praetorians began streaming into the hallway outside the room,
clogging the space and creating a perimeter. They were a
distraction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy figure
emerge from the balcony, and sneak up behind Santino. I couldn’t
tell if he was a Praetorian or a civilian, but the knife he held
told me enough. I shouted a warning to my friend as I brought my
rifle to my shoulder only to realize I was too late.

Before I could bring my barrel to bare and enact
some facet of revenge on the interloper, I felt a whoosh of air
over my shoulder and I saw a spear fly towards Santino’s head. Not
enough time to move, Santino froze as the spear flew straight and
true, right past his own shoulder and into the skull of the
sneaking intruder.

I turned to see Gaius hold out a clenched fist,
which was summarily punched by Marcus’ own.

Well there’s one for the history books. Roman
soldiers showed signs of appreciation and congratulations by
pounding fists, just as we did in our own time.

And me without my camera.

Santino had a look of complete shock on his face as
he twisted at the waist to see the dead man behind him,
pila
protruding through the man’s skull. The would be assassin was so
close to Santino that the spear vibrated over my friend’s shoulder.
Santino pressed his finger against the spear and gave it a nudge,
watching as the man dropped to his knees and fell to the ground.
Returning to his original position, he looked over my shoulder at
the Romans.

“I love you guys,” he said to them in English.

Marcus smiled and waved, clearly the one who threw
the spear.

Breathing a collective sigh of relief, everyone in
the room save Wang and Caligula made their way to the quickly
collecting force of loyal Praetorians outside in the atrium. We had
them line up, about twenty wide, and as many rows as we could deep.
In these enclosed spaces we could hold out for a while, but not
forever. I’d hoped to stall longer outside, but there were just too
many, and I estimated we only had about a third of our original
strength left. I was happy to see Quintilius had survived, but was
bleeding from a head wound. At least the men would have the benefit
of a centurion to coordinate them.

Minor skirmishes were still being waged near the
courtyard, while loyal Praetorians were separated from the rest of
the group. Their sacrifices gave us the time we needed to set up a
defensive wall of interlocking shields.

I saw the last of our men, cut off from our
position, butchered by three rebel Praetorians. When he fell, the
rebels stopped and looked in our direction. They looked tired and
out of breath, but their faces revealed only the bloodlust I knew
consumed them. I knew that even if we could somehow lay out the
situation peacefully, they would continue fighting unabated. A
minute passed, each side staring the other down, before the rebels
roared in challenge and rushed us.

The two sides collided in a clamor of swords and
armor and blood. Each side, professional to the core, began the
long arduous process of outlasting the other. This kind of warfare
only lasted as long as one side could continue fighting. Not
through loss a loss of men, but the loss of energy. Ancient battles
could take days, and while this one wouldn’t last that nearly that
long, I did everything I could to even up the sides.

I tossed my last grenade ten rows deep into the
enemy’s position, but they learned quickly. Even though they hadn’t
figured out they could just throw it back, they did turn their
shields to help block the explosion. Most weren’t quick or smart
enough to so, but some were. When the grenade exploded, a sizable
hole opened up in their formation. Following my example, those of
my friends who still had them threw their own grenades, each with
similar results. Chipping, chipping, chipping away.

Five minutes elapsed.

Our lines started to buckle under the sheer weight
of the rebel mass. Quintilius tried to rotate fresh troops to the
front line regularly, but in the cramped and confused atrium, he
was having trouble coordinating the effort. The enemy had no such
problem, and were steadily streaming into our flanks and driving
right through the middle of our lines. On the right, Bordeaux mowed
down an entire line of the enemy with a hail of gunfire from his
SAW. On the left, a Praetorian swung his sword towards Helena’s
head, but she managed to bat it aside with her P90. She pulled out
her side arm, and shot the man in the stomach. Somewhere in the
middle, Santino swung his rifle like a club and shattered a man’s
face.