The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (49 page)

“So, when the day comes,” Caligula continued, “I
expect your people to be at my side. They will have a place of
honor, right beside me.”

“It is indeed an honor, Caesar,” Vincent answered,
“but I believe we would be put to better use in a more active part
of the field.”

“Do not worry, I do not plan to loiter in the rear
and stay safe in this battle. The troops will need their emperor
guiding them, as much as their eagle. I leave it to you to keep me
safe. Believe me when I say, I wouldn’t be so quick to do battle
myself if you were not there.”

“We will do our best. Thank you, Caesar.”

Caligula smiled, and looked over at his Praetorian
primus pilus
. “Don’t look so glum, Quintilius. I would not
be so eager to fight if you and your men weren’t there as
well.”

Quintilius returned the smile, his dignity and pride
restored.

“Let us talk strategy then,” he said.

Finding his favorite map of the walled city, he
started to lay out his preliminary battle plans. Before he could
make any headway, a commotion from outside the tent forced us to
stop.

“What now?” Santino asked.

I turned to Helena. “If it’s Agrippina, just shoot
her this time.”

She flashed a toothy smile, but we breathed a
collective sigh of relief when a simple messenger entered the tent
instead, handing Caligula a sealed letter. The emperor thanked the
man and started reading. I saw his eyes grow slightly before he
crumpled up the letter and burned it with a candle.

“General, alert the troops,” he ordered Galba.
“Tomorrow we do battle. It seems Claudius has decided to come out
and meet us in open combat. We’ll continue this when you
return.”

Galba smiled, his expression itching for a fight.
“With pleasure, Caesar.”

XII

Endgame

Plains outside Rome, Italy

June, 38 A.D.

The following morning, I prepared for war.

It would be the kind of war I’d never seen before,
and for the first time in my military career, I was truly afraid.
Not just nervous like I had been many times before a mission, but
genuinely scared shitless. This was the kind of random warfare that
left almost no room to control your own fate. That worried me. A
random spear here or a wayward sword thrust there. Each could end
your life before you even knew it. Back home I was always on the
offensive, choosing the time and place for battle and the how and
why shit went down around me. Those would not be options available
today.

I had slept well that night, capitalizing with
Helena on the idea that we might not survive another day. It
amounted to a good sleep, despite the predawn wake up time.

However, prior to our nocturnal activities, facing a
completely novel way of waging war, we prepared our gear as well as
we could for the unfamiliar battle ahead. The versatility of my
combat vest really showed itself as I removed every single pouch,
pocket or other modular item already applied, leaving it a bare
canvas for me to work on.

The key to our effectiveness was the ability to
maintain our weapons fire as long as possible. To help neutralize
the fact that I had limited space on my vest to carry loaded
magazines, I opted instead to carry a shoulder hoisted messenger
bag. The bag allowed me to carry forty fully loaded magazines for
my HK416, more than twelve hundred rounds of ammunition. On my
vest, I attached dump pouches to catch my spent mags and a CamelBak
on my back. Additionally, I set up my thigh mounted holster for my
Sig on my right thigh, and prepared a similar thigh holster for my
opposite leg that held pistol mags. Those added another forty eight
rounds of ammunition.

I felt like Jesse Ventura wielding a minigun.

Last night had been productive, both emotionally and
from a preparation standpoint, so I got up this morning feeling
good. There were very few who could voluntarily face their own
deaths and not feel even the slightest twinges of fear. Those of us
who did took solace in good preparation and the companions we
surrounded ourselves with. Between Helena, Santino, the rest of the
guys, and an entire legion at my side, I felt confident, but not
overly so. Overconfidence could be just as detrimental as ill
preparation. Even so, I knew as the battle inched closer the fear
would return with it.

Donning the rest of my gear, I kept myself light,
but did all I could to offer my vulnerable spots as much protection
as possible. My vest protected my chest, abdomen, sides, back, and
shoulders, and would easily turn away thrown spears and most sword
thrusts, but it still left vulnerable spots beneath my vest. The
precision stabbing of a Roman with his
gladius
might be
enough to find a way through my defenses, but I was still better
protected than a legionnaire with his
lorica segmentata
armor.

The combat fatigues I wore would offer the most
amount of protection. Its gel layers and Kevlar lining protected
the majority of my body. Finally, I opted to forgo the optical lens
and computer for the battle. I didn’t expect to have much time to
send E-mails today.

The last piece of equipment I retrieved was the only
one I dreaded having to use. It was thirty inches long, double
sided, and had a tip which could skewer a wild boar. It wasn’t a
gladius
, like a standard legionnaire would use, but it would
do the trick. During training, I’d found the smaller
gladius
simply too diminutive. It just didn’t work very well with my tall
frame and long reach. The instructing centurions had noticed my
awkwardness, and ordered a longer sword furnished for me with all
the other design features its smaller counterpart boasted. I had
quickly learned to use it well, and soon Bordeaux had been given
one as well.

Satisfied, I looked over at Helena, who was dressed
nearly identically to how I was, as she pulled her own ammo bag
over her shoulder. I almost expected her to wear her breast-molded
legionnaire armor, knowing what it would do for morale, but she
chose the more protective route, something everyone, especially
myself, understood.

“Ready?” I asked her.

In response, she slapped a magazine into her P90,
leaned over, and gave me a kiss.

I smiled and jerked my head towards the tent’s
entrance. She left first, and I gave the tent one last look before
I followed.

Outside, Vincent and Santino were already sitting on
logs, warming their hands over a dying fire. Even though we were
deeper in Italy than we had been during our time in the winter, and
summer was quickly approaching, mornings were still chilly morning.
Each was dressed similarly as Helena and I, their swords strapped
to their waists and their shields at their feet. Helena and I took
a seat on a particularly long log lying on its side, and tried to
warm up as well.

A few minutes later, Bordeaux and Wang emerged from
their tent. Bordeaux carried nothing on his chest rig, but had his
three day assault bag in one hand, his SAW in the other. Sitting on
another log, I noticed he was inserting the last few rounds of
ammunition into one of his box magazines. The box magazines were
large, about the size of a brick, and could carry two hundred
rounds each. I estimated he had at least ten in his bag, with
another already loaded into his weapon. He noticed my inspection
and flicked his eyebrows in rapid succession.

The man loved his firepower.

Wang was geared up more traditionally, with most of
his vest looking much the same as it always did. He had a half a
dozen magazine pouches with a few other miscellaneous ones, but had
his large medical bag as well. It consisted of enough supplies and
modern feats of medicine to provide more care for a century of men
than a traditional Roman doctor could provide for an entire army.
Even though he wasn’t equipped to care for the entire legion, he’d
still save more lives today than any other doctor. He’d hang back
and do what he could from the rear.

They joined the rest of us as we warmed our
bones.

It was an unusually chilly morning.

Quiet and contemplative, the squad sat and enjoyed
our own personal calm before the storm, barely paying attention to
the hustle and bustle of the active camp around us. Everyone had
their eyes on the fire, their gazes glossed over, each of them
running through the possible outcomes of the battle in their minds.
They were nervous, but I had nothing but confidence in each of
them.

Helena laid her head on my shoulder, her own gaze
staring blindly into the fire. I wrapped an arm around her waist
and looked over at Santino, who had broken his stare to offer me a
supportive smile. I returned it, and tracked my attention over to
Vincent, who had pulled his hands away from the flames, stuffing
them into his pockets, and stood up.

“Everyone get something to eat?” He asked.

We nodded. Helena and I had shared the breakfast egg
burrito MRE earlier, which had always surprised me as being
exceptionally delicious.

Catching each of our nods, he nodded back. “Good.
Today is going to be an interesting day.” He sighed, and kicked a
small amount of dirt into the fire. “That said, I have something
important I need to say.”

I straightened, feeling Helena take her head off my
shoulder, interested as well.

“No matter how today’s battle goes, afterwards, I am
officially disbanding our unit. We will no longer be Praetorians.
Considering our situation, I feel it is only appropriate. I will
not become a mercenary captain and order you around in our new
home. It hardly seems fair. I’ve spoken to Caligula, and he’s
agreed to retain each of you as centurions in his own Praetorian
Guard, probably attached to his Sacred Band. Nobody is forcing this
on you. I want each of you to choose for yourselves.”

No one said anything, but it occurred to me that his
decision was an acceptance of our fate in this world, and that he
must little faith in our ability to get home. I wasn’t about to
give up hope quite yet, but at least now we had a choice. He was
giving us the ability to make our own lives in the world fate had
delivered us to. We couldn’t change the fact that we were here, but
at least now we weren’t forced to live by the decisions made in
another lifetime.

I stood. “Sir. I believe I speak for all of us when
I say,” I looked around for support, “that I think you made the
right choice, and that we’re very happy you did so.”

Everyone else stood as well, offering their own
agreements and positive sentiments. Vincent opened his mouth to
speak, but he was cut off by the bellowing blast of a Roman trumpet
blaring a call to arms. I looked over Wang’s shoulder and saw
hundreds of scampering men, each trying to find their place in the
marching column that would lead them to the battlefield.

“Party time,” Santino said.

***

Back when I was working on my Master’s degree, I’d
spent most of my time researching and writing about politics,
legislation and social controversies. Needless to say, it was
boring stuff, but my favorite professor always told me to write
about the tedious stuff first and wait to write about my passion
when it came time for my doctoral dissertation. It was a good idea,
except I’d never gotten around to writing my paper on Gaius Marius,
the man who’d been influential during the Jugurthian War, reformed
the Roman army a generation before Julius Caesar came to power and
had been drawn into two civil wars during his impressive seven
consulships.

Military stratagem had always been a passion of
mine, both modern and ancient. My knowledge of it had helped me
receive my commission upon joining the Navy. I’d scored very well
in intelligence tests, especially when it came to anything
concerning tactics and strategy. The Navy had been disappointed
when I chose not to pursue a career in its intelligence divisions,
instead, deciding on a combat unit like the SEALs. It seemed like
the right thing to do at the time. If I had to be in the military,
I wasn’t going to waste my time as a glorified pencil pusher.

I was going to fuck some shit up.

So, when I found myself arrayed on a battlefield,
surrounded by a Roman legion with the walls of ancient Rome
providing the backdrop, I was surprised to find that any fear I had
felt was completely lost to feelings of curiosity, interest, and
excitement.

Romans had always been good at warfare, from the
rise of their monarchy to the fall of their empire more than a
thousand years later. Very good. Their entire way of life was based
upon it, and their conquests, because of it. What made them so
proficient was their discipline, training, and most importantly
their flexibility. Greek phalanx formations had been the epitome of
modern warfare during the height of their power, but Roman
manipular formations had changed that. What made maniples so
versatile was their ability to work independently of the main body
of the army. While the phalanx was distracted in a head to head
battle, individual maniples could easily peel off and envelop the
flatfooted phalanxes, crushing the soldiers who could not defend
their flanks. Roman battle doctrine had evolved over the years, and
now fought in much larger cohorts thanks to Marius, but the same
idea still applied.

These tactics worked well when fighting barbarians
and Greeks alike, but I imagined situations where both forces
utilized these tactics would amount to nothing more than a
prolonged bloodbath. While each side today would use these tactics,
the makeup of each army couldn’t be any more different.

Standing opposite Caligula’s loyalist force was the
rebel army of Claudius. His army was a mismatch of unit types,
complementing each other very little, but making up for it in sheer
numbers. The only thing these units shared were the purple cloaks
they wore. Purple cloaks, reserved for the emperor alone, would
never have been offered to troops whether they were Praetorians or
not. It was just another indictment against Claudius.