The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (24 page)

He finished by ramming the magazine into the
magazine well and pulled the cocking lever, feeding a round into
the chamber. “The rifle is now ready to fire.”

“So, these… bullets,” Caligula said, having trouble
wrapping his mouth around the foreign word, “are like the lead
pellets used in slings? I ask, because while slings have their
place on the battlefield, they are not the most effective
projectile weapons. Additionally, they are only effective in mass
barrages. What use are these bullets with only the six of you?”

Vincent smiled. “Patience, Caesar. Things will
become very clear, very soon.”

Caligula mused over Vincent’s paternal tone, clearly
annoyed. “What is that shiny object on your leg?” He asked,
indicating his side arm.

“This is a pistol. We refer to it as a sidearm or
secondary weapon. It too fires bullets, but with reduced
efficiency. We use them as backups.”

“You carried that thing into my presence?”

“Yes, we did. Hopefully, the fact that we did not
use them helps alleviate any fear or concern you may have towards
us. We could have at any time.”

“So you say, but I have yet to observe anything that
leads me to fear these so called, ‘weapons’.”

Caligula was demonstrating more curiosity, tact, and
intelligence than I ever gave him credit for, but that imperial
arrogance was getting irritating.

When the column and legionary armor were finally in
place, I couldn’t be more excited. Not because I thought this was a
good idea, but because I really didn’t want all of Rome’s military
might bearing down on us if we delayed too long.

Vincent walked over to the railing and held out his
hands. “I suggest you wear these,” he said, holding small, foam ear
plugs. “These will help muffle the noise of our weapons. They will
be extremely loud.”

One of Caligula’s military men stepped forward and
accepted the small gifts, nodding in thanks.

“Just squeeze them until they are flat, insert them
in your ear, and allow them to expand. You will experience a slight
drop in hearing ability, but trust me, you will appreciate it
later.

The men and women struggled to insert the ‘foamies,’
understandable, since none of them had ever used anything remotely
like them.

They were in for one hell of a surprise.

One of the men, a burly, older fellow, refused to
use them at all, dropping them to the ground with a haughty
laugh.

Content the spectators were adequately protected,
Vincent joined Santino, Wang, and myself in a firing line twenty
feet from our targets. Helena and Bordeaux sat off to the side,
saving their particular skills for later. We three shooters glanced
over at Vincent’s position, waiting for the go ahead. Each of us
made eye contact, acknowledging his unspoken question with smug
looks.

Turning his head, he spoke to the grandstand. “With
your permission?”

Caligula waved a hand dismissively.

Vincent offered a small smirk of his own. “All
right. One magazine each. Don’t worry too much about accuracy. Fire
in controlled bursts, but do it quickly. Understood?”

There was a chorus of affirmatives.

“Open fire!” Vincent bellowed.

A half second later, we unleashed a hailstorm of
fire that echoed throughout the city. We fired in controlled
bursts, as ordered, but it seemed like one continuous stream of
rifle fire with the four of us shooting in tandem. The armor, set
up on stands that we requested be anchored to the ground, were
permeated with a hundred little holes and one even fell over.

The Romans’ reaction was laughably predictable.
Every single hand went directly to their ears, and the man who had
thrown his earplugs on the ground went diving after them. Some of
the men almost fled and most of the women did. Curiously, the
extremely attractive blond did not, and instead sat there as calmly
with her hands lightly cupping her ears. Even Caligula had his
hands to his ears, but did a pretty good job maintaining his
imperial demeanor.

Not twenty seconds later, our magazines spent, we
unloaded, put our guns on safe, and admired our handiwork. Not a
bad clustering for a couple of Special Forces fellows. The dummies
would have been dead a dozen times over. We gathered up the
mutilated armor, and brought them before the Romans for their
inspection.

Vincent described what it was they were seeing. “As
you can see, our weapons are quite formidable, more so than a
simple sling. Just one or two of these holes could kill a man.
Additionally, we can carry at any given time at least three hundred
rounds of ammunition each, and can easily wield more if necessary.
The lethality of our weapons are also high at ranges far greater
than those you just witnessed.”

Caligula inspected one of the gaping holes with a
probing finger. His jaw was slightly ajar, amazed at our rifles’
stopping power. “What is the range of your weapons?”

“They can easily surpass the range of your arrows,
which we will demonstrate next. If you will, please place that
large piece of fruit on the highest level of the arena, at the
farthest end.”

“Impossible. That distance is too far to hit such a
small target.”

“Are you sure?”

He thought about it for a second, glancing at the
ruined sets of armor.

“No.”

Ten minutes later, the piece of fruit high above the
rest of us, Helena and I sat down to take aim. We ran through the
calculations quickly, and while she wasn’t using the Barrett, her
DSR-1 was more than able to reach the mark. Another ten minutes
later, the piece of fruit exploded in a shower of sticky
fruitiness. This time, the Romans applauded. Even Caligula joined
in.

Helena and I joined Vincent near the podium.

“An impossible shot! Miraculous. And from a woman!
How is that a female has the same skills and status as a man in the
realm of warfare amongst your people?”

“What did he say?” Helena whispered, clearly aware
of his attention on her.

I wasn’t exactly sure, but I got the gist of it.
“You don’t want to know.”

“Where we come from, pure strength isn’t the only
prerequisite needed for war,” Vincent informed. “Far more aptitudes
are required, and while women comprise only a small minority in our
militaries, their presence is still noticeable and
appreciated.”

Caligula thought this over for a few minutes before
nodding. I wasn’t sure if he simply understood or shared our
sentiments, but considering what he just saw, he didn’t need
to.

“And what are you to conclude with?”

“You have seen our primary weapons at work, but to
facilitate our needs, we can call on many other pieces of equipment
to aid us in battle. One is an explosive device able to obliterate
extremely large and durable objects.”

“Are you referring to that small brick I saw your
very large man place on the column?”

“Indeed, and if you would be so helpful,” Vincent
said, holding out the detonation device, nothing but a small box
with a trigger, “when I say all is clear, squeeze the two pieces of
this box together, and you shall see.”

Caligula accepted the device, turning it over in his
hand, before nodding to Vincent.

Vincent turned to Bordeaux. “Ready?”

“
Oui
, but I suggest we move everyone to the
far end of the arena.”

Once Vincent requested everyone do so, we were ready
to go. Vincent gave the go ahead, and Caligula squeezed the
detonator. Across the arena, the column exploded in a plum of dust
and debris. The explosion ballooned well above the walls of the
arena, sending a cloud of marble in all directions, and the sound
was deafening. It seemed as though Bordeaux used just a bit too
much C-4, but I’m sure it was purposeful. He just wanted to make a
big bang, something all demolition men took way too much pride in.
I always figured they were overcompensating for something.

After the debris cloud settled, and a few of the
Romans had returned from their hiding spots, some not returning at
all, Vincent turned towards Caligula, a slight smile on his
mouth.

“Well? Have we satisfied your interests,
Caesar?”

Caligula continued to stare at the ruined column,
barely recognizable after its explosive ending. For a second I
thought he was going to declare us evil sorcerers and have us
crucified, but soon his face softened.

His eyes met Vincent’s, his look of superiority
gone. “You have, indeed. I will order a team to recover your fallen
comrade, and then we shall talk about how you may best serve the
glory of Rome.”

***

Three days later, we were still waiting for Caligula
to come through on his end of the bargain. We were still locked up
in the same building we were thrown in the very first night, but
there really wasn’t much room for complaint. We were no longer
treated as prisoners, at least not officially, and we were allowed
to leave the building, a freedom we took advantage of twice a day
to workout. Food was provided, we were given fresh clothes and
bedding regularly, and we had our very own private bathroom,
thankfully, only a short walk away from our little house.

On the downside, however, we were always under the
watchful eyes of Praetorian guardsmen, and our weapons were
confiscated again, including our side arms. The Romans weren’t
going to let that trick fly twice. Occasionally, one or two
particular Praetorians, their names not provided, would spend hours
speaking to Vincent. He spoke in detail about our weapons, as well
as modern combat tactics. The Romans were extremely interested in
our methods of waging war, where the largest battlefields saw
small, eight man squads, engaging in endless skirmishes, as opposed
to legions of thousands of men, fighting one, massive battle. He
left out the parts about tanks, planes, ships, and nukes, at least
for the time being.

I continued to voice my dissent about telling them
anything at all, reiterating the fact that we could still be in the
process of altering future events. I even told him a story I had
read about time traveling dinosaur hunters who accidentally killed
a butterfly in the past, and ended up changing their utopian
government into a tyrannical regime, sixty five million years
later. Granted, it was an extreme, unscientific opinion of what
could happen, but I hoped it would be enough to change his
mind.

It didn’t, and I eventually realized there was
nothing I could do to convince Vincent. For some reason, he was
being particularly stubborn about his decisions.

Still, despite the tight spaces and endless boredom,
the time helped the unit bond. As a team, we spent the time playing
cards and chatted endlessly.

Generally, the games left me pretty frustrated,
especially after I realized Wang and Helena were phenomenal poker
players. I never knew poker was so popular amongst the English and
Germans, but while I gained little from the games, I learned plenty
about my teammates.

Bordeaux, for instance, spoke of his checkered
youth, a life of crime and insolence that landed him in the foreign
legion in the first place. He told us about how his military life
had changed him, how he had found God, and even a wife.

During a mission in Africa, his team had rescued a
group of French peacekeepers, captured by a local guerrilla
militia. Successfully rescuing the group, one of the young women
immediately fell in love with the bulky hero, and eventually
married him. The story lacked a happy ending, however, when
Bordeaux also told us how she had died in the Vatican terrorist
attacks. The attack only fueled his focus, and it had driven him to
find his own way into the Praetorians, instead of being chosen like
I was. I immediately connected his loss with the reason behind his
unfocused attention during the briefing back in modern day
Rome.

Wang continued to grieve, but his attitude quickly
shifted when he realized his poker skills were far superior to the
rest of ours. Poker soon boiled down to a deadly game of one on one
between him and Helena.

I didn’t mind. I wasn’t very good at poker,
anyway.

He seemed happiest, though, when he told stories of
McDougal and his heroics. From what I learned, he couldn’t have
been a better commander, and I only wished I could have served with
him longer.

Santino, meanwhile, had a story for everything.
Whether it was about his first stealth kill in North Korea or the
first vanilla smoothie he ever had in high school, he always had
something to say. And while it may have seemed annoying, they were
actually good stories, even the one about the smoothie, which he
seriously told.

Helena and I held back our more personal stories
with the group, both of us reluctant to delve into our personal
lives. It was, however, a personality quirk that strengthened our
own friendship. Since swim buddies were bunked together, we had
plenty of alone time, and we often found ourselves talking about
things we couldn’t have told the others. She became someone I could
really talk to.

Our stories tended to revolve around our repressive
fathers, who always had the best intentions at heart, but at the
expense of what their children wanted. Her father had taught her to
hunt, and mine, to play baseball, but both led us in directions
neither one of us really wanted. When she had pressed the issue of
why I never finished my schooling, I told her it was because of how
my father forced me into the military. It was his opinion that
school was unnecessary after achieving an undergraduate degree, and
only because
that
degree was important in securing entry
into Officer Candidate School.

It was a bad moment in the Hunter family saga. Dad
spoke of cutting me off, severing my ties to the family if I didn’t
comply with the family tradition. The shouting matches had been
epic. When I’d given up completely, figuring I’d have to settle
with Christmas cards from mom only, she and my sister took up the
cause and pleaded with him to let me make my own choices, but he
was stalwart. My sister stopped talking to him for a long while
back then, but my mother was more diplomatic. She loved her husband
and wanted to make him happy, so she relented and sat me down. Like
any good mom could, she compromised, making me understand that
military service would be good for me and my career, and that since
the world was as peaceful as it had been in decades, it would be
safe. So, wanting to make my mother happy, as she did my father, I
signed up, and instead of taking the safe route by joining the
intelligence sector, I decided to stick it to my father and do
something he never could. I joined the SEALs, something he’d tried
for back in the 80s, but couldn’t hack.