The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (31 page)

Quintilius shrugged. “There was, but we have been
busy and we didn’t plan our training schedule properly. We’re
stretched thin.”

I scoffed, completely flabbergasted at the entire
situation.

Vincent’s look told me to shut up. “What about your
tactical assessment, Centurion?”

Quintilius wasted no time thinking it over. “We can
hold out here for a while. I’ve called for the rest of my century
to get here as soon as they can. I am unaware as to the situation
of the other cohorts outside the city, but we cannot count on their
help tonight. I will post a maniple of men in the courtyard, with a
century in reserve. Our reinforcements will take up positions in
the halls.”

That would put just under two hundred men outside,
with another eighty behind them, and the remaining century in the
house.

“With your permission,” he continued, “I would ask
you to remain here, and provide support for my men. Hopefully, we
will be able to inflict enough casualties to make them rethink
their position, and have them disperse. Even two thousand men will
have trouble taking this position, especially with your help.” He
paused, a look of uncertainty crossing his face. “I know of your
abilities, but am uncertain of your tactics. What exactly can you
do for us?”

“First of all, tell your men not to attack mine,
they will be leaving the house for a few minutes.”

He nodded, sending Marcus to inform the men
outside.

“Santino, Bordeaux, get over here.”

The two men complied, stopping before Vincent at
attention.

“Santino, gather up all the remaining claymores we
have, and plant them along the streets the mob will most likely be
using. Set them up at intervals so that they don’t all go off at
once.”

The man saluted, and went off to collect his
charges.

“Bordeaux, do I even need to ask if you brought
plenty of explosives?”

“
Non
.”

“Good. Line the hallways with C-4. Not a lot, we
don’t want to collapse the house, but enough to put some serious
dents in the enemy’s lines should they make it inside. Place
additional charges outside along the interior of the
courtyard.”

Bordeaux nodded, and went to work.

“What are you having them do?” Quintilius asked.

“You were at our demonstration. Remember the
column?”

Quintilius’ face immediately brightened, a shred of
hope emerging.

“Tell your men to not wander far from the house, and
make sure you redirect your remaining ones to arrive from the
rear.”

That would be difficult. The back of the house was a
steep hill, perfect for Helena’s sniper perch, but not for a
reinforcing army.

“The rest of us will provide fire support. When they
reach the house, stay low, and we’ll fire over you. If things get
really bad, fall back and shield us while we put them down with
sustained weapons fire. Remember the armor sets?”

Apparently the man did. Practically laughing, he
struggled to salute before running off to inform his soldiers of
our plans.

By the time Santino and Bordeaux returned, Wang had
completed his setup and began a cursory inspection of Caligula’s
vitals at regular intervals, looking for signs of improvement. I
looked at him and he shook his head. We’d have to wait awhile
before he found any.

“So what now?” Santino asked.

“Okay. Here’s the plan.” Vincent laid out his
thoughts as clearly as he could. “Bordeaux, I want you upfront with
the Romans. Provide as much support as you can from your position,
but for the love of God, don’t get yourself killed. When things get
bad, fall back. Santino and I will take up positions here, at the
main doorway, and wait for you to fall back. Hunter, hang back with
Strauss and provide additional sniper support from her position.
From the looks of it, you two will have a decent angle on the mob’s
flank. Try and make your shots count. If things start to get really
bad, we’ll pack up Caligula, and move him out the back as quickly
as possible. Make no mistake, we are now outlaws, and even if we
get Caligula out of here and healthy again, we’ll be doing nothing
but setting up a splinter government. If that happens, our best bet
is to get in contact with the legions.”

“Sir!” Helena called from her balcony. “We’ve got
friendlies incoming. Six o’clock.”

“Good. Direct them to the front.” He turned back to
us. “Any questions?”

We shook our heads, and made our way to our assigned
positions. Eighty Praetorians shuffled past me, and I had to push
through them just to get to the balcony. Still shaking my head, I
fought my way through and made my way to Helena’s position,
thinking about how this wasn’t going to be a fight, but a
slaughter.

I’d had to kill civilians before but never unarmed
ones and each time I did, it was because I had a legitimate reason.
Either I was going to die, or they were, and I never hesitated. The
men coming for us were armed with pitch forks and torches,
something out of an old black and white movie – mob of villagers
storming the steps of Nosferatu’s castle.

They didn’t have a chance, and I wasn’t going to
shoot them unless I felt threatened.

Reaching the balcony, I unslung Penelope, and
released the spring keeping her bipod’s legs parallel to the
barrel. They snapped into a V formation, and I rested them on the
banister, giving me a platform to peer through my Version II
Modular Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight. The VerII ACOG was a top
of the line combat sight. It had a modular zoom from 1-power to
8-power, perfect for close range fighting and distance shooting. It
was slightly longer and thicker than an ACOG from ten years ago,
but it was no more cumbersome. A simple touch interface along the
side allowed for a single finger to slide along the exterior of the
sight to determine the magnification. It was more a camera than a
magnifier. It was a major step forward in weapon optics
versatility, and its night vision capabilities made it an
all-in-one purpose scope. It had been damn pricy, but I loved
it.

“So what’s the plan?” Helena asked. “And what’s
wrong?”

I had to smile a bit, despite the situation. It was
nice to know she cared. “We’re going to slaughter them. All of
them. And for what? To save a man who will probably turn out all
right anyway? I don’t understand what Vincent’s doing. We’ve
already fucked up so much.” I sighed, knowing I had to clear my
head before others had to start relying on me. It wouldn’t be fair
to them. “Sorry. I guess none of that matters.”

She continued to look through her scope. “It’s nice
to know you’re not just going to fold up and let us get killed,
especially me. Now, what does Vincent want us to do?”

“About what you’d expect,” I answered. “Protect our
flanks by keeping them from wanting to come this way. If any of
them stray in our direction, we take them out. I don’t know about
you, but I’m not going to sit up here and pick off civilians. I’m
targeting officers first, soldiers second, and only those civilians
I deem an immediate threat last. If we can thin out the soldiers,
our buddies out front can probably hold against the civilians all
night.”

She looked at me with concern in her eyes, and I
couldn’t help but notice her hands were shaking. “As simple as
that?” She asked.

I tried to put on a sympathetic face. “It’s never
that simple, Helena. It’s damn complicated actually, but if we
don’t do what we can here, we may not make it home to regret it
later.”

She nodded a few moments later, turning her
attention back to her rifle to fidget with her scope.

***

Five minutes later, we saw the tip of the mob, led
by rebel Praetorians, still clad in their ceremonial white togas.
As I guessed, the plebeians were armed with pitchforks and torches,
but some had clubs, axes, old swords, and other simple tools. They
wouldn’t be an issue, but the Praetorians, as powerful as any
military group, was another matter.

“Sir,” I called to Vincent. “Tangos inbound. ETA two
minutes. Permission to engage?”

“Granted.”

And with that, Helena and I began to rain fire down
upon the unsuspecting Romans.

At first, they took little notice of the fact that
many of their co-conspirators were dying around them. I let Helena
do most of the work in the beginning, her DSR- 1 and 10x scope far
more accurate than I was with my ACOG. With it, she was able to
surgically pick off men marching along the exposed flank of the
column. She never shot two men standing next to each other, and was
so far, was only targeting soldiers.

After a few dozen Praetorians had fallen over the
stretch of a few blocks, the rebels seemed to catch on to what was
happening around them and started to panic. Most had no idea that
we, and not the gods, were to blame for the deaths, and many
civilians fled out of fear.

But not many.

The vanguard’s next step dissuaded far more, as they
triggered the first of Santino’s claymores. Each claymore was
designed to explode in a hundred and forty degree arc, and was
loaded with tiny pieces of shrapnel. Within seconds, dozens more
were either dead or on their way towards the pearly gates. Crazily,
the mob pushed on, still thousands strong despite the casualties
and desertions. No longer hindered with the need to preserve the
element of surprise, I opened fire in controlled bursts that sent
maybe a hundred men to the grave. Combined with Helena’s pinpoint
strikes, we racked up an impressive kill count before they even
reached the house’s courtyard.

“What is it Americans say? Like shooting fish in a
barrel?” Helena observed, disgust emanating from her voice.

“Yah, or like ancient Romans in the street. Real
heroic.”

Helena mumbled an agreement but didn’t stop
firing.

By the time the second claymore exploded, the mob
had just reached the house’s gated courtyard. Even so, their line
still snaked around behind the house, offering Helena and me a few
stragglers to pick off.

We left the civilians.

Without any more targets of opportunity remaining, I
patted Helena on the shoulder, letting her know that I was falling
back.

“Stay here and watch out for a flank. I’m going to
see if I can help out front. If you need me give me a shout on the
radio.”

She turned and gave me a smile and a nod, but
quickly focused in on her sights again, one hand on the trigger,
the other reaching for a bag of ammunition.

I turned and headed back towards Vincent, checking
my ammo as I went, hearing a third claymore go off in the
background. I had carried ten loaded magazines in my vest, but
found each lying empty in my dump pouch. As smoothly as I could, I
replaced my empty magazine pouches with fresh mags from my go-bag.
Hopefully, I’d have time to reload my empty ones before the main
assault.

Vincent and Santino were still standing in the
doorway, waiting for the action to come their way. Since the area
was still calm, I made a quick detour to the assault bag I had
thrown in the corner, and retrieved a small box of ammo. Walking
over to the swim pair, I started reloading empty mags.

“What’s the situation on your front, Hunter?”
Vincent asked.

“Between our sniper fire and claymores, I’d estimate
around three hundred dead or injured,” I reported, securing one of
my freshly reloaded mags back in my go-bag, and retrieving another
empty one from my dump pouch. “Maybe another hundred have fled.
Most of the casualties are Praetorians, and the deserters,
civilians.”

“Anyone trying to sneak in?”

“No, sir. I think we’ve effectively scared the shit
out of them.”

“So far, so good then,” he said offhandedly. “Wang
says we still need to hold out for an hour or so before we can move
Caligula. He’s breathing easier, but little else has changed.”

I nodded, apathetic.

Santino spoke up next. “When I was out planting
claymores, only three by the way, I managed to send up my drone. We
should be receiving aerial footage any second now.”

My eyepiece flashed indicating new intel.

“Bingo,” Santino said.

Sighing at my friend, I tapped my sleeve, and called
up the information. Displayed on my lens was a thermal video of the
street below. It showed a huge mass of whites, oranges, and reds,
indicating live bodies, but trailing behind it was an intermittent
string of cooling corpses colored green, blue, and black. We had
done more damage than I thought, but I also saw there were many
more bad guys than we had originally estimated as well.

“Shit,” I said. “I didn’t think the road was that
wide. There may be twice as many men out there than we originally
thought.”

Santino and Vincent were likewise looking through
their lenses, their faces grim.

“We’ll deal with it,” Vincent said. “When Bordeaux
reports contact we’ll...”

The radio crackled to life. “Sir,” Bordeaux’s voice
came in strained and distant. “Enemy contact at the gate. The mob
has a ram, but many are attempting to scale the walls. We could use
Strauss and Hunter up here.”

I looked at Vincent.

“Go,” he said. “Strauss…”

“I’m on my way,” she called as she passed by, having
already heard the transmission.

We passed through the atrium together, which we
found packed with loyalist Praetorians. Most had worried
expressions on their faces, looks of defeat and an utter lack of
hope, but as we walked by, many perked up at the sight of us. While
some of it could be owed to Helena’s presence alone, I would bet
many found us to be more than just symbols of hope, but agents of
the gods themselves, sent to protect them in a time of crisis.

Sadly, the truth wasn’t that we were sent to help
stop the crisis, but that through our own blunderings, really just
mine, we were one of the primary causes of it. No sense telling
them that.