I stopped yelling as those final words left my lips and the anger subsided as realization finally rang true. Those were the words I’d been trying to conjure up to describe how I felt for months now, and they were the truest words I’d heard in years.
I hated myself.
In every sense of the word.
With that realization came panic, a panic induced by the understanding that a person could actually hate himself, and that such a person was me. I looked up, horrified at my sudden awareness, and found that more of my friends had gathered around me. Helena stood there too, looking just as shocked as I was, her hand covering her mouth, a sight that broke my heart even further.
So I left without further comment.
I walked back to my praetorium slowly and alone, where I could hide from it all, hoping beyond hope that Helena knew better than to join me tonight. I couldn’t face her. Not now. I needed to be alone with nothing but the thoughts that seemed to come so clearly to me in my bed that was always positioned just beside my treasure filled footlocker.
***
The next morning we were back on the road.
Helena hadn’t come home last night, and I hadn’t spoken to another person since my incident with Archer. I’d been a mess as I’d stumbled into my praetorium but felt almost immediately better the moment I’d landed in bed. I’d snuggled up with my blankets and thought of a million ways Archer was wrong, how he was an asshole, and how the fate of his world was about to join my list of things I couldn’t care less about.
Besides, my world was no better off than his really.
It had been World War III, without an end in sight. Who cared if western powers had, for the most part, beaten back Islam? There were still the Asian, African, Russian, and South American powers to deal with. It was all a giant cluster fuck, with no one, not even the Pope, having a moral high ground to stand on. I simply could no longer bring myself to care that Archer’s timeline was so different anymore. So what if the Muslims had won and had beaten back Europe? Who cares? Let them have their moment. God knows the Middle East had suffered enough. Besides, Archer was still alive in his timeline and it wasn’t like Artie 2.0 was really my sister. Not really.
Perhaps it was best just to let their timeline burn…
These were the thoughts that had accompanied me to sleep that night, and I’d been surprised at how refreshed and rejuvenated I’d felt come morning. I had been energized and ready to go, outpacing even the normally spry Romans at breaking down our camp. I’d heard a few grumbles amongst them about the pace I was setting, which was fast, long, and without remorse considering the horrible marching conditions we found ourselves in, but they could grumble all they wanted. This was my army and they were as loyal to me as Romans could be to a general, perhaps even more so than the vehemently loyal soldiers under Julius Caesar who had practically followed him to hell and back.
Either they’d come around in short order or my centurions would make them.
All of this had left a lot for me to think about as the day wore on, and although I was still full of energy, I was happy that the day was already over and that it was time to call for camp again. I hadn’t yet apologized to Vincent, or to Archer, but it was only Vincent who deserved one.
I exited my praetorium, and immediately encountered the construction of our newest security precaution. At the onset of our journey, Cuyler had suggested that the Romans build a scaffolding about thirty feet high that could act as our LP/OP. Such an outpost was meant to be concealed, but within the confines of a fortified position, it worked all the same. The centurions hadn’t quite seen the point of such a structure until we’d provided a few with our binoculars. That had been more than enough to have them assign two engineers to design and construct the platform immediately.
It was almost complete, and Gunnery Sergeant Cuyler was patiently waiting beside it. He noticed my arrival but didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me. I suppose I couldn’t blame him, since I’d just laid out his commanding officer last night, but he still managed a nod in greeting as I passed by.
I didn’t bother returning it, and continued on my way.
Everyone else was pitching in with the camp’s construction, even Archer and his troops. While they’d already been in Ancient Rome for a few months now, the culture shock of living and working with a campaigning legion had been intense during their few days since Camulodunum. This had been the first time they’d participated in a legion march, which was a grueling and tiring affair, but still Archer’s people had thrown their weight into the construction effort every night, and despite the legionnaires’ professionalism, they appreciated the help.
I found Vincent a short distance from my praetorium in the small area near the camp’s corner which my team called home. He was busy stepping on a stake to anchor his tent to the hard ground that had finally frozen over. I walked up behind him but didn’t interrupt his work, and it was only when he turned around that he noticed me.
We stood there regarding each other evenly, when finally he slapped his hand against his thigh sympathetically. “It’s all right, Jacob. Archer stepped over the line, and we all make mistakes.”
I nodded. “I suppose we do.”
But that’s all I said, and Vincent waited patiently while I simply grew impatient.
A moment later, he finally asked, “Is there something you came to talk to me about? Have you seen any more of your visions?”
“I haven’t, actually,” I reported, which was true. “I just wanted to remind you that we have a status briefing in ten minutes.”
“Oh,” Vincent said like he was surprised. “Yes, I remember, but is… was there anything else?”
“Not a thing,” I replied as I spun on my heel and headed back to my praetorium.
“We are about to enter Ordovices territory,” my most senior centurion, Minicius, reported.
I’d left my first file, Fabius, with Galba, figuring he’d do more good with the legion’s main body than with our reconnaissance force, but in turn, Fabius had recommended Minicius for my task. Minicius was an easy going fellow, but he had a cruel streak in him that I’d come to appreciate when it came to keeping the legionnaires in line.
“Rome has not yet had much contact with them,” he continued, “but reports indicate that they are an extremely bellicose tribe, one that will not sway easily to Roman rule. Prior to Caratacus’ removal to Rome and in an act of good faith, he indicated to Legate Plautius that he had made numerous attempts to bring their chieftains under his chain of command to aid in his campaigns against Rome, but that he had failed. It seemed that they were worried about expending their forces in an unsuccessful campaign against us, leaving their territory undefended. It seems their foresight has become our disadvantage.”
Vincent pointed to modern day Wales on my map. “But their lack of contact with legions may also indicate they may not immediately move against us militarily. They don’t yet hold a grudge against Rome.”
Minicius nodded. “Quite true, but it is never wise to expect such things.”
Vincent huffed a laugh as he returned the nod.
“Either way,” I broke in, upset at myself for continuing to host these meetings after my time with Plautius, “since the Ordovices haven’t yet had cause to worry about Roman legions marching on their territory, chances are they’re at least not expecting us.”
“This I can confirm with confidence,” Minicius said. “Plautius’ officers supplied me with copies of every intelligence report gathered on the tribes of Britain since our forces were redirected to the German front earlier this year. Much of the eastern region is in open conflict with Rome, but the western region is docile. As fortune would have it, and as you predict Legate Hunter, I expect that any Ordovices force will be quite surprised at our arrival, and unprepared to attack.”
I sniffed sharply. “Well, at least that’s something.”
Minicius tilted his head down in silent agreement.
“What about t
he Britons that have been shadowing us since Camulodunum?” Vincent asked. “I expected them to break off days ago, but they’re still with us.”
“They are a concern,” the centurion agreed. “I have sent advanced scouts to gather intelligence beyond what our normal forces can reconnoiter, but I have ordered them to be cautious. Alone and cut off from reinforcements is not a place to squander resources, especially if there is no guarantee that their efforts will garner results.”
“What have they found?” Vincent asked.
“Little,” Minicius answered. “They have only been able to tally a count of six dozen combatants, but this is absolutely no indication of their true numbers. This country is vast, and it would be a simple enough task for them to conceal their actual numbers from us.”
“Any idea who they are?” I asked.
“I suspect them to be members of either the Iceni or Catuvellauni tribes. Perhaps both. They have been the most belligerent tribes we have yet encountered in Britain, and they harbor the most resentment toward Rome. Furthermore, they can field sizable forces on the field of battle.”
“Makes sense to me,” I said, turning to Vincent with a sigh. “We could really use the UAV here. Probably more than ever.”
“I would agree,” he said, “but even back home, we knew better than to rely on technology.”
“Still, we…”
I was cut off by a commotion outside my praetorium. Minicius, Vincent, and I lifted our heads in the direction of the entrance to see the silhouettes of three individuals outside my tent. There was a bit of an argument, most of which was performed by a familiar female voice, but after a handful of seconds, Helena burst into the tent with Gaius and Marcus following behind her.
“I’m sorry, Legate, but she…” Gaius started.
I cut him off with an upheld hand. “It’s all right, Gaius.”
The man nodded and glanced at Marcus, both of whom looked more uncomfortable than I’d ever seen them before.
They were my friends, and I owed them my life, and I’m sure I’d repaid the favor once or twice as well. We shared a close bond, just as they did with everyone else, but they were also legionnaires. And they were also Praetorians. With my advancement to the rank of legate, they’d practically demanded that they step in and act as bodyguards. They knew as well as I that I hardly needed such a personal protection detail, but their Roman stubbornness had eked out a victory for them. But that also meant they had to do things they might find uncomfortable, like barring entrance to my tent from even Helena, who had never needed a reason to enter my praetorium before.
Then again, she was interrupting a command level meeting.
I flicked my hand, and Gaius and Marcus saluted before vacating the tent. Helena watched them go angrily, but her anger didn’t seem directed toward them. She seemed exasperated, but I didn’t know why. She knew the protocols as well as anyone.
When they were gone, she turned a frustrated expression on me.
I clasped my hands behind my back. “What is it, Helena?”
“Jacob, we’re…”
“Legate,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m on duty, remember?”
Helena stared at me, but seemed to understand, although she made an obnoxious show of it.
“Legate… Hunter,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seems that we’re under attack. Maybe you’d like to do something about it?”
My eyes narrowed angrily at the fact that I hadn’t been told sooner, and stormed my way toward the entrance. Vincent and Minicius followed, but Vincent stopped beside Helena as I exited the tent. I missed their conversation, but I doubted it was important.
However, an attack by the shadow force most certainly was.
Luckily, we still had a few tricks up our sleeves.
***
I emerged from my praetorium calmly, but my nerves were bubbling with excitement and adrenaline. I hadn’t had a good rush since Alexandria, and I was itching to release some built up tension.
The camp was a roiling ocean of controlled chaos as I took a moment to get my bearings. Legionnaires were scattering to man their defensive positions and Bordeaux and Wang were jogging to the right flank where Bordeaux could set up his Mk 48 machine gun to lay down a base of suppressing fire, and I almost laughed at the thought of a man with a machine gun suppressing barbarian Celts, dissuading them from casting spears. It was a wonder we hadn’t taken over the world by now, and the nagging idea that we probably should have had been a recent, but persistent, thought of mine.
Santino and Stryker moved off to the left flank while Brewster and Archer held themselves back. Artie was nowhere to be seen, probably in her tent where she belonged. A moment later, Helena and Vincent popped out of my praetorium and moved to stand on either side of me, both of them tracking their eyes toward the coming field of battle.
Two hundred and thirty meters from the camp, just before the tree line we’d marched through earlier tonight, stood Celtic warriors primed for battle. They were too far away for me to discern any further detail about them, but their battle line stretched maybe four times as long as our camp was wide, and I had no idea how deep it ran. With the natural barrier of the river to our backs, they would be incapable of surrounding us completely, but they could easily pin us against the river, although I was confident my legionnaires could handle them.
I twisted at my waist and looked up to Cuyler perched in our LP/OP. He held his binoculars to his eyes as he scanned the tree line, his sniper rifle cradled in his lap.
“What’s your headcount, Eagle Eye?” I called up to him. “Five thousand? Six?”
Cuyler pulled his binoculars away from his eyes and glanced down at me, ready to answer, but before he did, he looked at me oddly, and returned his attention to the enemy troops. I waited impatiently for another ten seconds before he finally looked back down at me again.
“I count no more than fifteen hundred,” he reported.
He sounded serious but either his mathematical skill was as horrible as his gear was primitive… or mine was.
I straightened and returned my eyes to the enemy, and noticed that Cuyler was right. Not only had my initial estimate of six thousand enemy troops been far from wrong, but the enemy had shifted positions since I’d turned away as well. The width of their battle lines had narrowed by at least half.
I glanced at Vincent. “Did they just maneuver their people into a tighter formation?”
He glanced at Helena, and I could see Helena drop her chin just slightly out of the corner of my eye. After an obvious delay, his eyes finally shifted to meet mine. “They haven’t moved… Legate.”
My head tilted back in surprise. Maybe Santino had rubbed off on Vincent, and he’d developed a penchant for inappropriate jokes in inappropriate situations, and had decided to pull a fast one on me, as there was simply no way the barbarians hadn’t shifted their formation.
Choosing instead to accept Vincent’s little joke for now, I turned back to Cuyler.
“Give me a description of what you’re seeing, Eagle Eye,” I ordered. “Armaments. Transportation. Siege equipment.”
The man shook his head as he continued to glass our perimeter. “No siege equipment or chariots that I can see, Legate. Standard Celtic kit for the foot soldiers. Two spears, a shield, and maybe half the contingent carry swords. Light to no armor. Basic animal skins for clothing. Minimal cold weather gear.” He paused and I could see him lean forward, as if the movement could help offer him a better view of what he was seeing. “Maybe a quarter of them are female.”
I nodded. Female Celts fighting in battle wasn’t necessarily the norm, but they were still capable fighters. Most circumstances that saw them raising arms was when their tribe’s back was up against a wall and every able bodied member was needed to fight. Front line combat wasn’t as common, but perhaps an advanced party such as this one would have a greater place for women. Their slighter frames and agility would be invaluable tools for a scouting or shadow party.
We still hadn’t determined which this particular one was yet, but I had no doubt these people were the same ones who had tracked us since Camulodunum. That told me that they meant business, and while I didn’t know why they’d chosen now to fight, a fight tonight would suit me just fine.
I relayed Cuyler’s intelligence to Minicius and requested his tactical appraisal.
“They caught us off guard, Legate,” he started, “but they took too long organizing their forces. They should have struck quickly or waited until the early morning, because our legionnaires are already on line and ready to defend the camp or advance forward.” He paused and craned his neck for a better view, but didn’t hesitate for long. “In either situation, our forces could easily overwhelm them. Had they outnumbered us four to one we could have defeated them with minimal losses; but evenly matched, prepared to receive them, and behind our defensive barricades, I suspect they will break off after our first pila volley.”
I nodded. “Very good, Centurion. Order the legionnaires to hold their ground until the enemy are in range of their pila. Order one volley at that time. Should they continue to advance, my people will attempt to further dissuade them. If they’re persistent, send the legionnaires forward.”
“Your orders are sound, Legate. I obey.”
He saluted and moved off to put my orders into action. I watched him go and clenched my teeth. Unless something disastrous occurred, there was little else to do but kick back, relax, and enjoy the show.
Even with more than two football fields between us, I could hear the roars and warlike chants coming from the opposing Celts. They were riling themselves up for battle as most barbarians did, but my legionnaires held themselves back in patient silence, a coiled cobra ready to strike, not an ape pounding his chest to intimidate a foe, and they were far more dangerous because of it.
Seconds later the roars and chants abated, and the enemy pushed forward. I grinned, feeling the excitement in my chest grow and grow, and I decided I couldn’t just sit back and play the arm-chair general. I spun around and marched toward my praetorium.
A Hunter and His Legion (The Praetorian Series Book 3) Page 22