“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 began explaining 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
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. Their gel layers and Kevlar lining protected the majority of my body, but I still lamented the fact that the entire outfit wasn’t covered in the stuff. 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 down 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 chilled bones.
It was an unusually chilly morning.