Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

“Tell me about it,” I joked. “You should have seen her ten months ago when she was ready to dump me.”

“Me?!” Helena yelled. “You were the one who wouldn’t talk to me six months ago.”

We glared at each other, but they were loving glares.

“And you’re pregnant!” Artie exclaimed loudly, performing the Ms. America fanning motion. “Congratulations! I’m going to be an aunt!”

“Shut up!” I said as loud as I could but still under my breath, while Helena shushed her as well. “Nobody knows yet.”

“You haven’t told anybody?” Artie asked.

“I just found out two days ago,” I said with a shrug.

She ignored me and turned towards Helena. “So, tell me, what are you…”

I shook my head and tried to focus on anything else besides the two women and their baby talk.

I was saved by Archer returning with one of his men who held some kind of bag in his hand. The man had short cropped brown hair, faded along the sides and back. Along with blue eyes and reddish hued facial hair, little more than stubble, he was a pretty decent looking guy. He also carried an M14 rifle, with a large scope on it. The M14 was a rifle rich in history and had still been used even in my original timeline, but its glory days had been far in the past. I had to assume this guy was a sniper, but along with their outdated uniforms and rigs, his use of an M14 only enforced my fears that the timeline had definitely been altered

And not for the better.

“Hunter, this is Gunnery Sergeant Alex Cuyler, US Army Special Forces. Sniper.”

“Gunny,” I greeted with a nod, receiving a salute in return.

“Lieutenant,” he said.

I blinked. Oh, right. I was a lieutenant. I almost forgot.

“We found multiple heads amongst the rubble,” he reported. “Each is pretty messed up, but your teammates think this is your friend. It’s… so mangled they couldn’t be sure. They said you’d be the best person to identify him.”

I sighed and glanced at Helena. Artie cut off their conversation and gave us some space. Helena picked up my hand.

“I’m ready.”

Cuyler took a breath and unfolded the piece of cloth carefully. Peeling away the last of the blood soaked layers, he revealed a mangled and bruised face. The lower half of the jaw had been torn away, and the rest of the face was so cut up, even though I saw Varus’ telling grey eyes, it was still hard to identify.

I looked away and motioned for him to close it up.

“Did you find the body?” I asked.

“We believe so. It was the only one not wearing any kind of armor.”

“Thanks, Gunny,” I said softly.

“We also found this hidden behind a sash he wore around his waist,” Sergeant Cuyler said as he held out a piece of rolled up papyrus that had been flattened. “We don’t know what it says.”

I accepted it, turning it over in my hand until I saw writing over the seal. Scrawled there in neat little letters was my name, spelled as Iakob .

“It’s my name,” I pointed out. “It’s in Latin.” I sighed. “Did you find anything else?”

“No, sir.”

I nodded morbidly and he saluted and left to tend to the body.

“Were you two close?” Archer asked.

I wasn’t sure how to reply to that. We really hadn’t been overly close. We’d been friends, sure, but hardly BFFs. I batted the piece of papyrus into my empty hand a few times, wondering if I should open it.

I needed answers to all the things I’d experienced tonight. Answers to how exactly the orb worked and how I’d used it only an hour ago. Answers to Agrippina and how she seemed to know so much. I wanted those answers now more than ever, and while Varus’ note may have the ones I sought, we had more pressing matters to deal with. I passed it to Helena, who tucked it away in a pouch.

I’ll read it later.

“Yeah,” I replied. “We were.”

Archer pursed his lips and glanced at Artie. She wasn’t paying him any attention.

I tried to push Varus from my mind. I didn’t have time to grieve. Now that we found him, we should get out of here. I started to rise when a loud shout from Santino nearly dropped me back to my seat.

“Jacob! Get over here! You really need to see this. Bring your pal, the clown.”

I mumbled under my breath and allowed Helena to help me to my feet. Archer and Artie followed behind us.

“Santino,” I said as I approached him, “I swear to God, if you ever say I really need to see something ever again, I’m not going to be responsible for what I let Helena do to you.”

Wang, Vincent, the Romans, the new time travelers, and Santino stood near a bombed out corner of the building, open to the rest of the world. They were all looking through the hole, past the knocked over perimeter wall, towards the north. Those who had optical devices had them trained outside, while Santino turned to face me, anything but a happy expression on his face.

“Now’s not the time, Hunter,” he said. “Although, I do feel obligated to mention that Hunter and Archer are eerily similar names.”

I looked at my former friend, and watched him roll his eyes, mumbling under his breath.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem?” Santino repeated angrily. “Just look out the fucking window.”

I held my gaze on him for a few seconds before slowly shifting my look in the general direction of his outstretched arm. What I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Laid out before us were men. Soldiers. Legionnaires. Praetorians. Thousands of them.

Aw, shit.

My mind started processing the information as quickly as it could, which wasn’t anywhere near efficient enough. Even with Archer’s reinforcements and additional supplies, we wouldn’t be able to put up a suitable defense. Those of us who’d been in Rome more than thirty minutes were weary after the close call we’d had with Agrippina and it was amazing how much traveling through the orb weakened a person. Archer’s men weren’t showing signs of fatigue yet, but having been there, I knew it was only a matter of time.

I turned to look at Archer. “Just how many chapters were in my journal, anyway?”

He met my eyes. “Twelve. Why?”

“Because I’ve already written eleven… and I’m suddenly feeling the urge to write another.”

Archer motioned for his men to fall in. “Get ready to move out!” He shouted. “Get the crates and the body bag, but be prepared to stop and offer cover fire. We’re heading south.”

I swore under my breath. I didn’t need to offer any orders to my people. They were too used to this kind of situation. The two sets of Tweetledees and Tweetledums moved to help the new arrivals with the cargo containers. Each were a little smaller than our original containers, but something told me they wouldn’t even stop a spear, let alone grenades. Finally, Vincent helped Titus on his crushed leg, while Bordeaux picked up Madrina, who was still out cold.

Meanwhile, Helena and Artie stuck close to me as we gathered up whatever gear we could find. Luckily, our camp was south of this shithole of a building, so we’d be able to recover the rest of our gear, whatever little we had left.

I tentatively strapped Penelope around my shoulder, while I tossed my bag to Helena. I couldn’t hang on to the heavy rucksack with my arm in a sling, or with the pain in my side. She helpfully accepted it, along with her own, checking her last P90 magazine for ammo. I could see through the clear plastic magazine she only had a dozen or so rounds left.

I found my rig and slipped it on, keeping it unattached on my bad side. I clipped my pistol holster to my thigh and felt like a complete man once again. I pulled out my Sig, checked that it was loaded, and felt exponentially better knowing I at least had my sidearm to fall back on.