Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

“Maybe you should slow down a bit, Galba,” I said, indicating his cup. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Bah!” He said, swinging his empty cup wildly. “I’m sure Vespasian won’t care. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in his tent doing the same thing right now.”

Galba stood, swaying in place after getting up too fast, his hand flying out to grasp his desk for stability. I looked at Helena and she returned my look with an amused smile. I rolled my eyes and stood to help the Roman collect his bearings.

He shrugged me off. “I’m fine… I’m fine. Now. Back under the bed. I will bring you some food tonight, but then you must leave.”

“What about my plan?” I asked as he turned to leave.

He reached up and gripped the cross bracing that held the tent together, just above the entrance. He hung there for a few seconds before turning to face me. “I will help you but not until the campaign is under way. Hopefully, you can then draw Agrippina away from Germany and let the professionals handle the war. Then we can use Vespasian’s triumphs to help convince the Senate and people of Rome he’s a worthy successor.”

I smiled. “Hey, that’s a good idea. Wish I would have thought of that.”

Galba didn’t return the smile. “I’ve had plenty of time to think today, and will have plenty of time still to come. You have not made my life any easier with your words; I just hope I don’t come to resent you for it.”

I gulped, hoping he didn’t either. Galba turned and stumbled out of the tent, leaving Helena and I alone once again. Standing halfway between the entrance and Helena, I turned and looked at her. She gave me a shrug, moved over to the cabinet where she placed her P90, retrieved it and started to clean it.

I dug out my radio and switched it back on.

I clicked the PTT button and spoke into my throat mic, “3–3, 3–1, over.”

Santino’s voice came back almost immediately. “This is 3–3. Where the fuck have you been?”

I smiled. “Sorry, 3–3. 3–2 and I have been…” I thought for the right words, something between the truth and something to push his buttons. “been busy.”

“Aw, that’s cute. Now, want to fill me in on why you turned off your damn radio?”

“Sorry again,” I repeated, “3–2 and I needed to lie low for the day. Our conversation with Triple Chin took longer than expected.” I still had to smile at our use of call signs and code names. There was no way anyone could pick up our transmissions, but it was still a good practice. “But, the mission was still successful. We’ve also learned that target November is staying onboard the barge.”

“What’s November doing here?”

“He’s with The Whore,” I answered, looking over at Helena, who looked up from her cleaning to give me another grin. That designation was her idea. “Apparently, she has big plans for the legion. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Roger. Don’t forget to keep me updated this time,” he said, his voice bitter.

“Copy. 3–1 out.”

I finished the conversation by switching off the radio. Rechargeable or not, it was still best to keep it off when it wasn’t needed.

I moved over to the bed, arriving just as Helena replaced her P90 in the cabinet. I pulled up the sheet on Galba’s bed for her to crawl under and I followed quickly. Beneath the bed, we settled into our familiar position, with less awkwardness than last time. It was getting chilly, and Helena’s body warmth was definitely appreciated.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think Galba’s turned into a drunk.” She said pointedly.

I sighed. “That had occurred to me, yes. Last night, I could have sworn I smelt alcohol on his breath as well.”

“Anything in history to suggest he was an abuser?”

“No,” I replied, frustrated. “Looks like another life we’ve fucked up thanks to our medaling.”

She didn’t look convinced, but at least her face remained supportive. “Jacob, you have to stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is. It’s still my fault we ended up in ancient Rome in the first place, in case you forgot. My fault I touched that stupid blue orb. My fault Caligula and Claudius are dead and it’s my fault we’re under this damn bed!” I almost yelled the last part, but settled for punching the bed’s wooden frame instead. It hurt like holy hell and I clutched my hand and bit my lip to keep from yelling out. Once the pain subsided I turned my head away from hers and frowned. “My fault.”

Helena reached out gently and griped my hand, bringing it to her mouth to give it a kiss. She wrapped her other hand around my cheek and gently turned my head towards hers. “No, it wasn’t,” she said sternly, her eyes drilling into mine.

When she looked at me like that, I could almost believe it wasn’t my fault.

Almost.

“Besides,” she pressed. “Don’t you remember saying something about how you wouldn’t change anything about our past five years together? And don’t even think about considering the last four months in your answer.”

I smiled at her, but I guess I had said that. If not for being transported to ancient Rome, Helena and I may never have clicked. We might have served our entire careers together in the modern world never having found that moment that brought us together. Most modern military regulations frowned on any kind of relationship between members of the military, but when we found ourselves trapped in ancient Rome, most of those regulations were thrown out the window.

She was right. I wouldn’t trade her in for anything.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve been thinking too much lately.”

“You’re always thinking too much.”

“True,” I said while she shifted in my arms and closed her eyes to get some sleep.

I tried to follow suit, clearing my mind of just about everything, letting thoughts of time travel, Agrippina, the abduction of a child, and the memories of a bygone home drift away into nothingness.

If I could be thankful of one thing in that moment, it would be my ability to fall asleep on a whim. It didn’t take much, and while continuation of sleep was never guaranteed for me, the act of putting myself into a state of dreaming unconsciousness was something that came easy, all in thanks to a handful of men who had beaten it into me, barring any unforeseen lightning storms, of course.

Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALS training, better known as BUD/S was many things. It was a test, an evaluation, a training program, and a lesson in bitter punishment, but what it did best was turn a graduate into a man eligible to wear the SEAL Trident, but only eligible.

The Trident would come later.

But the one thing I hadn’t anticipated upon completion of the program was that BUD/S was also a wonderful sleep aid clinic.

Trainers would drill into us the idea that sleep was a luxury, and to expect it every night would lead to weakness. Days had blurred together, with late nights and early wake up calls. Our alarm clocks consisted of flashbang grenades, the sound of gunfire or the excruciating belittling of an instructor, and I learned to sleep whenever I had time for it. Over the weeks, my body began to instinctually process that sleep far more efficiently than ever, allowing what little sleep I earned to rejuvenate my body more than a solid eight hours had before.

I learned a lot at BUD/S, and our instructors made sure to deprive us of whatever daily accommodation we normally took for granted to ensure we would appreciate them more in the future. Even food was withheld, at least for us officers. The enlisted men could eat as much as they wanted in the time they had, consuming as many calories as their body desired, but those of us privileged with rank, only got one serving per meal.