Edward Crichton - The Last Roman

I stepped up to the machine and punched up an order of bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, a bowl of cereal that looked like fruit loops, and hot tea, and waited while the machine worked its magic. A few minutes later, it dispensed a sectionalized tray that held extremely generous portions of my selection. Armies were run on their stomachs after all, as Napoleon’s disaster in Russia had proved, so the machines were designed to serve more than double of a normal serving, a detail I definitely approved of.

Even so, I called up an extra order of bacon.

Sitting with my back to the ever diligent Miss Lieutenant Van Strauss, I began eating my breakfast. I ate slowly, listening to the meticulous sounds of rifle discharges behind me. I’d barely made it through my first serving of bacon when the shooting abruptly stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her gather her rifle and spent magazines and carry them to the armory, emerging minutes later empty handed, undoing her tight pony tail.

I watched as she continued to ignore me, making her way to the automatic food dispenser. A few minutes later, tray in hand, she turned and walked straight towards my table, seating herself directly opposite me.

I put down my spoon, loaded with circular, fruity goodness, folded my hands on the table, and waited. Unsurprisingly, I found myself staring into those lovely green eyes, but managing to keep my cool this time.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. I’m beginning to think you actually like me, what with the way you keep staring and all.”

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally broke her gaze, shook her head, and spoke.

“To begin with,” she began apologetically enough, “I would like to apologize for hitting you yesterday. I let my anger get the best of me.”

Her voice was just as lovely as her face, with a wonderful, light, German accent behind it that made me think of my childhood crush on Heidi Klum rather than say, Hitler. I was less than happy, however, with the reminder of her punch. I touched my eye socket and grimaced as the pressure caused a fair amount of pain.

“Yeah,” I said. “That one hurt more than just the pride.”

Her mouth tightened slightly. “Again, I am sorry. As I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, my… situation…” she sighed, “well I had my reasons for what I did, but they were the wrong ones. I shouldn’t have punched you.”

Reasons?

I decided to move on for the moment.

“I’m just glad Santino didn’t win the bet.”

“Why?” She asked curiously.

“Never mind,” I added, quickly glancing down at my tray, trying to push the thought from my mind. “Look, I accept your apology wholeheartedly, and want to reassure you that I didn’t take it personally. In fact, I’d like to apologize too. The way I acted upon meeting you was totally inappropriate. It’s just something that kinda happens.”

She cracked a small smile, the first legitimate one I’d seen from her yet.

“You know,” she said, glancing down at her tray before back up at me, “on any other day, in any other situation, under any other circumstance, I would have found it rather cute.”

“Yeah,” I blushed, playing with my fruit loops, “I get that a lot. Anyway, I’m glad we were able to push through this. You’d be surprised how hard it is to not get along with someone as attractive, intelligent, and deadly up to three thousand yards with a sniper rifle as you are. How’d you manage such a combination?”

She pointed her fork at me threateningly. “You do realize that that was a very risky question, especially for someone like you?”

“Like me?” I joked. “Why, whatever do you mean?

She smirked at me. “You’re just lucky we’ve been assigned as swim buddies or else I’d have to finish what I started with your face.”

I shrugged. “I’m told my curiosity gets me into trouble.”

“Well, you seem harmless enough. Fine. I was born outside of Regensburg, in the Bavarian countryside, on some of the most beautiful land I’ve ever seen. My father tells me we’re descended from an old offshoot of the Habsburg family, but obviously we are far from royalty. My ancestors were merchants who dealt mostly in Eastern goods with Turkish traders, so much so that some of them married their Turkish counterparts, which is probably where I get some of my features from.

“Since then, my family has always been wealthy, so the first thing my father taught me to do after I could walk was to shoot a rifle so that I could accompany him on his many outlandish hunting trips. I loved it. I practiced with my father whenever I could during school vacations, and began shooting for the Olympics as soon as I was eligible. I’ve even medaled in the Biathlon, a rather difficult event.”

“The biathlon, huh?” I smirked. “Ever think of becoming a Bond villain?”

“A Bond villain?”

“Never mind.”

She gave me a wry look. “I’d just graduated from Oxford, leading our marksmanship team to an international championship when I decided to spend a year in America to further my education, a very interesting country, by the way.”

I shrugged. “We try.”

“Well, when I returned to Germany, I decided to join the military, but it wasn’t until just a year ago that I decided to finally did. Papa was not happy, but I signed up despite his disapproval. He lives in a fantasy world with no idea what is going on outside his estate. He wasn’t even afraid for my life, just upset at my decision. I didn’t care. My life was without direction and I wanted to do something important. The war was only getting worse and worse and I knew I had to join now before it was too late.

“When I did, my shooting scores in basic propelled me into sniper school. I worked alone, never given a spotter, probably because they wanted me to wash out. No girls allowed, and all that, but I graduated at the top of my class. I’ve been a trained sniper since, so your job should be pretty easy, but don’t worry, I appreciate the company,” she finished rather slyly.

“Well, it’s my pleasure,” I said honestly, even if her story wasn’t exactly convincing. “I’ve done plenty of shooting over the years, and killed my fair share. I have no problems spotting.”

“Perhaps we could arrange a little friendly competition later?”

I held up a hand, “Yeah, I don’t think so. My competitive streak ended a while ago. I have no desire for showmanship or impressing anyone. I’ll shoot with you, but I’d rather not turn it into a competition.”

She gave me another odd look. “You are a curious man, Lieutenant Hunter. You don’t meet very many men who aren’t interested in seeing whose is bigger. And please, call me Helena. Such formalities are unnecessary considering our status.”

Remember what I said about mixed signals, Jacob?

“You know what? We’ve never been properly introduced.” I held out a hand. “My name is Lieutenant Jacob Hunter, but my friends call me Jacob.”

She smiled and lightly griped my hand. Her hand wasn’t as soft as I thought it would be. It was heavily callused from years of shooting. “It’s nice to meet you, Jacob. I’m Lieutenant Helena Van Strauss, but you can call me Helena.”

I smiled back, “It’s nice to meet you too, Helena.”

As we sat there, smiling at one another, hand in hand, Santino emerged from the barracks. He grabbed a cup of coffee and came to sit at our table.

“So?” He pondered, as he glanced at our clasped hands. “You two married yet?”

Just as he was about to take a seat next to me, I responded by kicking his chair out from beneath him. He fell hard on his ass with a loud thump and he glared up at me, rubbing his rear.