gigantic figures, rivals to the Titans of legend. He knew his last moments were upon him as he gazed upon the monsters, and when he closed his eyes, waiting calmly for his journey to Elysium, his last thoughts were of Caligula, and how he had failed him.
Part One
I
C-130J Super Hercules(II), Over the Mediterranean Sea
July, 2021 AD
C-130J Super Hercules(II) aircraft have often been lauded by servicemen and women as the smoothest ride in the skies. First deployed only a year ago, the Super Hercules(II) were the most advanced military aircrafts on the planet, and after only a few months of active service were practically considered luxury liners by those who flew in them.
It was unfortunate then that the hurricane type conditions currently surrounding my particular C-130J, didn’t care what people thought, and proceeded to toss and bounce my plane around like any other aircraft. I’d often wondered why it deserved the super moniker, but I had to admit that since we were still flying, and not plummeting to the ground, was a good place to start. Even so, the ride was no smoother than my first HALO drop out of an old C-130 over Palestine three years ago, or the countless times since. I’d long ago concluded that people who name these things should really fly in one every once in a while.
After all, perspective was a wonderful thing.
I smirked at my wayward musings, my companion for years. They’d become a constant for me, a simple way to pass the time when nerves became most acute. While five years in the US Navy, the last three of which spent as an elite US Navy SEAL, had extinguished any ability I may have once had to feel fear over something as mundane as a flight through a storm, that didn’t mean I was completely steadfast. I could feel nervous before a mission and even fearful during them, but I was never totally afraid. Fear can compromise an operator’s initiative or lock them up in the heat of battle, and that can get people killed. The one thing that always hits a nerve, however, is a loss of control. I knew I couldn’t do anything if something happened to the plane. I didn’t possess the skill set required to help, and that made me feel helpless, hence the wandering thoughts.
Being in control has always been important to me, ever since I was a kid, which is what brought me on this trip in the first place, to retake control of my life. I was a fourth generation Navy man, following in the illustrious footsteps of men who had served in Vietnam, Korea, World War II, and World War I, even if I hadn’t started my career right away. Annapolis, America’s finest naval academy, had accepted my enrollment straight out of high school, but I turned them down. Instead, I chose to attend Dartmouth to pursue a life studying history and the classics, much to my father’s intense disapproval. I’d never seen him so disappointed. It wasn’t until a short time after I graduated that I finally redeemed a sense of honor in his eyes when I finally joined the Navy five years ago. I was his favored son once again.
Until today.
After turning down the appointment to Annapolis, I had wondered if my father would disown me. He hadn’t, but after the events of a few hours ago I wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t now because to him boarding this C-130J Super Hercules was paramount to high treason.
Treason to family, to country, and to code.
But not to God. I had my mom to thank for that.
I rubbed my eyes to cleanse the contentious thoughts from my mind. There was no sense in continuing to go over it in my head. My decision was made.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
We would be in Rome soon.
***
“Commander Hunter? Do you copy?”
My eyes snapped open. I must have dozed off because it took me a heartbeat to realize who was actually being addressed through my earphones.
“Yes, Captain,” I replied, addressing the aircraft’s skipper. “I read you Lima Charlie.”
“Good. We’ll be reaching your drop off point soon. Keep yourself strapped in until we reach it. Turbulence is expected to continue.”
“Copy. Wake me when we get there.”
“Yes, sir,” finished the Captain, clicking off the intercom.
Newly promoted to the rank of lieutenant commander, I couldn’t help but smile, still not comfortable being addressed as “sir” by a captain. Navy captains were two ranks higher than lieutenant commanders, but Army captains were about the equivalent rank of a Navy lieutenant, which I had just been promoted from earlier today. I was barely used to hearing the formality from the men under my own command, let alone half the military.
It didn’t matter. I wagered that when I joined my new unit, it would be back to “yes, sir” this, and “no, sir” that. I suppose I couldn’t complain too much. Leading men into combat was always more stressful than being responsible for only yourself, and the enemy in your gun sights.
***
Thirty minutes later, the captain came over the radio again. “Sir, we’re minutes away from drop off. I suggest you get ready.”
“Thank you, Captain. And thanks for the ride.”
“No problem, sir. Good luck.”
“Yeah right,” I mumbled.
Stick jockeys always acted like they had brass balls, but I knew the only time they’d actually grow a pair and jump out of their own aircraft was when it was shot up, on fire, and dropping out of the sky like a flightless bird. And even then I questioned if they would. Jumping out of airplanes in the middle of the night during a bad storm was generally reserved for the certifiable. And people like me, of course.
The entire trip would have been far easier had I been allowed to land with the plane and walk off the ramp onto solid ground, but not today. America may have possessed military bases on the Italian peninsula that I could have used, but my trip required slightly more discretion than even your regular black op. My plane would remain on its scheduled route, but not before taking a slight detour towards my drop point.
I heard a sudden whirring noise, and looked to the rear of the plane. I saw the rear door opening, a gaping maw into the dark void beyond.
I tried to repress the chill I felt trickling down my spine, but failed.
Getting to my feet, part of my parachute reassuringly bumping against my ass, I made my way to another member of the crew, standing near a light mounted on the hull, currently illuminated in red. When it turned green, I would jump.
HALO jumps were nothing new. The first were performed by the Air Force way back in the sixties, but that didn’t mean they were easy. Currently, we were traveling near our maximum altitude of around thirty thousand feet. As a result, I had to carry my own oxygen supply with me on the way down, or else I would suffocate. In fact, I had been sucking on a tank of one hundred percent pure oxygen for the past half hour to help ready my circulatory system for the quick transition to the surface.
Moving to the end of the craft, I bumped my head on the ceiling. Glaring at the low hull, I swore for the millionth time since joining the military about my height. I was a few inches shy of six and a half feet which left me feeling cramped in aircrafts and pretty much ensured I’d never be a fighter pilot.
