his hands. “The last few incidents of Roman military expeditions conquering Rome were the result of those in power fleeing and leaving the gates open behind them. We will not have that luxury. Additionally, a lasting artillery barrage is out of the question. We are not going to destroy half of Rome to simply knock down a few walls. That said, while our advantages are few, I believe they may be enough to retake the city.
“What we lack in experienced troops, we make up for in numbers. My legion and auxilia are at full strength, and alone consists of more men than the Praetorian contingent loyal to Claudius. Additionally, our auxilia are of German stock, men always itching for a fight. In my career I’ve never seen fiercer or wilder men. They will be very useful. Furthermore, Caligula’s Sacred Band, along with two thousand additional Praetorians, each seasoned veterans, will form the heart of our lines. Lastly, we have five men, and one resourceful woman, each with abilities far superior to our own, and perhaps worth a cohort of men, each.”
Well, that was a nice thing to say. During our months in the camp, I’d always gotten the feeling Galba never liked us much.
“Unfortunately,” he finished, “their use in the battle will be limited at best.”
Never mind.
“I’ve been going over their tactics and strategy with Vincent and his lieutenant for months, and I see little use for them. Their strengths rely in small unit skirmishes, stealth, and ambush, not in a large scale battle between thousands of men. However, that is not to say they won’t have an important place in the upcoming battle.” He sighed. “Vincent has issued a concern over the amount of ammunition they can carry to field, so they will be used for another purpose.
“Instead,” Galba said, pointing at the walls of Rome, “they will be used as our gateway to the city before any fighting even begins. While the army is still a day’s march out, Vincent and his men,” he paused, glancing at Helena who gave him a cold look, “his people, will infiltrate the city and place their explosives along key junctions around the walls.”
“As we have all experienced this winter,” he continued, a hint of anger and annoyance in his voice, “these people are extremely efficient at reconnaissance, stealth, infiltration, and…” he hesitated, trying to find the appropriate wording, “… causing trouble, and should have no problem finding a way inside.”
Standing before Galba, I forced myself to suppress a smile.
During our winter vacation in the camp, we had spent time playing the ancient equivalent of war games against the legion. Galba would allow Vincent and the rest of us to leave camp and spend time observing his defenses, before trying to capture a flag placed on a tent pole of the praetorium. It was a basic game of capture of the flag, something the Romans never played during their training, but one most militaries of the 21st century used regularly. The last time I checked, the score was 8–0 in favor of the troops from the future.
To be fair, the Romans never stood much of a chance. In one of our gear containers, we found a dozen air pistols and rifles. Also provided were hundreds of tranquillizer darts filled with a knockout agent capable of rendering a man unconscious for hours. Combined with Santino, as well as his UAV, sneaking in and getting out was as easy as boiling water.
The Romans were smart, and their defenses top notch, but they were no match against a modern Special Forces unit. Most incursions followed a simple step by step series of procedures. Helena and I would crawl forward under cover of darkness until we were within range of the air rifles, around fifty yards, and easily take out the guards on the ramparts.
Even though I had no desire to compete with Helena when it came to shooting, our war games inevitably proved who was the better shot, and it most definitely wasn’t me. In my defense, she had picked up her first high powered rifle when she was a kid, whereas I had to wait until I joined the military. Even so, I held my own, and I tried to not let those cocky smirks of hers bother me, even though all I wanted to do was smack them right off her face every time.
Once the guards on the rampart were down, the rest of the squad would rush forward through the palisade and ditch, and scale the walls. Helena and I participated in the actual infiltration only once, so our AARs filled us in on how every other mission played itself out the rest of the time.
Bordeaux and Wang would stay stationed on the rampart, ready to provide cover fire, while Vincent and Santino would descend into the camp. Once on the ground, Vincent would hang back by the rope, while Santino would sneak through the camp and capture the flag, undetected each time, except for on one occasion.
For the most part, Galba arranged his defenses as strong as they would be on any regular night, not adding sentries or guards just because he knew we were coming. We wanted these games to accurately reflect the combat effectiveness each side could muster. Something we’d never actually determined of ourselves since we became a team.
It came as a surprise one day when we realized that we’d only been a team for a few months, and that we never actually had a chance to perform any team training together. At first we were worried the professional Romans would actually beat us, but as it turned out, we had little to worry about. We performed fantastically, meshing together like a unit that had seen combat for years.
So, on the one occasion that Santino was detected, it wasn’t because someone fouled up, but because Galba had stacked the deck that night. I suspected it was probably because he was a sore loser, but Santino didn’t seem to mind. It only made him change his style.
Galba had left the rampart security the way it always was, his first mistake, but had added two dozen guards outside his tent. He tried to rationalize these guards by saying there were always roaming legionnaires in the camp, and these had simply decided to station themselves outside the praetorium that night. Galba would soon realize that we still had a few tricks up our sleeves, and sheer manpower wasn’t going to get him a quick victory.
Other than the tranq darts, which the Romans quickly learned to hate, another weapon of the future we had plenty of were flashbangs. Flashbangs were non-lethal grenades, meant to blind, deafen, and disorient anyone who came into contact with them. Many a morning at BUD/S, they were used as alarm clocks, the most efficient ones I ever had. Santino had brought along two nine-bangers with him, basically flashbangs that went off nine times in quick succession, bouncing around with each bang, each concussive blast overwhelming and disorienting those near them.
After sneaking to the edge of the via principalis, tranqing one legionnaire along the way, he quickly assessed the situation, determining he’d have to forfeit his perfect score of remaining unseen. Over the radio he asked Helena and Bordeaux to get ready, and once they announced they were, he transmitted a double click.
Receiving his all clear, Helena launched a red flare. The bright red flare lit up the night sky, slowly drifting to the Earth on its small parachute, achieving its desired effect. Every man in the camp looked up at the magical red light that had spontaneously erupted in the darkness, giving Santino the opportunity he needed to pull the pins on his nine bangers, and toss them gently into the group of waiting guards.
The following explosions were louder and brighter than anything the Romans had ever experienced before, all eighteen of them. To the unaware Roman, the nine bangers would seem like lightning strikes and thunderclaps going off right at their feet, only worse. Santino was prepared and insulated from the explosions, and he bolted for the flag as soon as the first bang went off. It all went perfectly until in his haste retreat, Santino managed to pull down one of the tent poles with the flag, collapsing the praetorium. Not wasting any time, he made a beeline for the porta praetoria, and didn’t look back.
Those inhabitants of the camp who had been sleeping, weren’t any longer, but most were too afraid to leave their tent, not understanding the noises they heard, the flashes they’d seen, or the ominous read glare emanating through the thin linings of their tents.
As Santino ran, Bordeaux detonated the C-4 charge he had set against the porta praetoria, blowing the gate clean off. Waiting for Santino at the gaping hole in the Roman’s wall, Bordeaux, along with Vincent and Wang fired blindly down the road toward the praetorium as fast as they could reload. When Santino reached the wall, each of them fled the camp. Only a few legionnaires tried to follow, but were quickly incapacitated by Helena and me, patiently waiting as snipers were trained to do. When the fugitives reached our position, Helena and I joined them in flight, made our way to the trees, and laid low for a few days.
We didn’t want to return immediately, for fear of hurt feelings and angry legionnaires, so we spent the time celebrating our victory. We enjoyed some wine Santino had managed to pilfer during his short time in the camp and feasted on a deer hunted by yours truly.
When we returned a few days later, waltzing nonchalantly through the newly under construction porta
