34
Witnesses
The Twenty-third was in disarray.
Their centurion and his second were dead. The command tent was ablaze and sending forth projectiles from within, driven by some evil wind, to punish them all. Legionnaires lay dead or dying all about from grievous wounds. The soldiers stepped back from the maelstrom of noise and death, the ring of shields parting as it grew. The shields offered no protection, as they saw them punctured through again and again, the thick oak staves riven and split and the flesh behind torn apart.
The prisoner brought in earlier by the Assyrians, the gore-splattered monster, was loping at them with a howl. He swung a sword over his head.
A soldier advanced to challenge the giant Celt with a raised shield. The madman was a long stride from him when the soldier collapsed as though struck by an unseen fist. A second soldier in the shrieking Celt’s path dropped as well. Blood flew from between the fallen man’s teeth in a crimson spray.
Some force was at work here, some powerful god or devil conjured by the chants of the naked berserker rushing at them. A dark god of vengeance from the cursed pantheon of the shrieking Celt was upon them all. Any who stood before him fell to a black curse as though to a scythe.
The ring of soldiers about the tent opened further at the prisoner’s approach. Rather than attack them, the Celt dashed through the gap, making good progress despite dragging a wounded leg.
Boats limped on, cursing the agony in his leg and fighting to remain conscious. He waved the sword before him blindly as though to carve a path through the surrounding men. They made way for him, and he hobbled into the ranks of tents at best speed.
Despite the arrow shaft in his leg, the thought of the flames reaching the plastic case of 40mm grenades drove him on. He saw the case among the other gear taken from the camp and dumped on the carpet in front of the head asshole. Boats had to put distance between himself and the coming blast. He emerged from between a row of tents to make for the interior of the earthwork ring wall. The steel point of a pilum plunged into the dirt before him. Boats looked up to see the thrower drop to his knees on the rampart above, clutching a fountaining chest wound. Someone was providing cover fire from above. The SEAL stood and pointed a finger at a clutch of soldiers on the ramparts. They held javelins up and back and ready to toss.
“Pow,” he said.
One of the legionnaires staggered into his comrades with his lower jaw blown away. A second tumbled from the rampart with a hole punched through his gut. The rest threw down their pila and stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.
The concussive wave of the first blast was enough to lift Boats from his feet and send him flying. He tumbled to the ground, the air driven from his lungs. A scorching wind washed over him.
Behind him, thousands of bits of kinked wire shrapnel sprayed out in all directions, spilling men to the ground in whole and in parts, mostly in parts. The pack of fleeing spearmen was swept from the ramparts in a red smear.
More blasts followed in a rapid chain to collapse tents and pepper the surrounding ground in a lethal storm of liquefied metal rain. A section of fortress gateway, the mortar not fully set, tumbled down crushing the men seeking shelter within. Smoke and dust spread across the camp as the few who were able fled from the sound and fury. More of them were cut down as the secondary explosions continued to erupt from the center of the camp.
His head spinning and belly dragging, Boats pulled himself over the toward for the earthworks before him. His plan involved clambering up it somehow and getting on the other side. It all got hazy after that, something about a week or two in Florida and a lot of drinking. The world was so hot and noisy, he lowered his head to rest for just a minute before proceeding to Key West. Or was it Fort Myers?
Then he was gone, the gladius still firmly clutched in his fist.
Jimbo and Bat used their Winchesters from atop the escarpment. They sighted and fired, sighted and fired, working the bolts as fast as they could to bring down any direct threats to Boats. The big SEAL seemed to have no real plan but flight. He was making his way from the burning tent using a peculiar crab-like gait. He was also bare-assed naked and gleaming red with blood from head to toe.
The Romans were looking to bolt as well. Jimbo could see it in their body language as they backed from the fire, gaps showing in their hedge of shields. Something was pop, pop, popping inside the burning tent—rounds cooking off. Strays were bringing down soldiers all around. Some of them stepped aside, creating an opening to let Boats through. Jimbo brought his crosshairs down on the soldier nearest the SEAL to widen the gap further and discourage any heroes.
Boats drew up when some guys in the wooden walkway along the earth wall began flinging spears his way. Bat took down one thrower, then watched as the crazy SEAL stood, pointing a finger at other soldiers on the boards above him. Jimbo sighted and made a messy headshot where Boats was pointing, Dirty Harry style. Bat brought down another with a snapshot to the guts.
The Pima was lining up for a second shot when his view through the scope vanished in a white flash. The ground quaked beneath his feet. He and Bat backed away from the ledge as a
