Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion (4 page)

“Not a problem, Hunter.  Just try not to pop the stitches this time or it will never heal.”

“Agreed.  I’m sick of your bedside manner anyway.”

He chuckled and tied off the dressing, giving it a final inspection before nodding to himself.  He then dug around in his bag and removed a cleaning rag and a bottle of disinfectant, which he used to sanitize his tools while I worked my shirt back on.  Even with my arm refusing to cooperate fully, putting it on was easier than removing it, and by the time my companion was finished, I’d just about secured it around my waist.

The medic
stood and shouldered his medical bag over one shoulder and turned to leave without another word.  I twisted at the waist, immediately regretting it, and called out after him.

“
Wait.”

The small
, former member of Britain’s Special Air Service turned to appraise me with his large, round eyes that tugged just slightly at the corners.  “Need something more for the pain?”

I shook my head.  “I’m good on that actually. 
It’s just that I was, um… just wondering what you thought about everything.”  I shrugged.  “About… where to go from here.”

He didn’t answer immediately, and it would have been nice to see his face in that moment, but his own glowstick was attached to his pack behind him
, not in front.  I waited patiently, swinging my legs around so I could more comfortably wait for his answer.

“I’m not sure, Hunter,”
he said after not too long, pointing toward the bag at my feet before continuing.  “But even though we got what we came for, we don’t have a direction.  I know you’ve spent a lot more time thinking about everything than I have, but it seems to me that the orb is the most important problem we have right now.  You may feel like you have an obligation to ‘fix the timeline,’ but what good is all that if we never get home?  We’ll never even know if it’s fixed or not.  I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time we learned as much as we can about those things before we use one again.”

I nodded
and looked toward the ground, an old movie quote coming to mind at his words.

“If the wine is sour,”
I whispered, mostly to myself, “throw it out.”

“The wine, Hunter?” 
He asked.

“Hmm?” I asked in return, barely hearing him.  “Oh, never mind, it’s just a quote from an old movie.”

I didn’t bother to explain, realizing I was better tasked with focusing on my friend’s point instead.  All this time I had been too preoccupied with the notion that I had to save the world from itself, that I was somehow the hero in this story because I’d caused everything to go wrong to begin with.  I’d worried about Agrippina and what she could do with the power of the orb – what she could do simply with the entire Roman army at her command – but she shouldn’t have been my priority.  History shouldn’t have been my priority.  Debating theoretical time travel mechanics shouldn’t have been my priority.

The orb should have been
my priority.

It
always
should have been.

If the plan was shit, we needed a new one.

Wang was absolutely right.  This whole story revolved around the orb.  It was our MacGuffin, the reason for everything that’s happened to us, and I should have known better than to ignore it.  I knew what it did and I knew how it worked to some degree, and I knew to leave it well enough alone unless I really needed it, but I didn’t have
all
the answers.  Not by a long shot.  But that information had to be out there.

The answers I had always sought
had to be out there somewhere.

“Thanks, Wang,” I said.  “I think you’re right.  And I think I have an idea of where to start.”

“Cheers,” he said as he turned and moved back into the camp. 

I watched him go until he was completely concealed in shadow
, and glanced down at the little bit of gear I’d brought with me to my rock.  I had two bags, one being my typical go-bag containing a few soldiery essentials like my Sig P220 pistol, a flashlight, a multitool, extra socks, and the like.  This one I picked up and shouldered on my good side.  Once secure, I leaned down again to grab the second bag, but my hand stopped mere inches from where it lay.  A great longing overwhelmed me to reach down and take it, a familiar sensation in recent days.  My hand moved of its own volition, but with a tremendous effort of will, I clenched my fist and felt it shake as I struggled against the draw, but as the seconds passed, the yearning settled, and I was able to pull my hand away.

I stood, breathing heavily, staring down at the menace at my feet wrapped inconspicuously within a primitive burlap bag.  The thirst I’d felt earlier seemed to have dissipated completely now, and I took a painful step back before forcing myself to take another
, no longer feeling influenced.  I didn’t know why such a feeling came and went like it did, and I didn’t know why I felt so drawn to the orb in some moments but not nearly so in others.  However, I also suspected that when the orb was ready to send us home, I would need to interact with it more regularly, but until that time came, I knew it was best to just leave it alone.

Especially now that we had two of them.

Besides, Helena would already be mad at me for taking them to begin with.

For a reason I no longer remembered.

I left the bag where it rested on the ground and took a step back, followed by another more confident one.  Despite all the things I didn’t know about the orbs, both mine and the one Artie had brought with her after we’d connected days ago, the one thing I did know was that they couldn’t move on their own.  At least, none of us had ever seen such a phenomenon yet.

Feeling more at ease, I turned fully and made my way through the camp.

A half dozen or so tents had been set up only two days ago, half that looked familiar, the other half not so much.  Even after five years of constant use, our tents still looked sharp and stylish when compared to the others that wouldn’t have been out of place in a movie about the Korean War.  I shook my head as I passed by them, still unclear of the details surrounding Archer and his comrades, but was far more patient about such surprises than most other stuff. 

I passed by a pair of the newcomers who were seated around one of their tents, a small fire blazing just outside.  Santino
was there as well, still geared up as our QRF, talking with Cuyler and Stryker.

Gunnery Sergeant Alex Cuyler was the new squad’s sniper, equipped with
a rifle that looked a lot like an old M-14, a damn fine precision rifle back home that had been at the height of its popularity decades ago.  Cuyler himself was maybe the oldest of the new bunch, of medium height, and slim, and had a shaved head with a full, red beard, a look he’d reportedly crafted for himself days ago, just prior to embarking on this mission.  It seemed an odd styling choice for a Gunnery Sergeant, but I wasn’t about to question what exactly it meant to hold that rank in their alternate military.

Warrant Officer
TJ Stryker, by contrast, was a burly younger fellow with a barrel chest and large arms, although of similar height.  He didn’t look made for distance running, but if he could sprint, I wouldn’t want to be a bad guy running away from him.  He had close cropped dark hair and gentle features with thick eyebrows, so at least he didn’t come off quite as imposing as his build suggested.  They both seemed like nice guys during the few times I’d spoken to them, and they were certainly respectful, as Marines generally were, but since Cuyler was a sniper just like me, I figured I already shared some kind of bond with him.

As for w
hat the trio was speaking about, I only had one clue.

Stryker had produced a sleek but wicked looking
steel crossbow, and had it displayed out before him.  Santino, who preferred close quarters combat with a knife, still appreciated any weapon’s lethality, and reached out to grip it expertly in both hands.  He looked it over and nodded approvingly, and held it up to look down its sights.  He aimed it off in no particular direction, but then I heard, rather than saw, a metal arrow streak through the sky.  I cringed in preparation for it embedding itself in my eye, which would have been just my luck right now, but it never came, and I opened my eyes just in time to hear the arrow ricochet off of a rock before I heard the painful scream of someone in our camp.

My first thoughts were of Helena and Artie,
because the cries were clearly from a woman, but the pitch didn’t seem quite right for either of them.

To my right, I saw
a petite woman emerge from a tent, hopping on one leg while her hands clutched the other.  I couldn’t quite make out her face, but I assumed it was Staff Sergeant Georgia Brewster, who had been part of the U.S. Army before joining Archer’s team.  Shorter than even Wang, she had a fair complexion and pleasant, if plain, features, with light colored hair that fell to her shoulders.

The woman came bounding out of her
tent so quickly I was certain she would fall over herself, but amazingly, she kept her balance.  As she hobbled closer, I could see Santino’s arrow implanted in her calf.  She raised a fist in his direction, but the first words out of her mouth weren’t directed toward my friend.

“Stryker!  Get back here and get your toy before I shove it up your
fucking ass!”

I smiled unwittingly, thinking of how many times I’d uttered a similar line at
my old pal.  I glanced at the trio of men, and saw Santino toss Stryker’s crossbow into the air and take off into the night.  Stryker, so caught up in catching his weapon, barely even noticed Santino’s escape, and he desperately looked to find the man who was to blame as Brewster hobbled toward him.  Cuyler, meanwhile, took that moment as a sign to leave as well, leaving Stryker alone to deal with the irate woman, but luckily for him, Brewster tripped and fell just as she passed by me.  I lashed out with a hand and managed to grab the woman before she hit the dirt, but when I looked up for help, Stryker had vanished just as easily as Santino had earlier.

I looked
back at the downed woman.

“Medic!”  I called
out, but without shouting.

Wang popped his head out from his tent, and I saw
it fall against his chest in annoyance before he dipped back in to retrieve his bag. He trotted over seconds later and knelt beside Brewster, but then another woman fell to her knees beside him.

Technical
Sergeant Patricia Martin was in the Air Force, and while I didn’t remember what the outfit was called in her military, it had sounded a lot like the Pararescuemen, who were combat troops that were doctors almost as much as they were warriors.  Their motto was, “That Others May Live,” a slogan they took very seriously as they risked their lives to drop in behind enemy lines to rescue downed military personal who were too wounded to help themselves.  They were a valorous bunch, and were just as well trained as my SEALs, only they were practically M.D.s as well.

As for Patricia
Martin, she was tall and relatively good-looking, with brown hair not unlike my own, only cut even shorter and more haphazardly.  She also had a tattoo of a blazing, red sun on her left cheek, something that wouldn’t have been allowed back where I came from.  The tattoo and close cropped hair gave her an intimidating vibe, which seemed odd since she was a medic.

Days ago, wh
en Archer, Artie, and the others had traveled back in time and joined us here in Ancient Rome, I’d originally thought Artie the only girl in the bunch.  I had been dazed and woozy from the pain, medication, and my own episode with time travel, so I hadn’t even noticed Martin and Brewster being women until hours later when they’d removed their face masks and let their hair down – well, at least Brewster had let her hair down.

I’d been surprised to see such a high ratio of
women to men in what was apparently a Special Forces unit, but when I’d later asked Archer about it, he’d nonchalantly made it clear that women had been serving as equally as the men in their armed forces for many decades.  His comment made me think of Israel, and how women in that country had fought alongside the men for many years before the idea even entered into the minds of other militaries.

Wang looked at Martin’s arrival in surprise, not used to another medic around to
help patch us up, but the two quickly got to work treating the wound and it was nice not to see friction between the two healers.

I stood and moved away from the downed Brewster before I found myself in the way.  I knew when I wa
sn’t needed most of the time, and this incident was clearly something beyond my professional pedigree.  I turned my head and noticed our pair of Romans, Gaius and Marcus, standing just outside their tent – this one clearly of the local variety – observing the medical procedure beside me.  I sent them a wave and they returned it before the pair moved off to join Vincent, Titus, Archer, and Cuyler around the camp’s central fire.

I watched them go for half a moment before setting off again
toward my intended destination.  I noticed with an amused smirk that since I’d left my rock, I’d managed to stumble across every single member of our little contingent, both new and old, with the exception of four individuals: the camp’s remaining three ladies and Bordeaux.