The Last Roman (Praetorian Series - Book One) (11 page)

As I waited, I made sure to avoid looking at Helena
in her wetsuit, which was harder than it sounded. I was fairly
certain we were friends at this point, but I didn’t want to risk
offending her again, as much as I wanted to in this case. The rest
of the team was likewise averting their eyes. After all, women in
the Special Forces were still a rather new concept, and one wearing
a wetsuit was completely novel. I glanced at Santino beside me, who
returned the look offering a knowing smile. There could be only one
thing on his mind, and it had nothing to do with how he felt about
Helena in her wetsuit.

The bastard.

Shaking my head, I returned to my preparations,
packing my MOLLE rig into a water tight bag. Before packing my vest
away, I noticed a new addition to the shoulder area. Prior to my
transfer, my vest was designed as a sleeveless undershirt would
look, but now it had shoulder pads that would extend just past my
shoulders. The pads had six thin, rectangular, plastic pieces that
ran horizontally along the width of the entire pad, overlapping one
another slightly, and curving around my arms.

If I had to guess, I’d say the design was meant to
imitate the
lorica segmentata
armor that Roman legionnaires,
and Praetorians, would have worn. Prior to the first century A.D.,
legionaries wore chain mail type armor that was heavy, difficult to
clean, and expensive to make. Around the time of Augustus, the
lorica segmentata
was pressed into service, which was far
lighter, cheaper to make, more protective, and just as mobile as
the chain mail. The armor was designed to flex and bend with the
natural movements of the body, and the overlapping metal rectangles
running horizontally down the chest and torso provided much better
protection against arrows and glancing sword blows.

I could see that my black
lorica segmentata
armor was a hardened polymer instead of iron, and I assumed it was
bullet proof. It was unfortunate that due to the operational needs
of my vest, with magazine and equipment pouches festooned over the
front, back, and sides, my armor couldn’t similarly be refit to
mimic the original design. I’d have to settle for the hidden gel
pads buried inside and its Kevlar lining for protection. In any
case, I appreciated both the protective and aesthetic value these
new shoulder pads provided.

Stuffing the vest into my bag, I gave the locker a
final look over. Everything was secure and ready to go. My rifle
was secure in its waterproof bag, and my other equipment was stored
in another waterproof bag.

With a breath of satisfaction, I reached for the
laces of my black waterproof boots, but my thoughts continued to
stray towards that equipment cache. Something just did not click
with this mission. In all the years I’d been in the field, never
had I been provided with additional gear to help out if things got
bad. Sure, I’d raided the enemy’s supplies numerous times, but I’d
never been given this kind of support.

Maybe working for the Pope has more advantages than
I thought.

Tying off my second boot, I stood and turned to see
if my lovely swim buddy needed a hand.

I immediately wished I hadn’t.

Helena was in her form fitting wetsuit, bending over
at the waist to retrieve something out of her foot locker. Thanks
to the skin tight material, I could see that her body was more than
just lithe, but well-muscled as well in all the right ways and
places.

Recovering as quickly as I could, I tried to shift
my eyes before she caught me.

I wasn’t nearly quick enough.

Expecting some form of backlash, I was instead
rewarded with a sultry smile.

“You all right, Lieutenant? You’re as pale as a
ghost.”

I coughed, and Santino, seated next to me, elbowed
my thigh.

“Ah, um, I was just wondering if you needed any
help. McDougal mentioned your lack of underwater experience.”

“I’ll be fine, just stay close and don’t let me
wander too far down there.”

“I’ll stay right on top of you.”

I winced. Oops.

“Don’t get any ideas, Lieutenant,” she said
coldly.

Luckily I was saved further embarrassment by
McDougal’s commanding voice. “All right everybody, we’re leaving in
ten. Get your gear and meet up at the airlock.”

I shouldered my gear bag, as well as my rifle bag,
and grabbed my Mk VI, noticing Helena was ready as well.

“Ready, Lieutenant?” she asked.

“Lead the way, ma’am.”

***

The airlock was little more than a room with a hatch
one would find on a submarine, and a grated floor. On the floor
were seven underwater propulsion vehicles, or UPVs for short,
little more than a thin bed to lay in with foot rests. At the front
was a dashboard with a windshield, propulsion lever and a joystick.
The dashboard had a night vision view of what was in front of the
sub, a GPS radar screen, fuel and power readouts, and a radio. The
craft was simple enough to carry one person, a reasonable amount of
gear, and travel through the water at a respectable speed. It
didn’t possess a cockpit so it forced a pilot to use his own
breathing device. I was extremely familiar with the little ships,
but the rest of the crew rarely had the opportunity to even work
with flippers, something every diver should be competent with
anyway.

McDougal ordered me to give the team a quick
briefing on the crafts since I was the most familiar with them. I
went over the basics: throttle and directional controls, dashboard
equipment, as well as to remind them that they keep their legs
firmly secure in the foot rests.

Only Santino had a question. “Phasers?”

I shook my head and tried not to laugh.

Honestly, any eight year old could control the small
submersibles. The controls were designed like any video game
controller and as long as the user stayed on the bed, feet secure,
they wouldn’t float away. Even if they did manage to separate from
the sub, the controls had an automatic shut off if separated from
the pilot. All it would take was a quick swim back.

After I finished my quick briefing, the team spread
out amongst the UPVs, McDougal in the center flanked by Wang and
Bordeaux, Santino and Vincent on the left, and Helena and myself on
the right. After we were situated, the room automatically filled
with water, and the team was left floating within. I looked through
my goggles to make sure Helena wasn’t freaking out or anything, but
thankfully she seemed fine. Noticing my inspection, she turned and
gave me a thumbs up. Her face was masked by her goggles, and unable
to communicate via our radios, I couldn’t tell if she was truly all
right, but she was tough. She’d be fine.

McDougal pressed a button on his dashboard, and the
double doors in front of us cracked open. Beyond them was nothing
but blackness, no plant or aquatic life visible. I knew ancient
sewer systems had been discovered by modern archeologists over the
year and could be used as a means to navigate the ancient city
beneath the modern city. They were also pretty disgusting. They had
been steeping for millennia, a breeding ground for hundreds of
kinds of bacteria and disease.

McDougal gunned his UPV, and the team smoothly
exited the room into the murky water. Our headlights only
penetrated a few feet into the darkness, forcing us to rely on our
GPS. It provided us with waypoints laid out on a rudimentary
topography map, connected by lines already programmed in the
system. Our progress was slow going though not through any lack of
skill on our part, but simply because we were new to the terrain.
As I promised, I stayed just above and behind my swim buddy the
entire way out, and was happy to note she handled her little boat
supremely well.

One problem avoided.

About fifteen minutes into the trip, we came to a
solid wall, but our waypoints clearly indicated we needed to go
through the blockade. McDougal held up his fist, indicating for us
to hold our position. He manipulated another switch on his
dashboard, and I began to hear a steady whirring noise and could
see the water clearing. I glanced behind me and noticed a wall was
blocking the way we had just come through. McDougal must have
activated some kind of system that filtered the water in the
sewer.

A few seconds later, I saw the water clearing
noticeably before the doors opened before us. McDougal motioned
forward, and the team gunned their engines, making a quick right
turn into a narrow passageway to follow the Vatican’s artificial
corridor straight to the Tyrrhenian Sea.

It took us another forty-five minutes before we left
the coastline and came face to face with a lumbering, whale shaped
behemoth that would become our ride.

My earpiece crackled to life as McDougal contacted
the submarine using his radio’s push-to-talk button to transmit a
quick burst of Morse Code. The Navy still taught the archaic form
of communication developed in the 1840s, and most Special Forces
outfits learned it as well. Quickly squeezing a radio’s PTT button
transmits a sharp burst of static, which makes for a perfect way to
send the code.

I heard a return transmission that indicated the sub
was ready for our arrival, and saw McDougal point in my direction.
I sent him an upraised thumb, and made my way to the gigantic
vessel, Helena right behind me.

Boarding a submarine in nothing but a wetsuit wasn’t
a challenge for a seasoned Navy SEAL, but could be potentially
lethal for an amateur. Had I been in a submarine of my own, and not
alone in a wetsuit, a docking collar would be used to attach the
two subs together. The collar would pressurize, and coming aboard
would be as simple as opening both hatches and crossing the
threshold.

To a achieve my task, however, I would need to turn
the wheel on the hatch, climb down a ladder till I reach a second
hatch, close the first one, wait for the water to recede in the
little airlock, open the second hatch, and climb down into the
submarine.

It sounded easy in principle, but it was far more
complicated than it sounds.

The first step was to secure my UPV in one of the
submarine’s external storage lockers. I found it easily, already
open, and astern of the hatch. Piloting it into the locker, I
abandoned my small craft, secured my gear bags to a carabineer
attached to my wetsuit, and approached the wheel I would need to
turn in order to open the hatch. I signaled for Helena to hang
back. There was no sense in risking a possible accident when I
could easily perform the operation by myself and in my sleep.

I began by firmly grasping the wheel, and reciting
the age old “lefty loosy, righty tighty” mantra everyone utters
before turning something. Next, I planted my feet on the hull,
squeezing the slight lip that juts up encasing the hatch. Slowly
and surely, I turned the wheel to the left, thankful when it
offered little resistance.

After a dozen or so turns, the hatch popped open
with a slight sputter of bubbles. The small antechamber would have
been filled upon our arrival to ensure the hatch didn’t explosively
decompress, probably killing me. I signaled for Helena to swim in
first.

Following her in, I pulled my gear bags in behind
me, and shut the hatch. The space in the cylindrical airlock was
cramped and tight, forcing us to float chest to chest, inches
apart. I grasped the ladder with my right hand and right foot,
while Helena did the same with the appendages on her left side.
With my left hand, I grabbed a crowbar from its resting place and
pounded the inner hatch three times, and waited until the water
started to slowly drain from the compartment.

As the water passed my face I pulled back my hood
and removed my goggles and breathing apparatus as Helena did the
same.

“Tight squeeze,” I said, adjusting my position,
accidentally bumping my elbow against her breasts.

She glared, and I looked around, trying to ignore
her look while also trying to find any way to make the water go
faster. Failing, we endured a few more moments of uncomfortable
silence before the inner hatch finally opened.

“After you,” I offered.

Helena gave me a smirk before descending a few
steps, lowering her gear to the deck, and dropping behind it. I
followed quickly.

I landed in a crouch, stood and moved aside to let
Helena close the inner hatch while I keyed my radio. In order to
stay efficient and silent on the battlefield, instead of speaking
into the radio to confirm orders, or signal an all clear, we simply
clicked the PTT button twice in quick succession, an efficient way
to indicate all was well on the other end of the radio. The double
click could mean many things depending on the situation, but
McDougal would understand that I had sent it as an all clear to
send in the next pair.

After sending the transmission, I turned to face the
two seaman emerging from the hatch to my left. The pair wore
British naval uniforms, midshipmen according to their rank
insignias, and had the look of men who spent way too much time
under the water. Noticing my inspection, the pair halted and
saluted.

“Welcome aboard the
H.M.S Triumph
,
Lieutenant.”

I returned the salute. “Thanks for the warm
welcome.”

After securing the hatch, Helena turned and stood
next to me.

The pair’s immediate reaction was to salute a second
time, but with obvious hesitation. These men probably hadn’t seen a
woman in months, especially not one that looked like Helena, who
was looking especially radiant with her damp hair and face.

“Welcome aboard the
Triumph
, Ma’am.”

“Thank you,” she replied.

“Our orders are to escort you to the briefing room
after your team has had an opportunity to change out of your
wetsuits and secure your gear. If you will just follow the corridor
through the hatch we just came through, the second door on your
right will be your staging area. You can head there now if you’d
like.”