“That was no call to not allow my bag into his tent. What was the meaning of that?”
“You have scalpels and other sharp instruments in that bag, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Then he would have stolen one with which to kill himself. He would not have hesitated in killing you in the process.”
The doctor stared at me.
“What is happening?”
“Best you don’t ask, and then I don’t have to lie.”
“Oh.”
“Goodnight, doctor.”
“Goodnight madam.”
I watched the doctor walk away, shaking his head. Then I entered Soames’ tent.
He looked pale and his complexion had a waxy appearance.
“No morphine, I’m sorry,” I said.
He nodded.
“You saved my life,” I said.
“Not really, I just couldn’t go through with their plans. Too many innocents would die and the course of my history would be irreparably damaged. I had to try to stop them.”
“What were their plans?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I do know that many people would have died.”
“How about the others, do they know?” I asked.
“Frost doesn’t, but he was in it for the money. Armes might, but I’m not even sure he was told everything.”
“Is it even worth my time trying to ask them?”
He smiled weakly, shaking his head.
“No. Armes hates you and Frost doesn’t know any more than I do. What will happen to me?”
It was my turn to shake my head.
“I don’t know, truly. It’s now out of my hands.”
“Who are you, exactly?” he asked.
“I’m a soldier recruited from the future, but sworn to protect the integrity of time.”
“So, they have beautiful women as soldiers in the future?” he asked, almost asleep.
“Oh yes, sure they do,” I said, leaving him.
They came at midnight.
I was in my husband’s tent, sitting with him, talking over the events of the day. Most of the men were in their beds, with a few on sentry duty around the perimeter.
I heard one of the sentries challenge someone, so was instantly alert.
“Jane, is this it?” Roger asked quietly.
“Who knows? Possibly,” I answered, slipping my shoes on again. I was still fully dressed, so we left the tent together to meet two sentries escorting five men through the camp.
“Colonel, these men are here to see Mrs Chauncey, sir,” one of the bemused sentries announced.
“That’s fine, Howard, stand down. You may leave them with us now,” Roger said.
“Yessir.”
The soldiers left us standing in the dark, the only light from flickering fires on the ground nearby.
“Gentlemen, if you’d care to come to our tent, we have light there,” Roger said, leading the way back to our tent.
“I have to check on my men, I shall leave you with my wife. Good evening gentlemen.” Roger simply ducked out, unwilling to be told that he wasn’t required. He was so sensible.
Once in the tent I was able to see our guests more clearly.
I smiled, for one of them was my supposed cousin, James Chauncey.
“Jane, you are well?” he said, taking off his hat. The other men stood there impassively.
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Never better.”
“I take it you are here for the prisoners?” I asked.
“If they’re still with us?”
“Oh yes. Mr Soames is cooperative, but the other two aren’t. Watch Armes, he’s a nasty one.”
Three of the men took very modern looking shackles from their heavy coats. I distinctly saw the butts of firearms in their belts.
“How are the kids?” James asked with a grin.
“Getting bigger. No more surprises for me?”
“No. Just heartfelt thanks from the boss. You’ve done good, Jane.”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
“Yup. I’m to tell you that your job is done. The threat is over in this timeline, so you can go home anytime you want.”
“It wasn’t much.”
He shook his head.
“Jane, you haven’t got it, have you? You see, you were sent here because at one point, they succeeded and history became a very different place. The death and destruction that you have prevented is beyond description.”
“Look, put me out of my misery, what were they planning?”
He passed me a small booklet.
Things became very clear. On the cover was a familiar figure, with his titles emblazoned for all to see; Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Lower Germany, Italy, Portugal, Greece, North Africa and all of North America. Canada and the United states were no more than a whiff in history, as, according to this document, they were now all part of the French Empire.
“Look at the date,” James said.
It was only six months away.
“Shit!” I said.
“You said it, girl. Go on, go home, have a vacation.”
“You haven’t got it, have you, James?”
“I am home and now, well now I can have a vacation for the rest of my life.”
I accompanied them to each of the tents. I saw them take the men, load them onto a wagon and depart. James waved at me as he left.
“Good luck, Jane. I’ll see you; I’ll see you whenever.”
Smiling, I sought out my husband; I had a good feeling about tomorrow.
END?
Not really………….. but it is for the moment.
An excerpt of the beginning of:
MARINE - BOOK TWO: A Very Different Roman
PROLOGUE
The sentry on the wall was wet, cold and miserable. Lucius had wrapped his damp cloak around him, easing his helmet to try to prevent the rivulets of rainwater from going straight down his neck. The leather banding inside the helmet was chaffing his head, so his close-cropped hair was worn to almost baldness in places. There were at least a hundred places he’d rather be than this particular, godforsaken part of the Roman Empire.
He looked out across the damp landscape as the early morning mist was clearing. He originated from what would now be north-eastern Spain, so was unused to quite such damp and cold weather. He walked the rampart trying to generate some warmth. It wasn’t as if it was winter, this was summer, by the gods!
He loathed this misty, damp isle with a passion, often wondering what the hell they wanted with such a depressing place. Most of the terrain was forest, with patches so bleak that trees didn’t grow. With the tribes in the south outnumbering the rest of the country, he wondered why they bothered with those sparsely populated areas so far north.
The weather was foul, the natives unpredictably fearless and ferocious, and the food was barely edible. There were no olives here, so everything was either roasted to be tough as his sandals, or boiled until completely tasteless. He so desperately wanted to go home. He turned, about faced and marched back to cover the length of the rampart again. The other sentry returned and they met in the middle.
“Fuck this!” he said.
His comrade laughed at his discomfort. Gregorius’ father fought the Romans many years ago. He came from a Gaulish tribe in Amorica, from which, after being conquered, all the warriors were enrolled into the Roman army. Those that refused were taken as slaves. His father was posted to Palestine, where he took a local woman as a wife. Young Gregorius was born into the Legion, so his blood was closer to the locals than the stocky Hispanic, despite the fact he’d rarely lived in such northern climes.
“Lucius, just be happy that in one hour we get relieved and then we can get some warm food and some sleep.”