She had been surprised at how close my mom and I had been, and relented to jokingly call me a “momma’s boy” because of it. I told her to try my cooking and see if she still wanted to joke about it. She backed off immediately, admitting she could barely boil water herself.
I still held back my “nurse” story, figuring there’d be plenty of time to get into that one later.
The only one of us who seemed aloof was Vincent. Plagued by the duties of command, he knew better than to socialize with the rest of us in a casual atmosphere. Even so, we spent plenty of time in “Latin 101” as Santino dubbed it. A few times a day, we would learn the basics as best we could from Vincent’s instruction. It took me six years to learn what I know now, and the rest of the time since then to forget it, so I sat in on the basic grammar and vocabulary lessons as well. By the third day, I began to wonder if Vincent had actually written the text book I used in high school, as he seemed to follow the lessons almost to the letter.
While the rest of the team struggled, and would probably continue to do so for the months to come, I started picking things up rather quickly. Listening in, as well as trying my own hand at conversation when the Romans came to chat, I found myself slowly reaching my old level of proficiency and beyond.
I always knew I was good at Latin, even though my professors would never admit it.
All in all, things were going well, if not boringly well, but by the end of the third day, our patience was rewarded with the news that the Romans had recovered McDougal’s body, and our gear containers, thankfully locked from prying eyes.
The next morning, dressed in our BDUs, we met McDougal’s corpse a few miles outside the walls of Rome, an area we estimated was clear of the city in our own time. Interestingly, Caligula was also there, indicating his wish to be present both to honor the dead, and to observe our burial rituals.
Father Vincent, back in priest mode I had originally seen him in, began with a prayer.
“ In nomi…”
He paused. As with many masses spoken in the twenty first century, much of it was still spoken in Latin. Vincent looked me in the eye, realizing how odd it would sound to the Romans to hear their own language spoken in our prayers.
He covered with a cough before starting again. “In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” He cleverly left out the “amen” what was originally a Latin word.
We continued as many funerals did, with the reading of a scripture passage from a Bible Vincent kept on his person, as well as a eulogy, delivered by Wang. His delivery was heartfelt, but strong, the discipline of a military man showing itself. Nearing the end, we all gathered some dirt, and sprinkled it over McDougal’s body, buried roughly six feet deep.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We commence this soul into your heavenly embrace, oh Father. Look upon him kindly.”
With that, Vincent ended the funeral as it had begun.
The ceremony complete, we finished burying the body, staking a wooden cross in the ground at its head, wrapping one of McDougal’s dog tags around it. Vincent kept the other half.
Noticing our ritual had ended, Caligula approached, respectfully. “You have my deepest sympathy and my thanks for your permission to attend the ceremony.”
Vincent spoke up. “Who am I to deny the most powerful man in the world?”
Caligula smiled. “Who indeed? Still. I found it very interesting. Now, to discuss more important matters.”
“Of course.”
Caligula took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp fall air. “Such a beautiful day. Why don’t we walk back to Rome together?”
Vincent nodded, gesturing for the rest of us to fall in behind them.
“You seem to know quite a bit about my little empire,” Caligula began, strolling down the pristine Roman road. “Yet, I know almost nothing of you, except that you have capabilities far beyond anything I can muster. So, I ask you again, who are you, and where are you from?”
Vincent and Caligula walked side by side, with the rest of the team filed in behind them. Helena was walking tediously on her own at this point, while Bordeaux had a cast and a cane to help support him. Surrounding us were more of Caligula’s Praetorians, hands on the hilts of their swords, ready to protect their emperor at moment’s notice.
Vincent held out his arms, palms open, as innocently as possible. “I am sorry, but I cannot say. It may do more harm than good.”
“Yes, you keep telling me that, but your words mean nothing to me. You speak in riddles. How am I to fully trust you if you will not answer my questions?”
“We are here to serve, Caesar.”
Well, that was interesting, Vincent. Since when did we have plans to throw in with the Romans? I mean, really?
Caligula thought it over. “Very well. If that is truly the case, there is something you must do for me.”
“Name it, Caesar.”
“I mean to claim the northern island of Britannia into my domain. However, my plans are not yet ready, and with the winter months approaching, will have to wait. However, with your abilities, you should be able to speed the matter up rather effectively.”
Speed things up is right. Caligula never made an attempt to invade Britain for at least three more years, and things didn’t go so well. Sources claim that he ordered his troops to gather seashells, and little else. It wasn’t until his uncle Claudius that Rome made any progress in the area.
“What would you have us do?”
“The country is far from unified. Or civil. It’s nothing but a barbaric hinterland. But, that is our goal as Romans, to bring civilization to the far corners of the world. For your part, there is one particular war chieftain, Adminius is his name, who is quite troublesome. I would like you to eliminate him, and cause as much destruction to his camp as possible. We have word that he is keeping a large portion of his military strength close to him, but we don’t know why. Additionally, we have learned that he has erected his winter quarters on the mainland, for peace talks amongst the Gauls. Probably not for any direct action against us now, but maybe to build up his strength for the future. We can’t have that.”
“I understand.” Vincent considered for a minute. “Very well. I will send three of my people.”
“Only three? Would not all be better?”
Vincent looked over his shoulder at us. “Two of my people could do it alone if I allowed it, but these are hardly normal circumstances, and I’d prefer only sending a small team.”
“Surely the woman is not one of these two?”
“Actually, she is, and she will be one of the three that goes. I will also send the man who destroyed your column, and myself. However, the two of them will need time to heal. At least two weeks.”
Caligula mulled that over. “That will do. It will allow me to send for a guide who is familiar with the area. Now. Tell me how you plan to accomplish your task.”
So he did.
Vincent went over every detail of what he planned meticulously, as if he had been planning it for weeks. The way things were going at this point, that wouldn’t necessarily surprise me one bit. He spoke all the way to the gates of Rome, with Caligula venturing questions at random.
Vincent’s plan called for a jungle creep, a term coined for any lengthy excursion through the wilderness. When they reached the camp, they would spend a day scouting the location and identifying the high value target, before using the cover of darkness to place demolition charges in key positions around the camp. Come morning, they would eliminate the HVT, blow the camp, and extract as quickly as possible. The team would have ample cover, not to mention at least a mile between their targets, so getting out wouldn’t be a problem. In theory it seemed simple, and for once throughout my military career, I could honestly say that it really was.