A minute passed, ever second of silence devastating.
“Jacob,” she whispered. “Please, you have to trust me. You…” she paused, choking back tears, “…you’re the only person I trust. There’s no one else.”
I felt her lower my head back towards the floor, but the pain in her voice was more than enough to keep my eyes connected with hers. Her words were a plea for help from a girl, no, a person who’d lost control of her life. It sounded more familiar than I cared to admit, but it was true. She was lost here in ancient Rome and needed to hang on to whatever felt familiar. I felt the same way, only I was too proud to admit it.
She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d been under orders and it wasn’t fair of me to ridicule and berate her for it. She was right. I needed her more than I thought, and I wasn’t about to throw that away now.
“Helena, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so flippant. I…” I tried to find the right words, “… I want to trust you. I hope you can forgive me.”
Her green eyes continued to stare, but I felt her entire demeanor change as she let more of her weight sit on me.
“I can,” she assured in a whisper. “Thank you.”
With those words she brought her face closer to mine, hesitating only slightly at first, her wonderfully full lips puckering ever so slightly.
This was it.
The moment in all the movies where the hero finally scored, and got the girl.
It had to be.
Boy, it was my lucky day.
As our heads came together, my mouth centimeters from hers, so close I could feel her breath on my lips and the heat radiating off her cheeks, I heard the most annoyingly ill-timed commotion I had ever heard. It sounded like someone had broken down our front door and were pillaging our home.
I looked up at Helena as she strained her head towards the door, trying to see what was happening. Gently, I placed my left hand alongside her cheek, shifting her face back towards mine.
She smiled as she looked down at me, and my mind went blank. I could only think of one thing to say. It was the most cliche line I had ever heard.
“Rain check?”
***
We recovered from the moment and rushed to the adjoining room to see numerous Roman Praetorians cramping our building, with plenty more outside. Helena and I had our side arms at the ready, but lowered them when we saw the recognizable faces of our new friends. I noticed Gaius near the door, and offered him a friendly nod. He returned it imperceptibly, but I saw a look of worry on his stone hard face.
Vincent was standing between us and them, his arms upraised between us to ward off any aggressive action before it started. Wang and Santino were kneeling in the doorway opposite the entrance, their rifles directed at our guests. Both men were shirtless and looked as though they had been preparing to get some sleep.
“Stand down,” Vincent ordered, motioning for all of us to put our weapons down.
He turned to face them, offering them a look of annoyed expectancy. The Romans waited patiently for us to put our weapons away. Once satisfied we wouldn’t shoot them, the centurion, Quintilius, stepped forward.
“There has been an incident on the Palatine which requires your attention,” he said, pointedly. “Earlier today, prior to your return from Gaul, Caligula became very ill, and is now bed ridden.”
Vincent and I exchanged glances. This was it. The pivotal point in Caligula’s reign, the catalyst for his legacy, but the timing was off. Caligula wasn’t even in Rome when he got sick. I now knew it was no longer a question of whether or not we were changing things.
We were.
“We are unsure of the cause,” Quintilius said, “but up until this morning, Caligula was in perfect health. We suspect poison. We…” he trailed off, glancing at his comrades before continuing, “we’re here of our own accord. No one sent us. We were hoping maybe you could help him.”
Vincent looked thoughtful, but Quintilius continued before he could say anything.
“There’s more. We also have information of an armed mob congregating on the far side of the city, led by members of the Senate. Rumors of an uprising have been circulating for weeks now, and it looks like dissenters plan to take advantage of Caligula’s weakened position. If you are truly here to help us, you must commit to our cause now. We may need to flee Rome at any time, and you won’t be able to come back.” He took a step forward, and stared coldly at Vincent. “Are you with us?”
Vincent’s eyes met the floor before he glanced over at me. I shrugged. We were well beyond the point of no return in regards to maintaining the status quo, and the alternative to helping seemed like a death sentence, anyway.
He nodded. “We’re with you.”
The centurion nodded as well. “We thank you. Please, make your way to the Palatine as quickly as possible. I believe the need for you to stay under guard is at an end, so please leave at your discretion, but do hurry. My men and I will attempt to quell the uprising before it ignites, but we cannot make any guarantees. Take what you can with you, and we will arrange to have your extra supplies moved. Gaius will remain here with you, just in case. He’ll follow whatever order you give him.”
Vincent nodded, and tapped his closed fist against his chest. “We’ll do what we can, Centurion.”
The man returned the gesture before rounding up his men and leaving as quickly as he could, Gaius remaining with us.
Vincent started moving towards his room.
“All right, people. I want you ready in ten minutes. Get your three day assault packs ready. I want you heavy with ammunition. Looks we’ll be saying goodbye to our little home away from home.”
“Damn,” Santino said, “and I was just about ready to plant a garden out front. I was thinking tulips.”
***
Helena and I rushed back into our room even though most of our gear was already ready to go, and donned our night ops combat fatigues. The past month had given all of us plenty of free time, so even though our weapons had sat idle, they were clean, loaded, and ready for use. Vincent’s order for a three day assault pack was basically code for bringing as much food and ammo as you can muster. Finding my small-go bag, I crammed in as many fully loaded magazines as I could. Thanks to the bag’s versatility, I tightened the shoulder strap to the point where I could fit it around my waist for use as a butt pack. It would allow for quick access to as much ammo as I hoped I’d need, without needing to hassle with a cumbersome bag.
That thought in mind, I made sure to attach a dump pouch to my belt as well. Normally in the field, a soldier’s empty mag could simply be discarded on the ground and forgotten about. When they returned home, the military would provide them with replacements. Here, in ancient Rome, we no longer had that luxury, and while we had more than enough ammunition to supply the entire Normandy Beach invasion, we couldn’t afford to frivolously waste the magazines.
Finding my assault bag, I gestured for Helena to toss me her own. When she did, I ran to our supply room. I stuffed both of our bags with a half a dozen MREs, enough food to last a month if rationed very, very scarcely, as well as extra empty magazines, and a few boxes of additional ammo, 5.56x45mm for me, 5.57x28mm for Helena’s P90, and 7.62x51mm ammo for her DSR-1. To round out our supplies, I added an entrenching shovel, a few hundred feet of paracord, a survival gear, E amp;E kit, some bottled water, and plenty of extra batteries with a solar panel charger into my bag. Besides the food and ammo, I added two sets of night vision goggles to Helena’s pack, as well as a two man tent, which when packed was no larger than three pairs of jeans stacked on top of each other, and not much heavier. She had to travel light in case she needed to run off and play sniper. Plus she had to carry two weapons.