The Last Roman p-1 Page 2

  Nearly dirt side, I relaxed my knees and exhaled before I hit the surface. Rolling twice, I came to a stop, and immediately began punching down my billowing parachute before it could lift me back in the air. Securing the cord and fabric back in its pack, I took a moment to compose myself.

  I shook my head to loosen my helmet’s grip and leaned over to grab my small go-bag which lay a few feet from my landing. The small single shoulder-hoisted rucksack held only a few soldierly essentials: my American military ID, a small multi-tool, survival kit, SureFire flashlight, 45 SIG Sauer P220 semi-automatic pistol with two extra magazines, digital camera, roll of duct tape, toiletries, and an extra pair of socks. The rest of my gear and possessions had been shipped to my destination the day before to ensure I would be ready for duty as soon as possible.

  Turning around, I spotted a small black car parked next to a dirt road that snaked off into the mountains. Standing next to it was a small, robed man and a full bird American Army colonel.

  My attache to Rome, I presumed.

  Reaching the car I stopped and saluted crisply, “Lieutenant Commander Jacob Hunter reporting as ordered, Colonel.”

  “At ease,” the man said, lazily returning my salute. “My name is Colonel Reynolds. I will be your liaison with the Vatican until you have formally transferred to your new unit. When that time comes, you’ll be on your own.”

  I nodded. “Understood, Colonel. I was briefed by the President before I left Washington.”

  Reynolds returned the gesture. He knew as well as I how unique our situation was, one that required the highest clearance level available, and had been overseen directly by the Commander in Chief. A request from the Pope was not to be taken lightly these days. Today he carried tremendous influence and political clout, and considering the current geopolitical situation, his title was just as influential as it had once been centuries ago.

  ***

  As I stood before the two unfamiliar men, I couldn’t help but think of my father again. He was about as much of a stranger as they were these days, but even so, I found my mind wandering back to Thanksgiving Day six years ago. With massive amounts of turkey, potatoes, and gravy consumed, me, my dad and my grandfather were sitting around the TV while my mother and sister finished cleaning up the mess. Grandpa had already passed out in a turkey induced coma while my dad and I watched yet another Thanksgiving football game.

  Halfway through the third quarter, a breaking news report interrupted the game to reveal that Russia had sent troops into Georgia once again. The grainy footage revealed civilians massacred as they tried to resists, and we sat there completely stunned for a long while. The scene mimicked the events that transpired during the 2008 Beijing Olympics, but I had been too young at that time to truly understand what was happening, and we would soon learn how much worse it would be this time.

  “I told you,” my dad whispered finally.

  “I know you did, dad,” I replied just as quietly, my attention focused on the report.

  Everyone had known it was only a matter of time, even if my then young and idealistic self didn’t want to admit it. Russia had been getting stronger for years under its overzealous leaders, and everyone knew, but few said anything, that by 2015 or so it would start reclaiming territory lost with the fall of the old Soviet regime. That Thanksgiving set in motion a chain of events that created another world war. And my dad had been right.

  “That’s where you need to be, son,” my father continued in a low voice. “You need to be there to stop them.”

  I remember rolling my eyes, like I always did when he brought up the fact I had chosen to forgo military service. It was all he ever talked about.

  “It’s too late now,” I replied.

  “It’s never too late!” He shouted back, slamming his fists on his cushy chair’s armrests. His sudden outburst caused my sister to come in from the kitchen to inspect what the problem was, but once she realized we were talking, she quickly fled the scene.

  “It doesn’t even matter,” I muttered. “We’re too weak to go to war. All we can do is sit on our asses and defend ourselves.”

  It was true. The government had been cutting back funding for the military at a precipitous rate for a few years at the point. By the time I finally joined the military in 2016, most of the equipment employed were models and makes based off technology from as far back as the 1990s. The gear was new, but of old design, and funds for America’s air supremacy program were halved, Navy equipment was decommissioned, and America’s Future Force Warrior program, for grunts and Special Forces units, was practically abandoned. It was why the only piece of fancy new gear I currently had was the flight helmet I wore during my HALO jump.

  I was forced to leave the rest of my toys that trickled into my unit over the years with the Navy, and Reynolds would probably take back my helmet as well. Innovation in the realm of warfare had basically come to a standstill. Many were worried that it put America’s military superiority at risk, and if you asked me, it had. But the critics had argued that things had settled down, and that we didn’t need such expenses anymore. It wasn’t even until 2020, with the raging around the world, that funds were finally reallocated to the military, and we started receiving new gear.

  With the military underfunded, under populated, and sitting on their asses stateside, the country wasn’t prepared for what was about to come. Neither was the rest of the world for that matter. It wasn’t long before Russia began gobbling up its lost territory, some nations coming willingly, others through military force, and it was years before America intervened.

  Just as the news report came to an end, with an uneasy silence lingering in the room after my last statement, my father slowly got to his feet and made for the kitchen. Just before he left, he paused by the door and placed his hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s never too late, Jacob,” my father repeated. “It’s your responsibility to protect those unable to protect themselves. It’s in your blood.”

  And with that, he left to tell my mom and sister what had happened. I remember sinking deep into my favorite chair, my chin resting on my fist as the guilt started sinking in. It was the beginning of the end for my civilian life, just as the European bloodbath of that Thanksgiving was the catalyst for the beginning of the end of everything else.

  A year later, in October of 2016, a few months after the guilt finally destroyed my pride and I applied for Officer Candidate School, Iran came through on a promise it had made decades earlier: to wipe Israel off the map, which they began with a deadly biological attack on Jerusalem and other neighboring cities. Millions were killed. Willing to sacrifice Muslim lives despite years of funding Palestinian efforts against Israel, Iran decided it was time to establish Islamic independence in the region by destroying the Jewish state. As many wars have over the ages, it started over religion, but soon escalated into a political debacle the likes of which the world had never seen.

  Because of America’s connection with Israel, the U.S. military intervened on their behalf. At least we did our best. War had been brewing with Iran for years between the two nations, but with America’s war in Iraq wrapped up, America wasn’t prepared logistically for another major offensive in the region. Slowly and reluctantly, U.S. forces began trickling into Iraq once again in preparation for a ground assault into Iran.

  But everything began to unravel when it was discovered that Iran had been funded and supervised by Russian militants the government claimed they knew nothing about. The Kremlin claimed it had been yet another splinter cell that remained from the dredges of what was left of old Soviet patriots. The public was still unsure of the truth, but the result was the ignition of yet another Cold War, worse than ever before, and the world had to sit back and watch while Russia reclaimed their lost empire, becoming an economic and military powerhouse once again.

  By the time I was stuck in SERE, most of my fellow trainees and I had bitched about the fact that the world wasn’t quite crazy enough for us. No one thought R
ussia or Iran would become anywhere near the threat they would become, nor did anyone expect what was about to happen.

  We would soon regret those words.

  ***

  I pinched my nose again. The past was exactly that. I had to remember where I was and what I was doing. Nothing else mattered. I returned my attention to Reynolds.

  “Very good,” he said before gesturing to the other man. “This is Father Vincent from the Vatican. He will be our guide to Rome and will grant you an audience with the Pope.”

  I shook the priest’s hand. His face was shaped like a pear with a square jaw, strong features, and the weathered look of a man who had spent too much time in the sun, but not without a hint of handsomeness.

  Combined with his age, I would describe him as “grizzled.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Father,” I greeted.

  “And I you, young man. His Holiness will be most happy to meet you.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. It’s not every day that you get the opportunity to meet the Pope, let alone work for him.”

  Opening the driver’s side door, Father Vincent replied, “These are dark days, my son. Enjoy your opportunity while you can, but remember, there is work to do.”

  “I understand, Father.”

  With his ominous tone floating through my mind, I took a seat in the back of the car, closed my eyes, and couldn’t help but remember just how stupid we had been back in SERE.

  ***

  Participating in Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape, SERE training completely cut you off from the world. As I got my ass handed to me by my captors, or should I say, my trainers, the world reached the point of no return and has yet to look back. When the Pope was targeted in 2017 by the same Iranian extremists involved in the massacre of Jerusalem, the entire world erupted in conflict.

  Early one Sunday morning, as faithful Catholics gathered in St. Peter’s Square to hear Mass from the Pope, suicide bombers disguised as worshipers detonated charges strapped to their chests. Non-explosive in nature, these bombs emitted an invisible and odorless gas infecting everyone before they even knew what was happening.

  It was hardly surprising that the Pope’s elite Swiss Guard managed to eliminate the targets and move him to safety, but despite their best efforts only a few worshipers in attendance made it inside. Perhaps by an act of God, the strong winds which usually swept through the region were unusually calm that day, containing the gas to the area around the Vatican, so few of Rome’s other inhabitants were infected.

  The Vatican, equipped with state of the art technology cleverly concealed by its classic facade, was sealed off, and all those inside were safe.

  Those outside were not.

  The thought that the Vatican would be their next target had escaped every western intelligence agencies’ radar. Their rhetoric had never indicated such a move was on the table, but lacking long range missiles and the ability to penetrate America’s very competent domestic security agencies, attacking the Vatican had served as the most grievous of statements. The West, still heavily Christian, was on notice. Thousands of Catholics were murdered; a violent mass of decaying corpses littering St. Peter’s Square and a call to action was demanded.

  While millions of Catholics mourned, the attack had another unexpected side effect that would unite all of Christendom in a way it had not seen since the days before Martin Luther. In an age where secularism was at the height of its popularity, and church attendance across faith based institutions at an all-time low, many wondered what kind of reaction, if any, would come about from the horrific attack

  No one had any idea that almost overnight, sects of Christians ranging from Anglicans, Baptists, and Lutherans to Protestants of all sorts, were in complete support of their Catholic brothers and sisters. The situation did not progress as far as uniting all Christians under a single religion, but there were many converts, and the Pope began to influence the decisions of all Christians again, not just Catholics.

  Compounding matters, Russia’s involvement was no longer in question, at least in the minds of the West as they watched it infringe on their eastern neighbors’ sovereignty, and as a result, Eastern Europe and the Balkans erupted into a battle zone between Russia and the European Union. After four years, places like Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, Romania, and Macedonia were war zones. Their cities were devastated and destroyed, and consisted of trenches that never seemed to shift, only run deeper with blood.

  Things only got worse in other parts of the world as well.

  The conflict simmering for decades between Pakistan and India had finally boiled over. The populations of Muslims and Christians in both nations only fueled the fire, turning neighbors upon one another, in a multitude of bloody conflicts.

  It became a trend the world over. Wars began popping up all over the place, neighbors finally finding the excuse needed to pick up arms against one another.

  By the end of the decade, the Americas became yet another victim. North America’s southern border with Mexico became a war zone when Mexico was overrun by guerilla forces led by communists and warlords alike, who had been slowly building their armies for years, mostly thanks to Russian benefactors. Russia had succeeded where the Germans had failed during WWI, and had opened up a second front against The United States of America. Canadian and American forces were posted all along the expansive border, constantly engaged in skirmishes and pitched battles.

  North Korea had crossed the thirty eighth parallel quite early in the conflict and invaded South Korea. With American forces tied up all over the world, there was little the troops garrisoned behind the demilitarized zone could do. North Korean tank divisions rolled south with little impediment to their progress, and their Navy had blockaded the peninsula. For the past five years, South Korea was steadily holding the southern tip of the small nation, guarding against both the land and sea invasions that were sure to come.

  Their fate looked grim.

  And then there was Africa. Their part in the conflict was, for once, not to fight amongst themselves. They had somehow put aside most of their differences, and went to war against just about everyone else. African warlords banded together and fought a swath through all of Africa before they moved north towards Europe and East towards Saudi Arabia. The entire Southern coast of Europe was on high alert for hordes of guerilla militia making their way towards the continent, and Spain was under constant threat. That situation could potentially become a horrible mess.

  The one factor that was missing from the global war was the use of nuclear weapons. It was interesting how the threat of nukes always had the citizens of the world on edge, always wondering if the end was just around the corner. Everybody knew that only a small percentage of even one nation’s nuclear supply could bring about the end the world. Yet, once World War III began, nukes were completely non-existent, not once being employed on the battlefield.

  The world’s unofficial “no-nukes” policy was hardly surprising, at least to me. Every finger poised over nuclear launch buttons around the world knew as soon as they allowed gravity to overcome the strength of their fingers, every other button of mass destruction would likewise be depressed. No one wanted to be responsible for wiping mankind off the face of the planet. Even so, life was just as tense as it was in the 1950’s, and sooner or later, someone was bound to get antsy and initiate a chain reaction that would lead to nothing short of the end of times. Total destruction was inevitable.

  ***

  My two companions were dourly silent as we drove through the lush Italian countryside, but I couldn’t help but look off into the distance and admire the view. It was so rich in history that every hill had a story and every road a tale to tell. I’d studied Italian and Roman history ever since my mom had made me take Latin in high school. It had been the toughest class in my life, but after a few years it slowly became a passion of mine.

  I’d enjoyed the subject so much that I continued my studies throughout college, and before joining the N
avy, I’d begun work on a Masters Degree in Classical Studies. I was never sure why, exactly, it was just something I enjoyed immensely, but I never really sat down and figured out what to do with it. It had been a serious point of contention in my family, especially since my darling sister had her future perfectly mapped out.

  By the time we reached the outskirts of Rome, I took out my camera and started taking pictures of whatever caught my eye. A semester of photography, and years of field recon ops, gave me a solid eye for picking out ideal shots. Most of Rome was left unscathed by the countless battles that plagued Eastern Europe, but it had still caught some flak over the years. It wasn’t long before Reynolds noticed my interest.

  “Sightseeing, Commander?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve always wanted to visit Rome. I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

  Reynolds nodded, but said nothing and the car continued through the sprawling ancient city, driving slowly through the narrow streets, making our way through cobbled streets of both modern and old form. I was photographing the remains of the Circus Maximus and the Colosseum when Father Vincent abruptly pulled into a seemingly random building just after we crossed the Tiber River. A few meters inside, the floor began to slope drastically downward, plunging us into darkness.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I asked suspiciously.

  “You are a student of history,” Father Vincent replied, his eyes locked on the dimly illuminated road. “What lies beneath most cities the age of Rome?”

  I knew that over time, cities as old as Rome simply built over existing parts of the original city. When new buildings were constructed, old ones would be simply filled in with dirt and built over, one of the main reasons why new discoveries in ancient cities were constantly being discovered.