The Last Mission Of The Seventh Cavalry: Book Two E-Book

Charley Brindley

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 366

Beschreibung

The Seventh Cavalry must attempt to rescue three astronauts who have come down from the ISS in a Russian Soyuz escape capsule. They are stranded on a mountain above Saravejo, about 800 miles away

In book one of this series, a unit of the Seventh Cavalry is on a mission over Afghanistan when their plane is hit by something. The soldiers bail out of the crippled plane and come down in Southern France and they’re 2,000 years in the past where Hannibal is taking his elephants over the Alps to attack the Romans. In this second book they must attempt to rescue three astronauts who have come down from the ISS in a Russian Soyuz escape capsule. They are stranded on a mountain above Saravejo, about 800 miles away

Leseprobe

The Last Mission

of

The Seventh Cavalry

Book Two

by

Charley Brindley

[email protected]

www.charleybrindley.com

Front and back cover art by

Charley Brindley

[email protected]

Published by Andalusia Publishing

andalusiapublishing.com

© 2021 by Charley Brindley all rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition January 2021

This book is dedicated to

the author’s maternal great grandparents:

Charles C. Walker 1859–1902

and

Mary Elizabeth Jinks Walker 1858–1932

Charley Brindley’s books

have been translated into 17 languages:

Italian

Spanish

Portuguese

French

Dutch

Turkish

Chinese

Ukrainian

Hungarian

Bulgarian

Arabic

Serbian

Japanese

Indonesian

German

Bengali

and

Russian

The following books are available in audio format:

Raji, Book One (in English)

Casper’s Game (in English)

Dragonfly vs Monarch, Book One (in English)

Dragonfly vs Monarch, Book Two (in English)

Do Not Resuscitate (in English)

The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry (English)

Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book One (in Russian)

Henry IX (in Italian)

Ariion 23 (in Chinese)

Other books by Charley Brindley

1. Oxana’s Pit

2. The Last Mission of the Seventh Cavalry, Book One

3. Raji Book One: Octavia Pompeii

4. Raji Book Two: The Academy

5. Raji Book Three: Dire Kawa

6. Raji Book Four: The House of the West Wind

7. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book One

8. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl, Book Two

9. Cian

10. Ariion XXIII

11. The Last Seat on the Hindenburg

12. Dragonfly vs Monarch, Book One

13. Dragonfly vs Monarch, Book One

14. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book One: Exploration

15. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Two: Invasion

16. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Three

17. The Sea of Tranquility 2.0 Book Four

18. The Rod of God, Book One

19. Sea of Sorrows, Book Two of The Rod of God

20. Do Not Resuscitate

21. Henry IX

22. Qubit’s Incubator

23. Casper’s Game

Non fiction

24. Seventeen Steps to becoming a Successful Sphynx Breeder

Coming Soon

25. Dragonfly vs Monarch: Book Three

26. The Journey to Valdacia

27. Still Waters Run Deep

28. Ms Machiavelli

29. Ariion XXIX

30. Hannibal’s Elephant Girl: Book Three

See the end of this book for details about the others

Major players

Sarge, Master Sergeant James Alexander

Cateri. Sarge’s partner. She was a slave before the arrival of the Seventh.

Sparks. Private Richard McAlister

Jai Li. Was a Sergeant in the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. Now Sparks’s partner and Sergeant in the Seventh

Apache. Private Autumn Eaglemoon. Chiricahua Native American

Liada. Native of Valdacia and Carthage

Cowboy. Private David Kawalski. Liada’s partner

Tin Tin Ban Sunia. Was a child slave to Sulobo, now partner of Joaquin.

Private Ronald A. Joaquin

Private Karina Ballentine. Was in vet school before joining the army

Private Lorelei Fusilier

Hotshot. Private Kady Sharakova

Commander Burbank from the Space Station

Jadis. Medicine woman

Chapter One

Cateri

Cateri sat with Sarge on the veranda at sunset, watching a pair of migrating Palestine sunbirds circle the fountains and come to rest in the lower branches of an umbrella pine.

It was a balmy September afternoon in Rome. The gentle west wind brought a welcome anticipation of rain.

“Sarge,” she whispered. “So beautiful to see.”

He reached for her hand. “Yes.” But it wasn’t the iridescent blue of the fluttering wings that held his attention. The soft sculpture of her profile, bathed in the last yellow moments of the day, captivated him.

He blinked, as if to click the shutter of a camera and imprint this unique vision on the canvas of his memory.

“Where’s your home?”

“Home?” She gazed into his eyes, as if penetrating or probing for the meaning of his question.

Only a few months before, she had been a slave to Sulobo. Sarge purchased her freedom, then won her heart. Her English improved every day, but he had never heard a word of her native language. She spoke easily in Carthaginian with Tin Tin Ban Sunia and Liada, but she must be fluent in some other tongue.

“Before you were a slave.”

Sergeant James Alexander

The melancholy mood that came over her was more than sadness. She must have connected the words “home” and “before”, sinking her into despair.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Let’s not talk of it.”

She nodded against him, then wiped her cheeks.

After a moment, she said, “I lost my people.”

Did she mean her family? Or everyone? And “lost” could mean much more than “taken away”.

She knew only a few words of English, and he knew none at all of hers.

“Tell me in your words.”

She looked up at him, wrinkling her brow.

“Tell me what happened.”

She began slowly, halting, starting over.

Her language was like none he had heard in Hannibal’s army, where many different nations were represented, nor among the camp followers or slaves. No one spoke in this strange tongue except Cateri.

Her hands told as much as her voice. Words and motions in bits and pieces, then more fluently like waters having been held behind a dam, pouring forth.

Sarge let her tell her story without interruption, getting it all out, releasing a burden.

Watching her face go through a range of emotions, like a slow-motion film of a tsunami, he waited.

She stopped, smiled, and ended with, “Then you save me.”

* * * * *

The next day, as the soldiers of the Seventh Cavalry, along with Cateri, Tin Tin, Jai Li, and Liada, were having lunch, the sounds of renovation could be heard throughout their new home.

Workers were tearing out the lead plumbing and tossing it into a pile behind the house, along with the lead dinnerware and cooking utensils. Other men were replacing the lead pipes with clay ones.

Just after 1 p.m., the radio crackled to life. “Hello, Seventh Cav.”

Sparks jumped from the table and ran for the radio. “Is that Commander Burbank?”

“Yes. Sparks?”

“Yes, sir. Where are you?”

The others came to the radio to listen.

“We’re on Treskavica Mountain, just above Sarajevo, or at least what will be Sarajevo in a few centuries.”

Autumn leaned close to Sparks’s shoulder. “Commander, this is Autumn. Did everyone land safely?”

“When we entered the Earth’s atmosphere, we lost contact with the other Soyuz escape pod. I have no idea where they came down.”

Private Karina Ballentine ran to the table to get her iPad.

“Were any of your crew injured?” Autumn asked.

“Just some minor cuts and bruises.”

“Distance from Rome to Sarajevo is three hundred twenty-five miles,” Karina read from her screen, “as the crow flies.”

“And how far on the ground?” Sarge asked.

“About eight hundred miles by highway,” Karina said, “if we had highways.”

Sarge reached for the mic. “What’s your situation, Commander?”

“We’re sort of trapped here.”

“Trapped how?” Sarge asked.

Cateri took Sarge’s hand as she, Tin Tin, Jai Li, and Liada listened to the conversation with the others.

“We’re hanging on the side of a mountain. Every time we try to climb down, the natives come after us with spears and arrows, so we scamper back up to the capsule. They seem to fear the spacecraft.”

“Natives?”

“Not sure who they are. Look like Huns, maybe. Probably two or three hundred camped at the base of the mountain.”

“How’s your food and water supplies?” Autumn asked.

“MREs are okay for another couple of months. Plenty of ice and snow for water.”

“How are you staying warm?”

“We bundle up inside the capsule. We could use the batteries for heat, but we’ve been saving the electricity for the radio. No firewood up here. We’re sitting on the side of a glacier.”

“All right, Commander,” Sarge said. “Shut off your radio, and call back in half an hour. We’re going to do some planning.”

“Roger that. We’ll call back in thirty.”

Everyone went back to the dining table.

“Ideas?” Sarge sipped his coffee.

“Eight hundred miles,” Kawalski said. “Unknown trails, unknown hostiles.”

“With ideal conditions,” Autumn said, “on horseback, maybe twenty miles a day, so forty to forty-five days to get there.”

“He said they have two months’ of MREs,” Kady said. “They could run short, or the Huns might overcome their fear of the capsule.”

“Or as the crow flies,” Lorelei said.

“What?” Sarge asked.

“Take a ship across the Adriatic, loaded with supplies and horses. Cut the travel time in half.”

“I like it,” Kawalski said.

“How long to ride across Italy?” Sarge asked.

“Maybe seven days,” Karina said.

“Then we would have to capture a ship,” Autumn said. “On the Adriatic coast.”

“Or buy one,” Sarge said. “If we sailed from Rome, how long by sea to Croatia—or I guess it’s called Dalmatia—going all the way around the toe of Italy?”

“About ten days,” Karina said.

“How many ships do we own?” Sarge asked.

“We have two Roman quinqueremes,” Sparks said, “or ‘Fives,’ as they are known, because of the five banks of oars, and a dozen triremes, called ‘Threes.’”

“Really?” Kady asked.

“Yep, a regular navy. The only problem is…” Sparks hesitated.

“What?” Sarge asked.

“They have sails, but they’re mostly slave-powered. It takes almost three hundred men for each Five.”

Everyone was quiet for a while.

“Not anymore,” Sarge said. “We’ll hire rowers.”

“Yeah,” Autumn said. “I’ll go for that.”

Cateri leaned close to Sarge. “What is capsule thing?”

“Um, it’s a ship that came down from the sky,” Sarge said. “Inside are three of our friends.”

“We will save these friends?”

“Yes, we will.”

“Those natives,” Karina said while reading from her iPad, “are probably Daorsi, the war-like ancestors of the Albanians. No Huns in that area for another five hundred years.”

“Arms?” Sarge asked.

“Like the commander said, arrows and spears,” Karina said. “Also Falacas, like the one Hannibal carries, battle axes, and long swords. Maybe slingshots.”

“Sarge,” Lorelei said.

“Yeah?”

“Before we attacked Rome, you said that would be the last mission of the Seventh Cavalry.”

“I said that?”

“Yep,” Kawalski said.

“Okay,” Sage said. “Also, before we started climbing the Alps, I said this unit is not a democracy.”

“Yes.” Autumn lowered her voice. “This unit is not a democracy.” She pounded the table with her fist. “As long as I’m in charge, all of you will do as I order you to do.”

The others laughed.

“You sound just like him,” Kady said.

“Well, now I’ve decided we’re a voting democracy,” Sarge said. “Since we’re trying to persuade Hannibal to make Rome a democracy, we should set an example.” He sipped his coffee. “Any major undertaking, like this rescue mission, will be purely voluntary. And we’ll take a vote on leadership and all major decisions, like the route of the journey.”

“I nominate Hotshot for captain,” Kawalski said.

“Very funny,” Kady said. “I nominate you for target practice.”

“The first vote should be on who’s going to volunteer for the mission,” Autumn said, then raised her hand.

All the soldiers, except Kady, raised their hands, then Liada, Cateri, Jai Li, and Tin Tin followed suit.

“Private Katy Sharakova,” Sarge said. “You have something to say?”

“After we get the astronauts off the mountain, then what?”

“We bring them back to Rome.”

“Then what? Are we just going to settle down here and become Romans?”

“How about,” Sarge said, “we take care of the last mission plus one, then, when we get back, we’ll talk about the next step.”

Liada glanced at Kawalski. He winked, then the two of them smiled.

Kady raised her hand.

“What?” Sarge asked.

“I guess I volunteer.”

“Okay, that’s settled,” Sarge said. “Now, who’s going to lead this ragtag gang of heathens?”

“Well,” Karina said, “except for a few minor kerfuffles, Sarge got us this far. I think we should elect him captain.”

“Kerfuffle?” Kady said. “Is that like a major blunder?”

“No,” Kawalski said, “we call that a ‘Kadydid.’”

Kady reached for her shoulder holster.

“All right,” Autumn said, “before Hotshot shoots Cowboy, who’s in favor or our illustrious Master Sergeant James Alexander the Third becoming Captain Sarge?”

Everyone except Kady raised their hands. She showed Kawalski three fingers, close together. “Read between the lines.” She then raised her hand.

Kawalski grinned. “Now we need to elect a new master sergeant, and a corporal.”

“Jai Li was a sergeant in the Chinese Army,” Sparks said, “so I nominate her for staff sergeant.”

“Aw, Sparky,” Jai Li said. “You so sweet. Then I give you orders.”

“I second that nomination,” Kawalski said, “and I nominate Kady Sharakova as co-staff sergeant.”

Kady stared at him.

“What?” Kawalski asked.

“I’m just waiting for the punch line,” Kady said.

“I’m serial,” Kawalski said.

“Yeah, like a serial killer, or cereal as in Post Toasties?”

Kawalski grinned. “All in favor of Hotshot and Jai Li for staff sergeants, raise your hands.”

Everyone voted for them.

“So now I can give orders to Kawalski?” Kady asked.

“Sure,” Sarge said. “Whether or not he’ll carry out your orders is a different matter.”

“I think my Kawalski make good Master Sarge,” Liada said.

Everyone but Kady shouted their agreement.

“I guess he’ll be okay.” Kady sipped her coffee.

* * * * *

After the capture of Rome, The Seventh liberated the home of Consul Lucius Aemillus Paullus on Via Labicana. Since he died in the battle of Cannae, he no longer had need of it and, his rich family had already relocated to the suburbs.

Villa Magnificum

The new Headquarters of Delta Platoon, Alpha Company, Second Battalion, Twenty-Second Division of the Seventh Cavalry, U.S. Army, aka “The Toy Tribe,” was Paullus’s Villa Magnificum, located on the sunny side of Rome’s Aventine Hill, overlooking the Tiber River.

With a dozen fountains, two swimming pools, sixteen bedrooms, three kitchens, and one bathroom, it had room for all the Toy Tribe, as well as their partners, cooks, maids, and seamstresses.

Also located on the property were four stable boys who took care of their twenty-seven horses, plus several hundred cows, goats and donkeys. The security team, consisting of Hagar and six of his soldiers, was also housed on the property—no more guard duty for Sparks and Kady.

* * * * *

“After this rescue mission,” Kawalski said, “Liada and I are taking Obolus home.”

“Home?” Autumn asked. “To Valdacia?”

Kawalski nodded.

“Holly shoot,” Sparks said. “That’s across the Mediterranean and on the other side of the Atlas Mountains!”

“Yeah,” Sarge said. “On the edge of the Sahara. How long will it take?”

“Probably three or four months,” Kawalski said.

“Wow, long walk for an elephant,” Autumn said.

“I ain’t taking that hike,” Kady said.

“Nobody asked you to, Sergeant Hotshot,” Kawalski said. “It’d be too dangerous for you anyway.”

“No, just boring.”

Their battlefield loot of silver, gold, and jewels was worth millions of Roman denarii. One denarius was originally decreed to be worth ten asses. So, the Seventh, with a fortune equivalent to approximately 100 million donkeys, was one of the richest families in Rome.

They had all their gold minted into coins of four sizes, each one having a “7” stamped on one side and a “1,” “5,”“10,” or “50” on the other, depending on the size of the coin. These were the size of a nickel, quarter, half-dollar, and silver dollar, respectively. The Seven coins soon became the common currency of Rome, and much of Italy.

* * * * *

“Next time you people shoot somebody,” Sparks said, “save your brass.”

“Why?” Sarge cut a bite of steak.

“Jai Li and I have figured out how to make primers, bullets, and gunpowder. We have our people working on reloading the brass.”

“Really?” Sarge asked.

“Yeah, and tell the workers to save all that lead plumbing. We’ll need that to make bullets.”

“You have people?” Kawalski asked.

Sparks nodded.

“Do we have people?” Kawalski asked Liada.

She saddened her face and shook her head.

“Well,” Kawalski sipped his coffee, “I think we should have people working for us, too.”

“Why do you need people?” Kady asked.

“Because when we get back, Liada and I are going to open a tavola calda.

“Tavola calda,” Katrina said. “A hot table?”

“Yeah, where you can get a hot meal and a little vino.”

Chapter Two

After the meal, the servants cleared the table, then Sarge spread out a map of the Mediterranean Sea.

“Let’s break this mission into segments, then assign groups to work on each part.”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement.

“Part one is horses and supplies,” Sarge said. “Kawalski, can you and Liada handle that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Liada said, with a tap of her fingers to her forehead.

Liada

“Part two is the ships. We need to be sure they’re seaworthy and we have materials and workmen on board to make any needed repairs en route.” Sarge glanced around at the others. “Joaquin, how about you and Tin Tin Ban Sunia for that project?”

Joaquin glanced at Tin Tin, who nodded. “We’re on it,” Joaquin said.

“Part four is manpower. I guess Sulobo owns every slave in Rome.”

“Over seven hundred,” Kady said.

“How many rowers will we need?” Sarge asked.

Captured Roman quinquereme. Now the Seventh Fleet’s Palatine

“Each Roman Five requires three hundred men,” Karina said. “If we take the two Fives and all twelve of the Threes, then we’ll need over two thousand men to man the oars.”

“All right,” Sarge said. “Liada, will you talk to Hannibal for us? I think he should end slavery in the new Roman Empire. Then we’ll hire Sulobo’s seven hundred men.”

“Hannibal will not so easy think that a good thing,” Liada said.

“You’re probably right. Slaves are an integral part of the economy,” Sarge said. “Ideas, anyone?”

“He’s not yet keen on free enterprise,” Apache said.

Private Autumn ‘Apache’ Eaglemoon was born on July 11, 1998, near Tombstone, Arizona, in the Apache Nation of the Chiricahua. Her father, Bodaway Eaglemoon, claimed Cochise to be his great-great-grandfather.

On her thirteenth birthday, her father told her, if she finished high school, he would give her his 1957 Chevrolet Nomad station wagon when she turned eighteen. She would then be free to go away and make her own life.

Before breakfast on her eighteenth birthday, Autumn already had her suitcase packed. It sat beside the front door of their trailer house while she had a last cup of coffee with her mother.

“Do not marry a man for wealth,” her mother said. “Do not marry to make children.” She sipped her coffee. “Make a friend, then test his strength of character. Be he great or small, the shape and color of his character are all that matter. Money and beauty are worthless with hollow spirit.”

“You still here?” Her father poured a cup of coffee.

“No, Papa. I left at one minute after midnight.”

“You’re burning daylight.” He sat beside her. “I cleaned the spark plugs and set the points. You got a half-tank of gas.”

Autumn slipped her arm around his thin shoulders. “I love you, too, Papa.”

He patted her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “I gotta feed the goats.” He scooted his chair away from the table and left his untasted coffee.

She hugged her mom at the front door.

“He loves you, baby, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Autumn wiped her cheeks.

“Write us when you get somewhere.”

With her suitcase in the backseat, Autumn drove away from the only home she had ever known.

In Phoenix, she worked in a café and earned enough to move on to Las Vegas. Quickly tiring of the garish neon hubbub and a thousand offers to buy, or rent, her body, she drove west until she hit the beach at Santa Monica.

She spent her last thirty-five dollars on a red bikini and slept in the dunes for a week.

Autumn never had trouble finding work, but it was always a job where looks were more important than brains.

She worked out and ran two miles every morning, but after a month of being a server at Hooters, she agreed to stop by the office of one of her regular customers.

He was an army recruiter, she knew that, but his stories of specialized training, physical development, world travel, and adventure already had her half-convinced to join the army.

As she sat before him at his gray metal desk, she only wanted to know how much of her freedom she would be signing away.

“The U.S. Army will own your ass for four years.”

“But they’ll pay me for the possession of my body, right?”

“Hell, yeah. Three hundred eighty-two a week.”

“Hmm. I make that much in tips.”

“Yeah, but does Hooters…” he reached behind his desk for something, “let you have one of these?” He tossed the M-4 carbine to her.

She caught it and looked it over, working the bolt. She raised it to her shoulder and took aim on a plastic philodendron plant across the room. “Nice. Much better than the bow and arrow I used on the reservation.”

“Reservation?”

“I’m a Chiricahua Apache.”

“Really? I thought the army beat you guys a hundred years ago?”

“Maybe you defeated us, but take a look at all the casinos on Native American lands, and tell me who’s winning now.”

The recruiter laughed. “Yeah, those Kickapoos cleaned me out in McLoud, Oklahoma.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t scalp you, too.”

A week later, Autumn reported for boot camp at Fort Lenard Wood, Missouri.

The dropout rate during the sixteen weeks of basic training is about fifteen percent for men. For women, the rate is almost fifty percent.

Autumn liked the odds. The challenge of competing with the men in academics and physical fitness suited her just fine. And it was a lot better than serving drinks in a peek-a-boo tee shirt at Hooters.

She found it somewhat ironic that an Apache should be selected to join the Seventh Cavalry, since their greatest defeat was at the hands of Native Americans.

Private Autumn ‘Apache’ Eaglemoon

After demonstrating her skills on the firing range and in hand-to-hand combat, she soon received the nickname “Apache.”

She threatened to kick the butt of every grunt who called her “Apache,” but she secretly liked the title and carried it as a badge of honor.

Autumn also had to point out on more than one occasion that Lieutenant Colonel Custer’s Seventh Cavalry Regiment was wiped out by the Sioux, not the Apache.

She dated several men, but all she ever encountered were hollow men with huge, elongated egos.

That changed after she was deployed to Afghanistan, where she went on the mission that delivered her and her platoon into Hannibal’s army as he led his troops toward the Alps and Rome.

On their journey across southern France and up the western slopes of the mountains, she became an advisor to Hannibal on geography and modern military tactics, then later she became his companion and lover.

She was delighted to find he was indeed a man of strong substance and character. It was a shame he would never meet her mom.

* * * * *

“I think what we have to do,” Karina said, “is set up the City of Rome police force so craftsmen and shop owners will feel safe. If they can be seen to prosper, that will attract more small businesses to the city.”

“Good idea, Karina,” Sarge said. “You’ll be in charge of the police. Use our money to pay the police until we can establish a tax base.”

“I’m on it.”

“Soyuz One, calling the Seventh Calvary.”

Sarge picked up the mic. “Hello, Commander.”

“You think you can get us off this glacier?”

“Yes, sir. We’re organizing our ships to sail around the toe of Italy and up the Adriatic Sea. That’s the fastest way for us to get to you. We’re bringing horses on the ships, so after landing in Dalmatia, we’ll ride to Treskavica Mountain, at Sarajevo. Probably take about a month to get there.”

“Wonderful, Sarge. We look forward to meeting you and your soldiers.”

“All right. Save your battery. We’ll call in on the radio with updates about once a week.”

“Roger. Soyuz out.”

Chapter Three

The Seventh Fleet sailed from the mouth of the Tiber, in Rome, on a sunny September morning in the year 215 BCE.

With a fresh westerly wind, the rowers had time for arms training on deck.

Obolus, riding on the deck of one of the Roman Fives, was not happy to be at sea again. But with Liada and Tin Tin paying him lots of attention and feeding him food bricks and tree branches, he soon calmed down.

The two huge Five ships and twelve smaller Threes made a grand sight as they sailed into the Tyrrhenian Sea.

Soon, they would turn south toward the Strait of Messina, separating Sicily from mainland Italy.

If the good weather held and no pirates or renegade Roman ships barred the way, they’d round the toe and heel of Italy, cross the Adriatic, and land on the coast of Dalnatia, to be known as Croatia in the distance future. That part of the voyage would take about ten days.

There they would leave half the rowers, a thousand men, to guard the ships and supplies. The men would be happy to do this duty, since they were earning a gold “7” each for every day of their service, to be paid upon their return to Rome.

Twenty-seven horses were stabled below deck on the smaller ships, along with cows, chickens, pigs, goats, and donkeys. The donkeys would be used as pack animals for the trek from Dalnatia to Treskavica Mountain, where the three astronauts came down. The other animals would be butchered by the cooks to feed the crews and soldiers, except for the chickens that would be spared for their eggs.

The trebuchet, Little Boy, was tied down on the deck of the second Five, the Palatine.

With Obolus on the other Five, the loading and cocking of the machine would have to be done with manpower instead of using his tremendous strength to load the weapon.

* * * * *

After passing through the Strait of Messina and rounding the “toe” of Italy, the Seventh Fleet anchored off what would someday be the village of Spropolo, on the coast of the Ionian Sea. There they spent two days cutting firewood for the cook stoves. The area was uninhabited, except for a few wild goats.

While the ships were at anchor, Liada and Apache wrote messages for Hannibal, describing their current location, how the journey had progressed so far, and their plans to set sail toward the northeast and into the Adriatic Sea.

As they were reading over the notes, a loud thump came from one of the other ships.

The two women looked toward the Roman Five, where the sound seemed to come from.

“That is Obolus,” Liada said.

“Is he mad about being on the ship?” Apache asked.

“Maybe, but this is his way of talking to other elephants.”

“What is he saying?

“It is just ‘Hello. Anyone there?” Liada said.

“Ah, I see. He won’t get an answer from this place. Just a bunch of goats, and they’re not talking to anybody.”

Two pigeons, a mated pair, were removed from their coop, and special leather cylinders with the messages inside were attached to their legs. The second message was a copy of the first one in case one of the birds didn’t make it home.

When they were released, the gray and white birds circled once above the ship, then turned toward the north, heading for Hannibal’s headquarters in Rome. There they would return to the loft on the roof where they had hatched months before. Their natural homing instinct would get them there in about two days.

The one-way door in the loft would allow them to enter, but not leave. The two boys who were assigned to care for the flock checked every morning and evening for newcomers that might have messages attached to their legs. If any were found, the messages were taken immediately to Hannibal.

After the two birds left on their mission, thirty-eight pigeons remained in the coop, awaiting their turns to participate in this primitive method of one-way communication.

* * * * *

“Well, Hotshot,” Apache said. “If you can’t get a date on this voyage, you might as well give up.”

The Apache, aka Autumn Eaglemoon, stood with Kady at the rail of Aventine, the second of the two big “Five” ships.

“Right,” Kady said. “Two thousand unwashed men. Gag me now.”

“You could pick a nice one and tip him over the side for a bath.”

“And if he can’t swim?”

“You dive in with a bar of soap and save his life.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“Hey, Boss,” Cowboy said over the comm in his helmet, from the other Roman quinquereme “Five” ship, the Palatine.

“Yeah, Kawalski,” Sarge said.

“Check out that sail on the northeast horizon.”

“Who has the binocs?” Sarge asked.

“I bring now,” Cateri said on the comm. All of the Seventh’s soldiers, plus their partners, had helmets with the communications system.

She ran barefoot along the tilting deck from amidships, where she had been helping Apache trim the sail.

She looked up at Sarge with a grin when she handed him the binoculars.

He winked at her, then took the glasses.

Sarge tilted his helmet up, and with the binocs to his eyes, he adjusted the focus ring. “Karina,” he said on the comm. “I need a ship ID.”

“Be there in two,” Karina replied.

She hurried to the bow with her iPad.

Sarge took the computer as she took the glasses.

Binocular view of unknown vessel

“Hmm,” Karina said. “blue and white striped sail, rudder on the port side of the boat. Looks to be about ten meters long. Approximately twenty-five kilometers away.”

She traded Sarge the glasses for her iPad.

Sarge watched the boat sail toward them as Karina flipped through pictures of ancient Mediterranean shipping.

“Here it is, Sarge,” she said. “It’s a Greek fishing boat.”

“Yeah, looks like two people on board.”

“Hey, Sparks,” Cowboy said on the comm.

“Hey,” Sparks said.

“Liada’s helmet comm is dead. You have any fresh batteries?”

“Yes, we just charged a batch yesterday with the solar panels. Anyone else on your boat need some?”

“Send six, then we’ll have spares.”

“Copy. Coming by airmail in ten.”

* * * * *

When Sparks got the stern, Jai Li already had the Dragonfly ready to go, with its small cargo net holding six quarter-sized NiCad batteries.

She held the controller out to him.

He smiled and nodded to her.

“Really, Sparky? You to allow Jai Li pilot Dragonfly?”

Private Yao Jai Li, Seventh Cavalry

Born into a wealthy family near Zhongguancun, sometimes called China’s Silicon Valley, in Beijing, Yao Jai Li was twenty-two years old.

Zhongguancun was built over an ancient graveyard where rulers of the Qing Dynasty buried their eunuchs. There were said to be thousands of unmarked graves in the area before it was bulldozed for construction of the new tech campuses.

Upon graduating from Peking University, Jai Li joined the Communist Party and enlisted in the People’s Liberation Army. Planning to spend two years in learning the ways of the military, she would then continue her education, studying to become a software engineer. And perhaps, one day, work at Zhongguancun.

After basic training, she was assigned to the Air Force Airborne Corps in the Peoples Liberation Army.

Showing an eagerness for rigorous physical training and aptitude for leadership, she rose quickly through the ranks to Kong Jun Zhong Shi, Staff Sergeant, in just two years.

Just before her discharge from the army, she was sent on a training mission over Yunnan Provence. Her unit was preparing to bail out of their Xian Y-20 transport aircraft when it was hit by the same global disaster that destroyed the Seventh Cavalry’s plane.

The polar shift not only wiped out every man-made structure on Earth and all the aircraft flying below two thousand meters, the powerful forces also shifted time backward by two thousand years.

With the Earth instantly rotating fifteen degrees, Jai Li’s plane was torn apart over the Adriatic Sea. She, along with the other twenty-three paratroopers, bailed out, popped their chutes, and drifted down toward the azure-blue waters. For a time, she could see some of her platoon as they descended, but the wind scattered them many kilometers apart.

She hit the water, released her parachute, and was dragged under by the weight of her backpack and gear. She let go of her rifle and shucked off her pack and ammo belt, but still she sank toward the bottom of the sea.

Struggling to hold her breath, she untied her boots, pulled them off, and stroked upward with all her strength.

She broke the surface, gasping for air. Feeling her water-soaked uniform pulling her down, she unzipped it and pushed it off, down her legs and over her feet, leaving her in just a tee shirt and briefs.

Riding up on the two-meter waves, she scanned the horizon but saw nothing. No debris, no parachutes, none of her fellow soldiers—and most frightening of all, not a hint of land in any direction.

She treaded water, trying to think of what to do.

The water wasn’t freezing, but it was below seventy degrees. Cold enough that she would eventually suffer hypothermia.

There was nothing she could do but conserve her energy and try to stay afloat.

Drifting all that day and through the night, she was astonished the next morning to see the tide had carried her to within sight of a rocky promontory jutting into the Adriatic from the coast of Italy.

She didn’t know it at the time that she was in the Adriatic Sea or that she was seeing the beautiful hills of Italy. She really didn’t care about any of that. All she knew was, she was near dry land.

Stroking toward the beach, she used the last of her energy to swim through the surf and wade out onto the sandy beach. She fell and crawled to the high tide mark, where she collapsed into exhausted sleep.

It seemed only a moment had passed before she was prodded awake by someone poking her with a sharp stick.

She sat up, shading her eyes against the strong afternoon sun to see two women staring down at her.

They wore long tunics made of a coarse fabric woven with thick strands of gray and black. They carried leather buckets filled with clams.

Jai Li was overjoyed at being rescued, and she tried to communicate her thankfulness to the woman.

But they, upon hearing a foreign language, grabbed her roughly by the arms, hauling her to her feet.

They tied her hands behind her back, then looped another rope around her neck.

Punching her with the stick and holding the rope tight, they marched her back to their village, where she was turned over to the headman.

The man looked her over, and apparently repulsed by her Oriental features, he slapped the side of her head, sending her stumbling.

She tried to explain what had happened to her, and that she was exhausted and hungry, but the headman only motioned for the two women to take her away.

They shoved her into a low shed and bolted the door.

Around sundown, they brought her a bowl of thin broth.

The women didn’t bother to untie her. They only spat out a few invectives, left her in the dark, and locked the door.

With her hands tightly bound behind her back, she was forced to kneel in the dirt and eat her meager meal like a dog.

The foul soup was cold and not at all tasty, but she slurped it up and licked the bowl clean.

With her first sustenance in forty-eight hours in her stomach, she dropped to the dirt, rolled to her side and fell asleep.

When the door creaked open, bright sunlight blinded her for a moment.

She was pulled outside by a pair of rough hands. There she was closely inspected by a fat, dark man in a long caftan.

After looking her over, he mumbled a few words to the headman, gave him some coins, and motioned for the rough-handed man to take her away.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward a four-wheeled wagon, where she was shoved inside the cage-like vehicle with three other people, one woman and two men, all with their hands and feet bound in chains.

From the small fishing village, the fat man in the caftan, whom his men called “Kyros,” led his train of fifty wagons toward what she believed to be the west.

Six of the wagons were filled with captives, while the rest were empty, presumably to hold new prisoners to be picked up along the way.

At sundown, they stopped for Kyros and his men to cook a meal and get some rest.

A guard removed the chains from Jai Li’s wrists, gave her a poncho-like garment, which she gladly pulled over her head and slipped her arms through the two openings in the sides.

The man placed manacles on her wrists, in the front of her body this time.

The prisoners were given water, but no food.

They traveled for three days along a rocky track winding its way through low hills covered in juniper, green alder, and rhododendron.

With little food or water, they were weak and dejected when they came into a large camp of soldiers.

Jai Li watched the warriors passing by her wagon. In her weakened state of mind, she paid little attention except to notice they were armed with primitive weapons. Iron swords, bows, and spears were the most common. Many of the men had round shields swung to their backs.

In fact, everything seemed ancient: the crude wagons with solid wooden wheels pulled by pairs of oxen; the shapeless tunics worn by men and women; the small shelters that seemed to have been little more than collections of sticks, brush, and mud.

During the night, it began to rain. With no covering over the wagon, Jai Li was soon soaked to the skin. Wet, cold, and hungry, she felt closer to death than life.

The next morning, they were given water and a few crusts of bread.

Around midmorning, Jai Li was astounded to see a squad of soldiers—army soldiers wearing modern camo uniforms. But these were not Chinese men and women. She knew by their clothing and military insignia they were American.

She struggled to her feet and tried to draw their attention. Knowing no English, she tried to communicate by sign language, but they ignored her and turned to leave, except for one of the female soldiers who gave her a curious look.

Jai Li tapped her shoulder where she would normally have three strips. She pantomimed pulling a necklace from her collar with dog tags attached, then pointed to the woman’s collar.

The female soldier said something to her fellow soldiers, calling them back to the wagon. A short discussion followed, then the woman tugged at her camo uniform and pointed to Jai Li as she raised her shoulders in a questioning gesture.

Jai Li nodded, then began to cry, feeling relief that she might finally be saved from her terrible ordeal. However, after the American soldiers had a discussion, apparently about her, then seeing Kyros the slave trader coming their way, they turned to leave.

The woman soldier smiled and made signs they would return, but why were they leaving? Why would they not get her out of her imprisonment?

Dropping back to the floor of the wagon, she felt more lost and alone than before.

She was given a clay bowl of soup, but her starvation had driven her past the point of hunger. She no longer cared if she lived or died. She pushed the bowl to the man at her side.

The next morning, she was awakened from a fitful sleep by a woman’s voice. It was the female soldier from the day before!

She spoke softly and made signs of encouragement.

When Kyros came toward them, one of the soldiers—a high-ranking sergeant Jai Li knew by his strips—stopped the slave-trader and pointed to one of the men in the wagon.

It seemed the soldiers wanted to purchase the man.

A young woman with the soldiers was apparently acting as translator.

After some haggling, the sergeant shook his head and turned as if to walk away. But then he turned back, pointed to Jai Li, and asked a question.

Kyros squinted at Jai Li, came closer to the bars of the wagon, and stared at her for a moment. He said something to the sergeant.

The soldier took a coin from his pocket and offered it to Kyros.

The fat man took the coin and held it close. He blinked and squinted, but apparently his eyesight was so poor, he couldn’t make it out.

A younger soldier—a man of about Jai Li’s age, twenty-two—took something from his jacket pocket and offered it to the slave trader.

Kyros took the object, which Jai Li saw was a magnifying glass, but he shrugged, not knowing what to do with it.

The young solder, whom Jai Li heard the others call “Sparks,” took the glass and coin, then held them so Kyros could see the coin through the magnifying glass.

Kyros’s eyes widened at the sight. The small coin was enlarged, so the nearsighted man could easily make it out. He laughed, then slapped the young soldier on the back.

The soldier said something and held his hand out for the magnifying glass.

Kyros seemed reluctant to let it go.

The translator repeated something the soldier said.

The slave trader handed over the glass.

The soldier knelt, scooped some dry leaves together, then after glancing at the sun’s position in the sky, held the glass, focusing the sun’s rays on the leaves. Soon a wisp of smoke appeared, then the leaves burst into flames.

Kyros was astounded. He laboriously got to his knees and took the glass, apparently wanting to do the magic himself.

It took several tries, but he finally got the hang of it.

After the soldier helped Kyros stand, the fat man pointed to the soldier and asked the sergeant a question.

When he heard the translation, the sergeant laughed and shook his head.

Jai Li almost laughed herself, realizing the slave trader wanted to buy the young soldier.

Kyros held up the magnifying glass and spoke to the sergeant through the translator.

The sergeant apparently agreed and reached to shake Kyros’s hand. Kyros then returned the coin and kept the magnifying glass.

Kyros said something to his guard and gestured toward Jai Li.

She wasn’t sure what was happening when the guard climbed into the wagon and yanked her to her feet.

Seeing the rough treatment of her, the woman soldier yelled at the guard.

The guard looked surprised and glanced at his boss.

Kyros nodded to him, then the guard removed Jai Li’s wrist manacles and pulled her toward the back of the wagon.

The female soldier yelled at him again.

The dumbfounded guard looked at Kyros, who pointed to Jai Li’s ankle chains.

The guard knelt to remove the chains.

Jai Li, rubbing her sore wrists, realized the sergeant had purchased her freedom with a magnifying glass.

She stepped to the edge of the wagon and, weakened by malnutrition and the excitement of being set free, collapsed and fell into the woman soldier’s arms.

Chapter Four

“Sure, you can pilot the Dragonfly,” Sparks said. “Just watch the wind.”

“All right.” Jai Li studied the waves for a moment. “Wind now come from southwest, ten knots.” She glanced at Sparks, raising her eyebrows. “I fly low to water and tilt little bit left?”

Sparks nodded, then stepped away from the drone aircraft. “Incoming, Cowboy,” he said on the comm.

“He’s spotted us,” Sarge said Karina as they stood on the bow of their ship. “Two guys…no, three guys on deck, shading their eyes.”

He watched the boat coming toward them.

“The men are hurrying to change the set of the sail,” Sarge said. “Turning away toward the east.”

“‘Cause we look pretty scary, huh?” Karina said.

“Yeah.” Sarge lowered the glasses but kept his eyes on the boat. “Probably that.”

The Seventh Fleet sailed north, up the Adriatic Sea, keeping the eastern shore in sight but staying away from rocks and shoals.

When the seasonal Lebic wind blowing strongly out of the southwest died away at mid-afternoon, the rowers were set to work.