The Fall of Britain

The Fall of Britain
Brandon Aaron



“Dr. Walker, come quickly,” the familiar voice called from outside the trailer. Walker didn’t reply, carefully finishing the sentence he was writing before he stood. The voice belonged to Guy Mathews, one of his senior students at the site, and held an uncharacteristic urgency about it. There were four students working the dig, some 5 miles out of Dover, overlooking the beaches at Deal. The day was rather clear and the white cliffs could be seen to the south of them. This area contained artifacts from the Roman invasions of Britain, Walker’s area of expertise as a historian. So far they had recovered some fine arrow points and pottery, but no weapons or pieces of armor as they’d hoped. The budget was in a mess, funding was cut for his research, and they would be leaving soon. Walker was busy documenting his findings, getting ready for the next semester, and trying to figure out how to get more money to return next spring.
The students watched him as he approached the site. He was dressed in his usual attire of khaki trousers and a white oxford with the cuffs turned up. He was a tall, tan man, fit for his fifty-plus years. “What have you got, Guy,” he asked as he climbed a ladder down to area 9-H.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t know what to tell you, Dr. Walker. We were digging around the rockier areas here, and we just unearthed it. It looks like the mouth of a cannon of some sort.”
“A cannon here?” Walker said. He stooped to look at the object the students were gathered around. He looked for a minute, ran his fingers over it, and then stood.
“I’ll be damned,” he said. “Phone the Dean at once. Tell him I need and investigator or something like that from the Army out here, and I need them now. He’ll know what you’re talking about.”
“What is it, Dr. Walker?” someone said.
Walker bit his lip. “A tank. I think it’s a tank.”



The woodsman had been watching the man on the black horse ever since he crossed the Stour River. Word was sent ahead of his arrival, so he would be expected. As the rider passed by his post, the woodsman studied the man’s clothes and gear. One could tell he was an outsider by his saddle and the way he rode. A great brown cloak covered him, concealing his features. Everyone in the village knew this man on sight now, but few had spoken to him. Everything about him seemed a mystery, and tales of his magic devices had spread as far as Grenemore. The people called him Elswane, the Devil of the Woods.
The cloaked man rode through the woods to the hill fort, navigating the manmade ditches and earthwork bunkers, towards the entrance. Most of the people he passed avoided him as he drew near, but he was used to that by now. A bearded man he knew as Deeston met him near the gates. “Welcome back to Bigbury, my lord,” he said, and bowed once. “We have news for you from Gaul. The Chief awaits you in his quarters.”
The man dismounted and followed Deeston though the gates. An old lady looked to him with suspicion, and he smiled at her. He emulated their dress and mannerisms to a degree, but intentionally kept some of his outsider ways. His Celtic was getting better too, although they still had trouble with some of his words. He knew they feared him, thought of him as a wizard of some sorts, and enjoyed the way they acted in his presence. That being said, he knew he was in safe company here. “Among my people,” he thought.
Deeston brought him to the clay and sod hut of the tribal chief, Cassivellaunus. The Chief's large hunting wolfhound lay by the door. Inside he found the chief sitting at a fire, facing them as they entered. The chief greeted him, and dismissed Deeston. MacLean pulled back his hood, revealing his shoulder length black hair, and a well-groomed beard. Breaking the tradition of offering food to a weary traveler before discussions, Cassivellaunus sat MacLean down and started talking. “It is as you have said, Lord MacLean. The Romans have amassed ships and soldiers at the point you call Portus Itius. They will be coming soon.”
“Yes,” MacLean said. “We must act soon, then. Prepare the soldiers for battle. I will need two wagons to carry the supplies to the coast.”
“With your weaponry, the Romans will be defeated, and Britain will remain ours. We will unite the tribes of Britain, and rule them all from Bigbury.”
“Yes, my friend, everything is as planned. Remember, to succeed we must capture the Roman commander. He must not be allowed to escape the island.”
“The man they call Caesar. He shall be yours, my Lord.”



Thomas Walker sat in the back seat of the Land Rover alone. The two men sitting in the front didn’t speak much. The driver told him they had orders to retrieve him to help with an investigation. Within an hour of leaving Dover, they arrived at a farmhouse in the country. It was an older home, rock and wood, and from the long drive it looked abandoned. Walker noted the name on the mailbox: MacLean. They parked in the back of the house, alongside several sedans with government plates.
Inside the home, Walker was told to wait in the living room area until he was called. The driver waited with him. Walker scanned the titles in the bookcase, noting that two of the books were ones he had written. He looked about the room at the photos and knick-knacks, and tried to place the owner. One of the faces was very familiar to him. Walker picked the closest picture up. “So, is this the guy that took your tank?” he asked the driver. “Harrison MacLean?”
The driver looked at him, squinted a bit, and nodded. “They should be ready for you in a minute, sir.”
It was only a moment later that Walker was escorted back. On their way they passed through what was once the dining room. Now, it looked like a movie set of some kind. People in uniforms and suits, dry-erase boards with writing and lines all over them, and portable computers filled the room. Walker was led through this maze back to the house’s den. He was introduced to only two of the five people there, Lead Intelligence Officer Montgomery and Sergeant William Travers.
“Thank you both for joining us,” Montgomery said. “Time is of the essence, so I shall make short of it. Three months ago an English Army tank was stolen, along with munitions, from a reserve depot some 40 kilometers from here. Within the week a fuel tanker of diesel was taken. The drivers of both trucks are still missing. We have been following the case very closely, as you can imagine. We traced everything to this farm, belonging to the family of one Harrison MacLean. The only problem we had was finding where it went from here. After following it this far, it seemed we lost the trail. The tank, munitions, and tractor-trailer hauling it all vanished into thin air. We kept Mr. MacLean under close watch, but it seems he too disappeared. We were at our wits end until we received a call from one of your colleagues.”
“The missing tank we unearthed.”
“Indeed. It seems Mr. MacLean has grand plans for those weapons,” Montgomery said.
“And exactly what are his plans?” Walker asked.
Sergeant Travers leaned forward and spoke. “He wants to change history, mate. It looks like MacLean found himself a portal.”
Walker had heard conflicting stories from the media concerning the portals and their creation. The portals were attributed to everything from an earthquake, to a shift in the Earth’s orbit, to the erosion of space-time fabric. The most persistent rumor was that of a Russian scientist named Demetrov, stationed in St. Petersburg. He led a team of scientists working on new materials to power long-range naval submarines. Somehow he managed to create the largest man made explosion in Russian history, obliterating the eastern half of the city. This was when the portals were first documented, so they were initially attributed to this explosion. Although there is no evidence linking the two occurrences, the story stuck. Thus we have the Demetrov Portals; tunnels through time, tunnels to our past.
Walker had read the letter sent to all universities for historians, geologists, and archeologists to report any anomalies they found, but never put much thought into it. Several countries, working through NATO, set up a committee to locate and monitor the Demetrov Portals. Over the past two years, all of the portals discovered had been blocked and heavily guarded. Every time the committee had announced that the last one was located, another would be found. The portal on the MacLean farm was the third found in England alone. Through an old friend that left teaching for a government post, Walker had closely followed the various studies and reports written about the portals.
“Where does this portal go?” Walker asked.
Montgomery answered, “MacLean left a very detailed journal on his journeys through the portal. According to the notes he left, the time there is 55 BC. An interesting fellow, this Harrison MacLean. Educated at Oxford, by all accounts he is a quiet, moody, brilliant man. When his parents died, he failed his classes and was expelled for his behavior. Isn’t that right, Dr. Walker?”
“Yes,” Walker said. “Harry was my brightest student, and I spent much time as his mentor. A voracious reader, his knowledge of history surpassed even mine, and I was very disappointed when he walked away from his studies. He stopped all communication soon after that.”
“I see,” Montgomery said. “This land has been in his family for hundreds of years, and it seems he retired here after his parents passed away. We don’t know how long he has known about the portal. From his journals we know he made several trips through the portal, and communicated extensively with the tribes there. They are his allies now. Therein lies the start of our troubles.”
“55 BC. Then Caesar is coming soon,” Walker said. “MacLean is going to help them fight the Romans.”
“His plans go deeper than that, I’m afraid. He plans on fighting the Romans and winning. He wants to capture Caesar.”
Walker looks at the date on his watch. “The first wave of Roman ships arrive at Deal in three days, on August 26. We don’t have much time.”
“Sergeant Travers will be taking his team into the portal tomorrow at 5:00 am. We have just a few hours today for you to brief them on what they should expect in there. I need you to tell them everything you know about these tribes of people and the Roman attack on Deal.”
“That would be impossible, sir. There’s too much to know. There’s just not enough time to cover it all. It’s too involved.”
“I understand, Dr. Walker, but this is all the time we have. These men have a mission to accomplish, and you are the expert on everything they will encounter, and you know the man we’re after. You must try.”
“There isn’t enough time to show them what I know. I have spent my life studying these ancient peoples and their culture. Don’t you understand, you ask too much?”
“Then I ask you to accompany them on this journey. You will help them on the way. Your expertise may be of assistance with the locals, and with MacLean.”
Walker looked at Montgomery, and then at Sergeant Travers, who was staring at him. It was the first time he had looked closely at Travers, and noticed several small scars on the soldier’s face and neck. That, along with those penetrating blue eyes, made Walker uncomfortable. Even in a shirt and tie this man looked dangerous. It was obvious Montgomery wanted him on this trip. It was planned to take him before they brought him here. “I will help your mission,” he said. “I will go.”
“Every man on my team follows my lead,” Travers said. “There is no other way except my way. Do you understand, Doctor?”
Walker felt his heart sinking in his chest. The idea of visiting the people he spent so many years of his life studying both excited and terrified him. Thinking of the effect MacLean must be having on the people he encountered, and how history could hinge on one man, Walker knew this was the only way.
“We must stop MacLean at all costs,” Walker said. “He must not be allowed to succeed. If Julius Caesar doesn’t cross the Rubicon and take the throne, then Pompey will rule Rome unchallenged, and a Dark Age will descend upon the Empire.”


Torches lit the way as Caius Volusenus walked the main path through the camp. Arriving at the largest shelter, a permanent structure of wood and hides, he stopped briefly for the guards to acknowledge him. Inside he found Caesar's aid, Commius the Altrebatian, and Lieutenant Titus Labienus talking to the General. They were looking over maps, and rose as he entered. “Hail, Caesar.”
Caesar was dressed in a formal robe, holding a goblet that undoubtedly contained wine, and offered his hand to Volusenus. “Volusenus, what word do you bring on our campaign into Britannia?” Caesar said.
“I have much to report. My findings confirm what we have heard from the various merchants trading with the Britons. It seems they are agreeable. I spoke with ambassadors from several states on the island, and they promise that they will give hostages, and submit to the government of the Roman people.”
“And what have you heard of the pearls?”
“Nothing, Lord Caesar. Only the same stories told by merchants trading in the area. I have yet to see any pearls of great size. There are considerable amounts of tin deposits and copper mines.”
“If not pearls then certainly slaves and minerals,” Caesar said. “We must furnish suitable materials for our upcoming triumphs. That is all, Volusenus. Leave us now.”
“Yes my Lord,” Volusenus said as he made his exit.
Caesar had hoped the rumors were true of the pearls. The merchants spoke of pearls as large as your hand, and in great quantities. It was no secret that Caesar loved to collect gems, sculptures, and art. The primary reason he had offered to lead the Gallic war was to increase his wealth and strengthen his army.
“Lieutenant Labienus, we will leave in three days with two legions, and eighteen ships of cavalry,” Caesar said. “What of the Britons’ system of war? Any word on how numerous their nations may be?”
“No new information yet, General. I have seen no evidence of any advanced military there. This should be similar to our campaign against the Atrebates of the north.”
“Very good,” said Caesar. “We shall see for ourselves soon enough.”


William Travers had devoted his life to the safety and security of his country. For seven years he had been a sergeant in the Special Forces team appropriately called the Wolf Pack. Travers was a strong believer in three things in life- his family, his faith, and his ability to protect and enforce them in the name of the Crown.
As his men slept outside in tents, Travers was in the dining room studying maps and reading notes from the intelligence reports. The Wolf Pack had experience with another portal in England some two years earlier. They were in charge of basic reconnaissance mission; in and out to insure the safety of the locals. It was a pretty straightforward job, and he felt confident that this one would be too. He looked up when he heard someone entering the room, and saw that was Dr. Walker. “You should be sleeping. We have a long trek ahead of us.”
Walker sat at the table. “I was hoping to find you up. There is something we should talk about before we enter the portal.”
“Alright then, what do we have to talk about, Dr. Walker?”
“As I said earlier today, the peoples of ancient Britain are very superstitious, and their culture is one of balance and repetition. I don’t think they would take well to us, since we would be seen as foreigners, and we should do everything necessary to keep them from discovering our presence.”
Travers leaned back in his chair. “So.”
Walker expected this reaction, but found he had a hard time looking Travers in the eyes when he spoke. “So we must do everything possible to limit our impact on this society and culture. Precautions must be taken to keep these people’s daily lives and rituals intact, and avoid contact with them at all costs.”
“No.”
“What do mean, no?”
“I mean what I said. I have been given a mission, Dr. Walker. I am to go in there with my men and take MacLean out. I am to destroy the tank and detonate all munitions, and bring my men back, and I have less than a week to do this. I can’t help it if some dirt farmer from 2000 years ago sees us marching through. I don’t have the liberty of taking my sweet time and being discreet. If you haven’t noticed, there is nothing discreet about me or my team, sir.”
“These are no dirt farmers, Sergeant. These men are warriors. They are dangerous and will see us as a threat to them, which we are.”
“That’s right, Dr. Walker, we are threat. A threat to any man that gets in our way, including you. If that’s all, good Doctor, I think our conversation is over.”
With that, Travers stood, and walked outside to smoke. The last thing he needed was some college bloke telling him how to run his mission. “He’s only one man,” Travers thought. “One man should be no problem for 12 trained soldiers.”
Travers looked at the stars, thankful for a clear night, and listened to the faint and distant hum of the portal, wishing Walker would stay behind.


The two men had arrived the night before and set up watch near the road. The camp was far enough into the forest to conceal them and their horses, but allowed a view of anyone or anything traveling the road. They took turns on watch, allowing the other to rest. The first night went rather uneventful, only one person passed, an old man from a neighboring village hunting small game.
The older man was on watch, standing at a large tree and nibbling on a piece of fatback pork. The younger man, Royce, sat leaning against the tree. He tried to ignore the younger man, who wasn’t thrilled about being there.
“I wanted to go fight he Romans with the others. We will miss everything by being out here sitting on our hands. Don’t you wish we were going to the fight, Damon?”
“No, I don’t. I do what they ask of me, and I don’t question it.”
“What about the wizard? He traveled this road on his giant rolling beast. My father and brother saw it. They said the beast is loud and breathes a foul smoke. It drinks an awful amber colored liquid. The wizard rides in his belly.”
The older man didn’t answer him. Royce had been going on like this since yesterday, and Damon was sick of it. “Isn’t there something else you could talk about besides missing the fight or some rolling beast? We were sent here for a reason, now mind yourself and leave me be. This road here is like a scar across the forest floor. Even the animals stay clear of it. I don’t like being here either, but we must keep our wits about us. We may see action yet.”
“All we’ll see out here is beggars, thieves, and..”
But the old man cut him short, covering his mouth with a quick hand. “Shut up, you fool. Someone’s coming indeed. Quickly, draw your bow.”
Both men stood on guard, weapons drawn, waiting, as the sound grew closer. It was very faint, the sound of someone walking. A man came into view, and by the dress and looks of him, they immediately knew he was the foe they were waiting for.
“Steady, lad, and make it count,” Damon whispered as Royce drew the arrow back. Royce aimed, looking down the body of the arrow with his right eye, and focusing on his target. He ignored the sweat as it ran down and collected on his brow. It was his first time to draw on a man, and he felt excited just thinking of it. He thought briefly of his father and brother, how they would congratulate him on his first kill, before returning his concentration to the task at hand. As the man stepped closer he paused for a moment, and looked at them hiding in the brush, just as the boy let fly the arrow.


“Okay, everyone gather round,” Travers said. “That goes for you too, Dr. Walker. Jansen, get with everyone and do a final gear check, including weapons. Coordinate watches and walkies. Make sure the fine doctor isn’t packing any contraband in his purse,” he said, and the men snickered. Walker said nothing.
After Jansen had checked everyone’s gear, they loaded up in the transport and road through the back pasture to the portal. As they approached the opening, the humming grew louder, and there was static in the air. The truck pulled to a stop, and the men unloaded. They lined up behind Jansen, and started their entry. Travers stood by as each man went into the portal. Walker was the last man in line, and as he passed by, Travers stuck his hand out and put a finger to his chest. “You mind yourself in there, doctor. You may not agree with some things we do, and that’s your right, but you don’t go telling anyone about it when we get back. This is my mission, and what happens in there is my business. If you go telling things you shouldn’t, then I am going to make you my business. Do we understand each other?”
Walker grabbed the Sergeant’s wrist and moved his hand. “Let’s get a few things straight. I am going with you and your men to help, not to hinder. I am here to study these people and make sure you don’t mess with something that isn’t your business. I believe in your mission, sir, and MacLean must be stopped. But I’ll not have you running wild in there.”
“If I wanted to run wild, I would fly a fucking chopper in there. That would shake things up a bit, wouldn’t it? You just stay close to us, doctor. We’ll get this MacLean fellow, and come back in one piece. That is all that matters. Now, let’s get going. We have a long day ahead, and your hunters will be waiting for us.” And with that, they entered the portal.
The humming inside the portal so intense, it made some of the men nauseous. It wasn’t a far walk, only a few steps, but it felt like minutes passed as worked your way to the other side. When he got there, Walker immediately went to his knees, breathing hard. After a moment his head cleared, and he looked up.
“Sit down if you need to,” Travers said. “Its always hell the first time through.”
Travers stepped down from the portal mouth and went to his men. On the ground were several deep tracks in the mud, leading to the fuel tanker and flatbed trailer, some 60 meters away. Travers pointed to two men, whistled, and pointed at the trucks. With guns drawn, the men worked their way down the trail. They went around each truck and trailer, and called back on the walkie-talkie. “All clear, sir. The bodies of the drivers are in the trucks. Looks like they were executed after getting this far. No signs of life here.”
Travers moved his team to the trucks. There he knocked on the tanker and said, “Empty. This thing was full of diesel when it was stolen. Look at the tracks. They are narrow, like a cart or trailer. The fuel was pumped and taken from here.”
“What about these markings, Sarge?” Jansen said. He pointed to some paintings on the side of the tanker, and on the ground near there. Wooden stakes, with cloth and feathers wrapped around the top, were planted in rows of two around the area. Travers looked at Walker, who studied the markings a moment.
“It’s a warning telling us to stay away. There is great danger for those who follow these tracks.”
Travers looked around, and called his men close. “I’ve got a warning of my own for anyone that gives us trouble. We are the danger here. Okay, Jansen, find us on the map, and get our bearings. We need to make some time. I want Williams and Birdsong on point; Peters will go ahead of us, but stay under 2 clicks and report what he sees. Valdez, you’re stuck with the doctor. Everyone knows what we’re here for, so lets get to it.”
Peters shouldered his rifle, and started down the road ahead of everyone. The men gathered around Travers, in a loose formation, with Williams and Birdsong off to each side from them. Walker walked silently alongside Valdez as they followed the road into the dark and ancient forest.


One could tell by the direct way the road followed the river, skirting in and out of glades and patches of sun, that the route was well planned beforehand. They passed a few discarded containers along the way that previously held fuel. “They must have refueled as they went,” Walker said. “Looks like men on foot and cart came first, felling the trees, and the tank followed. These tracks are from unshod horses.”
“Keep an eye out, boys,” Travers said. “We don’t want to step in shit from an unshod horse, do we?”
The forest was alive with the sound of birds and squirrels and the river. The woods were thick with ferns and large, aged trees. This was an immense stand of virgin timber; untouched by man, save for the ribbon of sunlight that marked the road. The ground was soft and loamy, except on the path where the tank tracks packed it hard.
“Echo one, this is echo two, do you read me?” Valdez said into his walkie. “He doesn’t answer. Sergeant, Peters may be out of range.”


Peters walked along the path, studying the scenery, and trying to see ahead of him in the dim light. The canopy of trees let little light shine through, save for patches over the road. He checked in every fifteen minutes with Valdez, but so far there was nothing to report. Twice he saw deer crossing the path, but they ran when he got closer. The road veered in and out of the sight of the river, between the larger trees, and though groves of ferns.
As Peters climbed over a fallen log, he stepped on a small limb that cracked, and startled a nearby squirrel. He cursed under his breath, and held still for a moment, waiting for the upset squirrel to stop chattering. He listened before he started walking again, this time watching the ground closely for dry limbs and sticks. Peters was so preoccupied that he didn’t see the two men watching him from a nearby tree until he was almost upon them. He looked up at them and barely registered their presence before the arrow pierced his throat.


MacLean stood on a hillside looking down a gentle slope to the beach. He was tired, and knew he needed to rest, but too much was needed to prepare for the battle. Cassivellaunus had supplied him with two-dozen laborers, and they worked well, but MacLean needed more to complete his plans in time.
Deeston was still in Bigbury, finishing wooden cages for the Roman prisoners they hoped to capture. After their completion, he was supposed to join MacLean, but so far there had been no word of him. “Bloody useless,” MacLean thought to himself. “I’ll have his hide if he isn’t here soon.” A cart with more diesel fuel arrived, and the men with it looked at him for directions, but dared not speak. He told them to put it with the other supplies, and get another. “It’s like a broken record with these people sometimes,” he thought. MacLean walked to a shaded area where the tank was waiting, and ran his hand down its side. “I definitely have my work cut out for me turning this island into a civilized society. But history will be made here. Finish this battle quickly and ransom Caesar to the Romans, then unite the tribes here. Once everyone is under my command, we will grow an army and conquer Europe. The Roman Empire will fail under Pompey, and we will be the center of the civilized world. There will build a new Britain, larger and more glorious than ever imagined.”


“What of this wizard,” Deeston said. “Shall I kill him when I get to the beach?”
Cassivellaunus looked into the fire, and scratched his wolfhound’s head. The dog stretched out, and almost covered the distance from him to Deeston. Cassivellaunus had put much thought into this decision, and he was troubled by it. MacLean was a strange man, an outsider, but he brought much to their table with his knowledge. “I do not think we should kill him. Instead, bring him here and cage him with the rest. He will still be of value after the battle. But you are right, my old friend, he is too dangerous to be loose among us.”
“I will take him by surprise, and march him here with the others.”
“No, let him ride back with you and the captives. We will take him here, within Bigbury. That will insure a successful capture. No one has ever escaped these walls.”
“And what of Caesar and the others?”
“They are of no consequence. Bring them if you can, but if they give you any trouble, kill them.”
“Yes my Lord. I will leave you now, and head to the beach with MacLean. A spy came back just moments ago and said he is still preparing for the battle. We will make quick work of the Romans, and then MacLean himself.”


Birdsong was the first to reach the body. He knelt down, closed the young mans eyes, and called to the rest of them. The arrow had pierced the throat, coming out the other side with a bloody chunk of flesh attached. Peters was dead. Birdsong moved his rifle from semi to automatic, and looked around, but saw no one. When the rest of the Wolf Pack arrived, Travers immediately assessed the situation. “Troops, secure the area. Be alert and stay in contact. Jansen, check his gear and make sure nothing is missing. Walker, stay by me. Do a standard sweep and meet here in twenty five minutes.”
The men fanned out and started their search. It wasn’t long before Travers and Walker discovered the assassin’s campsite. “There are two of them,” Walker said, and he examined the area.
“How do you figure, Walker?”
“The tracks, there were two horses. There isn’t much in the way of droppings, so they weren’t here long. The coals are still warm in the fire. They are close”
“Looks like the shooter was here,” Travers said, as he stood by a tree. “They waited here for someone to come down the road. They would be concealed here, and have a good view of the road. Peters never had a chance.”
“If they’re on horseback, then they’ve taken the road. We may be able to catch them.”
“No. We must stay on the task at hand. With luck we will find these assassins on the way and deal with them. But I don’t have the time or men to track them down. What good will it do to kill these men now? When we slip back through that portal, they are dead anyway.”
“But they are very much alive now, and dangerous. They are on their way back now to report that we have been sighted, and others will surely be coming for us.”
“And we will be expecting them. The road follows the river, and this is the fastest path to the beach. But it isn’t safe for us, so we must find another route.”
“And Peters’ body? What do we do with it?”
“We leave it. We will get it on the way back, and figure out how to get him home. Now lets find the others.”
“I want a gun,” Walker said. “I can shoot. I can’t take Peters’ place, but I know how to shoot.”
“Against my better judgment, you can have Peters’ pistol and radio. Don’t make me regret giving it to you,” Travers said.
They hid Peters in the underbrush, and placed a marker on a tree. Jansen consulted the maps, and a new route was chosen. It would take them across a ridge overlooking the river, and cost them precious time. But it was the only choice. The Wolf Pack headed into the forest, grieving for their fallen comrade, and ready for revenge.


Caesar planned to personally command the troops for the campaign on Britain, with the assistance of Lieutenant Titus Labienus and Commius the Altrebatian. They were crossing the channel with two legions; close to 10,000 soldiers. The transport ships were designed for war, and had additional protective coverings to shield the crew from fire and missiles. Long banks of oars and distinctive square sails propelled the ships swiftly through the water.
At the coastline of Portus Itius, soldiers were being counted and outfitted for the journey. The ships were being inspected and prepared. Caesar dined with several of his top men, and discussed the upcoming campaign. He was dressed in a shirt dyed purple, the most desired and rare of colors, made from the crushed shells of sea snail. Jewelry adorned his wrists and fingers. His hair was combed forward to hide the receding hairline he loathed. He looked at his men with dark brown eyes and said, “Tomorrow, we sail to Britain. I have been informed that the tribes intend to offer us slaves, and accept our rule and protection. I do not expect anything but the smallest uprising. We will be back here within weeks.”
“Caesar,” Titus said. “Have you considered bringing more supplies, in case the campaign turns into a full blown battle.”
“I think not. We will make short work of these wild men, and be rewarded handsomely for it. There is nothing to trouble us there, save for a few renegades. We leave early, so lets drink tonight. A toast, to the mighty Roman Empire, and to the fall of Britain.”


Following the ridge through the forest proved to be physically exhausting for the troops. The route took them above the river, higher up than the road. It was slower going than planned, and they were soon behind schedule. Walker, being twice the age of most of the men, was weary. He tried not to show it, and kept pace with the troop. He was thankful when they finally stopped for a much needed break.
“What do you think about these portals,” Valdez asked Walker.
“I think they are dangerous, and shouldn’t be tampered with. It’s the most frightening thing I have faced in my life.” The troops could tell he meant it.
“Why do you think they are here?”
“I don’t know,” Walker said. “ Maybe they are here for a reason, a purpose. I would hate to think they had no purpose. I just don’t know what it could be.”
As the sun sank low, they saw smoke from a distant fire, and decided to investigate. Travers discussed a plan of action with his men, telling Walker to stay back and out of the way when they got near the camp. The camp was not far from the road, among a grove of trees. As they crept near, careful not to make a sound, they saw that it was three Britons. They were chattering about, cooking meat, and seemed to be unconcerned with being discovered. Each man had weapons nearby, a sword, bow, or ax. The men of the Wolf Pack were trained for situations like this, so without a word they fanned out in the brush and surrounded the Britons. The biggest concern was spooking the horses or stepping on a dry branch and alerting them. Walker stayed outside the ring of light, his hand gripping the pistol. He watched in amazement as Travers, quick as a cat, slipped up on one of the men, grabbed him from behind, and had a knife to his neck before anyone could move. The others ran out just as the other two Britons were starting to stand, and took them the same way.
“Sarge, there’s four horses,” Williams said. It was then a man appeared, quickly jumped on one of the horses, and took off. He was gone before anyone could react.
“Jansen, after him,” Travers said. Jansen climbed another horse, a chestnut mare, and lit out after the man.
“Walker,” Travers shouted. “Get in here and translate. Tell them I want to know who their leader is. Ask them about MacLean.”
Walker did as asked, and found he spoke less Celtic than he thought. The men looked at him dumbfounded when he mentioned MacLean, but when he spoke of an outsider, and the machines, there was an immediate change on their faces. They started speaking to each other so fast Walker couldn’t follow.
“What the hell did they say, Walker?”
“It’s hard to make out some of the words, but they are scared. They are talking about a devil from the woods. I think they mean MacLean. They wont say anything else though.”
“Ask them where MacLean is now,” Travers said. “Ask them why they are here.”
Walker did, and got no answer. “It’s no use. They are too scared to talk.”
“I don’t have time to play footsies with these ingrates,” he said. With that, he slit the man’s neck clean, and pushed him to the side. He brought his blade up and gutted another man, slicing him from gut to ribs, and turned to the remaining Briton. “Ask him again, Walker. He’ll talk or more blood will spill.”
Walker watched him wave the bloody knife in front of the man, sickened by what he had just seen. He asked the man again, and got no answer. “He says the devil in the woods will do much worse if he tells you anything.”
“Fine,” Travers said, and kicked the man in the face with his heavy boot. The force sent him back into Birdsong, who pushed him forward into the knife that was awaiting him. He gurgled once and it was over.
“You’re insane,” Walker said. “What are you doing?” Just then they heard a gunshot in the distance.
“Now is not the time, Doctor. War is not pretty. Lets keep going; we still have to make camp. Move out, men. Try to reach Williams on the radio.” And with that, they left the campsite, and the unlucky Britons, and entered the woods again.


Jansen was a farm boy, a Geordie boy, and a damn good soldier. He took to the horse immediately, although he was perplexed at first by the lack of stirrups. He thought of his own horse when he was a boy, and how his Grandfather scolded him for racing around the farm. The other rider was on the road, and moving fast. Jansen lost his beret to a branch that scratched his face, but leaned in low and worked the horse. It wasn’t long before he saw the rider, and started gaining on him. The road was rough, and he was almost scared to let go with his right hand to undo his holster and get his pistol. He was close enough to hear the man now. He was shouting something, another language, but it sounded like a warning. “There must be more of them nearby,” Jansen thought. “This must end now.”
Jansen pulled his pistol and shot in one swift move. He hit the man’s horse in the neck, and the animal went down hard, throwing the man. Jansen’s horse reared back as he stopped, and he almost fell. He saw the man trying to get up, and ran him down. He leapt off his horse, flying through the air, and crashed down tackling the man. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, and after a slight struggle, felt him pass out and go limp. “Jansen here, I’ve got him,” he said, answering into the radio. “I think he was calling for help, so be prepared for company.”
“Terminate him and get back here now,” was the reply.
Jansen thought he heard hooves beating the ground, coming his way. He snapped the man’s neck, breaking it clean, and dropped the body. He gathered his horse, mounted, and raced back to the campsite.


Jansen rode hard and fast. The hooves he heard were charioteers, and they were closing in fast. He dared not look behind him, focusing instead on the road ahead, which was becoming increasingly harder to see. The moonlight barely pierced the canopy of trees, and he found himself riding into the shadows on night.
Travers and the men were staked out near the road, waiting for the approaching riders. Everyone had weapons drawn, and were ready for the fight. “Be wary of friendly fire,” Travers told them.
Jansen knew he was close to the campsite, and the Wolf Pack. An arrow flew by his ear, and he glanced around for a look. Two horses pulled the chariot, driven by one man with another behind him shooting the arrows. They were getting close, and Jansen knew it was a matter of minutes before they overtook him. “Where the hell are you guys,” he said as he leaned in close and reached for his radio.
“I’m being followed. I am in front, and nearing the campsite,” the radio crackled. They could hear the approaching riders, and ventured to the edge of the road. Jansen rode by on his horse, and they opened fire on the charioteers behind him. The men screamed as the bullets hit them, and fell out of the slowing chariot.
“Check them,” Travers said. “I hear more coming. Positions, everyone.”
It was dark now, and hard to see exactly what was happening. Walker stood back among the tree line, and tried to watch for the Britons. He sensed someone behind him, turned, but could not see anyone. Then he felt them step close to him. “Valdez?” he said. He felt a hand grab him, a sharp blow to the head, and slipped unconscious.


When he heard of the death of an outsider on the new road, Deeston stationed men around the perimeter of the villages to patrol the road. MacLean said they couldn’t spare any men, but Deeston felt differently. The last thing they needed were more men like MacLean coming in. He sent four chariots and around 30 men on foot. All were armed and ready to defend their family against the outsiders. When they heard riders approaching, and screams for help, they ran to assist. Upon finding the body and a dead horse, they took chase up the road. The charioteers were first, but the others weren’t far behind. They heard loud pops and screams in the night, and readied for battle.


Arrows flew from the shadows, and Britons weilding swords and clubs raced out of the shadows to fight. Wood, leather, and steel clashed as the warriors fought. The Wolf Pack found they were divided in the darkness, with limited opportunities to shoot in such close quarters. Williams swung his rifle like a club and smashed a man in the face, only to be struck in the back with a club from another. He dropped to his knees, the rifle falling to the ground. He pulled a long knife from a holster as he rolled left, and stabbed the man as he was about to deal another blow. The second cut from the knife finished the man, and Williams was on his feet again.
Jansen slowed his horse to a trot, and turned around. The animal was winded from the sprint, and couldn’t be pushed any more. Jansen turned it loose and headed to the fight on foot, where the sound of screams and clanging metal pierced the night. The first thing he saw was Birdsong holding off two Britons, and he decided to join in. He struck the first man across the head with the butt of his pistol, and Birdsong moved in on the other. The man turned to Jansen, taking his eyes off Birdsong, who ran a bayonet through him.
Travers was on one knee, pistol in his right hand, bracing with his left, and taking carefully placed shots into the dark. So far he had hit four Britons, and was aiming at the fifth, when a large man grabbed him from behind. The barbarian picked him straight up and slung him into a tree. Travers hit hard, losing his breath, and fell to the ground. Before he could make a move, the man grabbed him up again, squeezing him with his bear-like arms. Travers was helpless, his feet dangling as the man choked him with his whole body. His pistol was somewhere on the ground, and he couldn’t reach his knife. “If I don’t do something now, I will pass out and this man will kill me,” he thought. He reared back and rammed the man’s nose with the back of his head, and felt the arms slip a little. He did it again and dropped to the ground. His knife came out fast and cut deep near the man’s groin.. Travers fell on the man, trying to catch his breath and holding his broken ribs. The man was finished when Travers connected his blade to throat. He rolled over, located his gun, and started leaned against a tree for balance. He shot three more Britons from there.
The Britons did not fare well against the Outsiders. Some twenty plus men lay dead, only three of those were from the Wolf Pack. Travers wasn’t the only man hurt, Jansen and Williams both took hard blows from clubs, and Birdsong had a deep cut from a short sword. The three fallen men were struck by arrows. Travers gathered his men, did a head count, and helped them hide the three bodies. “I don’t know if we can get them back,” he said. “It is dangerous to stay here. Let us seek higher ground.”


Walker woke with a headache. It was still dark, and moon glow cast little light to see by. He sat up and touched his head, feeling a knot under the dried blood. He was afraid to call out, so he stood and looked around. He saw shapes lying in and around the road, and knew they were bodies. He checked his pocket for the pistol and took it out. Walker crept along the side of the road, hoping to find some trace of his group. He found no one. “They left me here,” he thought. “They didn’t find me, and had to move on.” Walker didn’t know how long he had been out, but knew he had to find the others. He dared not leave sight of the road. He had no map, and following the river on the road was the only way he would get to the coast. He head pounded as he headed down the forest road.


As dawn broke, Caesar and his troops were sailing to Britain in the transport ships. Catching the tide just right, they headed toward the chalky white cliffs of Dover, intent on intimidating the islanders on the reputation of the mighty Roman Empire alone. Expecting little or no resistance, and prepared for another conquest, Caesar stood on deck and looked across the sea. “We will dock in Britain tomorrow,” he said. “I can feel their fear from here.”


“Deeston, you fool, I needed you here yesterday,” MacLean said. “Did you prepare the cages for the prisoners?”
“Yes, my Lord. One of them is apart from the others, and reinforced. It is for our special prisoner,” he said.
“Good. What news have you from your spies? Any reports of Romans or outsiders?”

“No one has been spotted,” he said. “There have been no Outsiders or Romans seen in these parts. If there was anything out of the ordinary, my men would know it and report in.” Deeston took great pleasure in this lie. He saw no reason to tell MacLean any more than necessary.
“We have a dozen men trained in firearms here, including you. I will be piloting the tank. You will be responsible for the men with pistols, making sure they are on their marks. There must be no interference in the plan from your regular army. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Deeston said. “It is as you wish.”


“We lost Walker, and are down to eight men,” Travers thought. “Most of us are bruised and bettered, and bone weary from our journey. These Britons are a tougher breed than I thought.”
Travers and the rest of the men ate a cold meal in silence. They had a long trek ahead of them if they wanted to reach the shoreline before nightfall.
“Jansen, at the rate we are going, what are our chances of getting back on schedule?”
Jansen had been studying his maps for some time, and said, “I don’t think we can. The terrain doesn’t get much better. The forest ends soon, and we will be walking in the open anyway. I think we should chance the road.”
Travers grunted, and said, “Yes. We know the road leads to the tank, and MacLean will be with it. If we take the road, we must be prepared for another skirmish at any time. They will certainly be waiting for us now.
“I know this isn’t the mission we were expecting, but we still have a duty to complete it. We lost Walker, and he was our key to communicating with these people. Does anyone here speak any Latin, or any other languages besides English?”
“I speak some Greek,” one man said. It was the electronics specialist, Alex Bakchos. “I’m a little out of practice, but I remember some.”
“That may be what we need. Start working with some of the words in your mind.
Let’s head to the road and make up some time. I want all guns locked and loaded. Move out.”


Walker woke at dawn. He had walked as far as he could before his legs gave out, and he had to rest under some ferns. Twice during his walk he had to hide from passing riders, but managed to escape detection. When he woke, his head was still pounding, so he went to the river to wash off the blood. He squatted at the waters edge and leaned forward. As he washed his face, he felt a burning pain from his right arm, and realized he had been struck. Looking up he saw an arrow buried in his triceps, and the man that shot it coming for him.
Walker was almost blinded by the pain he felt. Every step sent a new jolt to his brain. He was taken prisoner by this man, Osgard, and forced to march with him. Osgard did not search him, so Walker still had his pistol tucked in the waistband of his trousers. He would use it if needed, but planned on going with the man to the fort. Walker tried talking with the man, but he wouldn’t say much. Walker did as he was told and walked before the man’s horse, hoping he would make it as far as the fort, and that MacLean would be the one waiting on him there.


The day was eventful for everyone. The Wolf Pack traveled on or near the road, making up precious time, and stopped only when they could smell salt in the air. MacLean and Deeston worked all day with the Britons, insuring their attack would be successful. The Roman transports battled the waves, and kept rowing toward the island. Walker was taken to Bigbury and jailed in a cage. A guard was posted there to watch him, and Osgard went to the sea to join the others. As night fell, everyone anxiously awaited the next day’s events.


Morning found the Roman ships just off the coast of Dover. The upper banks of those chalky cliffs were lined with British warriors prepared for battle. Lt. Labienus assessed the situation, and met with Caesar.
“I feel we should land elsewhere. The conditions are not the best here, and there is a large force atop the cliffs. We cannot win fighting uphill.”
“They resist us,” Caesar said. “How interesting. Sail north and look for another landing spot. Preferably one without an army awaiting us. After we land send out troops to round up these renegade warriors. I want to meet with the British leaders by evening.”
Turning the ships north, they rowed until they found a flat, pebbly shore to land. There were no signs of Britons, and Caesar gave the command to dock.


“A message from our men on the cliffs. The Romans have been spotted there. They dared not land, and are heading this way,” Deeston said to MacLean and Cassivellaunus.
“Good. Prepare the men,” MacLean said. “ Everyone should be concealed. If they see us, they may not land here either. I will be waiting near the tank. This is it, Lord Cassivellaunus. By nightfall, you will see the beginnings of a new history.”


Travers could see the tank beyond the field of warriors through the binoculars. He searched the faces of the men standing near it for MacLean, but could not place him. He handed them back to Jansen, and told him to look for the man. The Britons had gathered a large force to fight the Romans, including warriors in chariots. The situation didn’t look good; it would be hard to get through that many men to the tank, and to MacLean. “Get Valdez and Birdsong up here,” he said.
Valdez was the explosives expert, and claimed to have blown up about everything on earth at least twice. He was looking forward to destroying the tank. “What do you have, Sarge?”
“You knew coming in to this there was a tank to blow up. You said that wasn’t a problem. It is my job to get you close enough to do it. That looks like it may impossible at this moment. There are hundreds of men between the tank and us. We need to get you in there and blow it up before MacLean uses it. I am sending Birdsong with you, and the rest of us are going to create a diversion so you guys can get in there. They are going to rush the beach when the Romans land. We need to have you as close to that tank as possible when that happens.”
“Not a problem Sarge,” Valdez said. “Lets do it.”


The Roman ships approached the shore. The ships were large, and sat low in the water. They had to keep out of the shallows, and this left a good stretch of water to cross. The Britons rushed down the slopes to the waters edge with cavalry and charioteers, followed by foot soldiers, to prevent the Romans from landing.
The Roman soldiers, sword and shield in hand, leapt from the ships into the water. There they fought waves and the advancing Britons, and found great difficulty in both.
“To the shore,” Caesar shouted. “We must get to the shore at once.”


Cassivellaunus watched on horseback from the hill as his troops took the beach. They entered the water while the Romans were still in the ships, and waited. When the Romans hit the water, they were weighted down with armor and weapons, and couldn’t stand in the waves. He watched his men start the attack and hold them at bay. He rode back to Deeston, who was waiting with the second force. They were waiting for the Romans to get on the beach before they attacked.
“Things are going well,” Deeston said. “We may hold them off at the water with our own men. Perhaps MacLean was wrong about this battle. I have a good feeling about it.”
“I think you speak to soon. The Romans outnumber us ten to one. We can only hold them at water’s edge momentarily. Before long they will be marching up this hill. Where is MacLean with that tank?”


Valdez and Birdsong worked their way through the woods surrounding the field. It wasn’t long before the majority of the warriors gathered together and ran down the hill, leaving a much smaller force there. They got close to the tank, but couldn’t get to it unseen. Birdsong radioed back to Travers, “We’re in position.”
Travers and his team went the opposite way from the others. They also circled the field, staying within the tree line, and avoided detection. After getting the call from Birdsong on the radio, they began the plan to distract the remaining warriors. The nearest group of men was about twenty meters away. The six men of Wolf Pack checked their rifles and pistols, and got into position. Travers counted from three with his fingers, then they bolted out of the woods and opened fire. British warriors fell to the ground, and the men ran back into the woods. The other warriors turned to see their comrades fall, and ran towards them. Again the men opened fire and dropped the closest targets, causing the rest to retreat.

MacLean let the tank idle for a few minutes while the battle took place. He engaged the clutch and worked the gearbox. The tank lumbered along the hillside, and stopped at the crest, where MacLean put it in park. He checked the gauges, and saw that everything was good. The turret moved as MacLean aimed at the mass of Roman ships. It was the moment he had been waiting for.


“It’s moving,” Birdsong said. “It’s going to be right out in the open.”
They were amazed at how well the Sergeant’s distraction had worked. Men scattered and ran to the far side of the clearing, leaving the tank totally unguarded. Before they could approach it, it started moving across the hill, and stopped at the edge of the slope. They would have to cross a good distance without cover now.


“Cease fire,” Travers said. The air was eerily still after the shooting stopped. Bodies lay in piles everywhere. Dozens of British warriors remained hiding on the ground behind rocks bodies. The men reloaded their guns, and waited.
“If you see a head poke out from those rocks, shoot it. We are pulling back in five minutes.”
A man started to stand and Williams picked him off with one shot. Then a sound shattered the air from across the field, and everyone instinctively ducked.
“The tank,” Jansen said. “It’s firing shells. What the hell is taking them so long?”


“I wonder what happens now,” MacLean said as he pulled the switch. The tank shook as the shell launched. “Let the games begin.”


Valdez and Birdsong ran across the corner of the field, and reached the back of the tank without being seen. When it fired, they dropped to the ground, and could feel the recoil. “We have to do this now,” Valdez said, opening his pack.
The sound rocked the air, and Deeston and a few of his men stopped to look at the tank. When they did, they spotted Valdez and Birdsong behind it. Deeston and three others rode towards them.
“We’ve got company,” Birdsong said. “I’ll hold them off, you get the explosives together. Hurry.”
Birdsong crouched low near the tread, and fired at the approaching riders. He missed, but kept them at bay. They rode back and around, taking another approach.
Valdez finally had the timer set, and slid under between the treads. He set the load and crawled out. “Move,” he said.


“What the hell is that?” Titus said, as the tank crept over the hill. The Romans were on the beach, and driving back the Britons. Once they reached land, the warriors were no match in hand-to-hand combat with the soldiers. The Romans formed a wedge, protecting their flanks, and separated the Britons. The tenth infantry was the first to arrive on shore, and led the attack.
The shell hit the nearest transport, splintering it, and sinking it within minutes.
“Focus on the ground troops,” Caesar said.. “Stay with the fight. Pay no mind to that device. Forward, men.”


The men of Wolf Pack ran as hard as they could. They knew it wouldn’t be long before the barbarians came for them. Their only plan was to get around the field and find MacLean. When they heard a second explosion, they stopped and looked. Smoke rose from the tank, and it was finished. Travers said, “Radio and let them know we are coming. Tell them to look for MacLean.”


MacLean felt the tank shake from the explosion, and nearly tip over. He climbed out the top and saw smoke everywhere. The C02 bomb had blown the treads off, and damaged much of the underside. The barrel was unharmed. MacLean went back in and locked the hatch. He loaded the turret, and fired again. “I don’t need to move as long as I can still shoot,” he said. The shell rocked the tank, which was now unstable in the loose dirt, and went flying to the beach and hitting water. He grabbed another shell, and began to reload.


Walker looked around to make sure no one was watching, and took out the pistol. He hid it under some straw in his cell. Walker took his belt off, folded it twice, and bit down hard on it. He took a deep breath and pulled the arrow from his arm. The pain shot through his body and he muffled his screams. He fought through the pain fearing he would pass out and bleed to death. He tore fabric from his sleeve, wrapped the wound, and tied his belt around it. He pulled the belt tight. For the first time in days, Walker slept.


Valdez and Birdsong met up with Travers and the others as the second shell was fired from the tank. “Dammit to hell,” Travers said. “ You didn’t disable it.”
Valdez said, “It’s immobilized, sir. I thought the blast would take it out completely, but the cannon is still functioning. That was the biggest chunk I had.”
Travers took off his hat, and rubbed his stubble. “How much is left?”
Valdez opened his pack and took out a small lump of clay. “Just this. It’s not enough to blow the tank.”
“Give me the job. Set the timer for two minutes. I will put it in the barrel myself, and blow the bastard that way.”
The men looked at Travers and Valdez. Jansen started to say something, but Travers stopped him. “You are in charge here, Jansen. If I don’t make it back, get the hell out of here. Forget MacLean. He is nothing without the tank. I’m going to need some cover, so load your guns. Short bursts; save the ammo.”
Travers took off his belt and gear. He handed Jansen his dog tags, and took the explosive. The men watched as Travers tucked his pistol in his waistband, and started running towards the tank.


“General, they are retreating to the hills,” Titus said. “Shall we give chase?”
“No, let them flee, Caesar said. “We shall hear from their leaders soon enough. Until our cavalry arrives, we cannot stray to far from here. Keep the forces together; our strength is in numbers. Now that we have an encampment on land, resistance is futile. They will want a truce before long.”


The timer was set and counting down as Travers made his way across the field. Men on horseback spotted him and gave chase. He was relying on his men to cover him, so he continued to run. Bullets rang out as they shot towards the approaching riders. The men reined in and circled wide to the front of the tank, avoiding the bullets. Travers made the tank with seconds to spare. He rolled onto the deck, climbed the barrel, and placed the explosive inside. He jumped down and started to run back. The top of the tank opened, and MacLean came out with a gun drawn. He fired at Travers, hitting him in the leg. Travers went down, and MacLean took aim for a second shot. The bomb exploded out of the barrel, throwing MacLean through the air. The tank was finished.
Travers tried to stand but couldn’t move; his thigh was shattered. The horsemen arrived; swords dawn, surrounding him. “Kill him,” MacLean said from the ground near the tank. “Kill him now.”
Hearing the voice, Travers looked over and recognized the face as MacLean’s. He pulled his pistol and aimed, intent on ending the mission. Before he could fire, Deeston knocked Travers on the head with the hilt of his sword. “He shall live,” he said. “Take him prisoner.”

The Wolf Pack watched in horror as Travers went down. British warriors came over the hill by the hundreds, running from the Roman forces on the beachhead. “We have to help him,” Williams said. “We have to do something here, Jansen.”
“No, we cant. There are seven of us and hundreds of them. We’d be killed. Besides, you heard the Sarge; we need to move on now. It’s not safe to be here.”
“Move on nothing,” Valdez said. “We’ve got to get the Sarge back. They’re going to kill him.”
“No. I’m in charge here, and we need to seek safer ground. That’s an order, Valdez.”
The men headed back, deeper in the woods, and camped on bluff overlooking the action. They took turns watching Travers through the binoculars, while everyone slept.


The British messenger brought word to the Romans that ambassadors would like to meet with them. They wanted a truce, and would agree to send slaves. They wanted to meet with Caesar himself. The Romans agreed, and prepared for the meeting. Twelve dignitaries representing various tribes on the island came down the hill. There were no soldiers with them, which was a sign of their willingness to have a peaceful meeting. Caesar, Lieutenant Titus Labienus and Commius of the Altrebatian awaited the twelve ambassadors with several of the Guard.
The men approached on foot. When they reached the Romans, the tallest man pulled his hood back and spoke to them in perfect Latin, “Greetings, General Caesar. I have been waiting for this moment all my life.” He then pulled a pistol from his pants and shot three men standing near Caesar. The other ambassadors pulled pistols from under their cloaks, and did the same. In a matter of seconds, there were only three Romans left standing in the room. “Call for help and you die. There is a change of plans, General. You will be coming with us. You are now a captive of the Britons, and your life hangs in a delicate balance. Do as you are told, and you will live.”
“What other choice have I?” Caesar said.
“None,” MacLean said. He turned to the man on Caesar’s right. “You must be Commius. You send word to Rome we want no war. We will return Caesar in due time. There will be a ransom, of course. I want all Romans off this island by daybreak, or Caesar dies. Understood?”
They looked at Caesar, helpless, and waited. Caesar laughed heartily, and said, “Very well. You heard the man, leave the island. Every ship is to be off these shores. If I am your captive, then we should go now.”
“Very good sir,” MacLean said. “We leave at once.”
“This isn’t over,” Titus said.


Jansen watched through his binoculars, as Travers was loaded into a cart. A dozen men guarded him, and hundreds more were within shouting distance. Before long, a group of men approached the cart leading another prisoner. He was placed next to Travers. The cart and many horsemen headed down the road and out of Jansen’s sight.


“I need twenty men,” Titus said. He was removing his armor bindings, letting it fall piece by piece as he walked. “Twenty men, and a small vessel docked some three miles north of here.”
“You heard them,” Commius said. “We must leave here at once, all of us. They will surely kill General Caesar if they find you here.”
“He is dead no matter what. Our only chance is to try to follow them to where he is being jailed, and rescue him. Tell me there will be a vessel waiting for us.”
“Yes, but I don’t agree with this, Titus. I hope you are successful, for Caesars and your sake.”


The Wolf Pack was following at some distance. The group of warriors moved down the road for several miles before changing course and taking an alternate path through the forest. Being on foot, it was hard for them to stay in visual contact with the small force, so they ended up following tracks to the forest path. It was there they met with the Romans.
About twenty Romans were coming down the road on foot. Birdsong was on point, and saw them first. Once they were recognized, Jansen decided it would be best to make contact with them.
“It looks like they have the same idea we do,” Jansen said. “They are coming after the captured Roman. The last thing we need is to have them attack us. Bakchos, you and Birdsong make contact. We will be right behind you for backup. If someone there speaks Greek, tell them we want to free the captives.”


The Romans were making quick time up the road. They had shields out and swords drawn, and looked ready for action. The men approached them with arms raised, showing empty hands. Bakchos was calling out in Greek for friends. The Romans halted, and circled the two men. “Truce,” Bakchos said. “We are friends.”
One man stepped forward, and gave his name. He spoke some words in Greek to them, and Bakchus replied. After a few minutes conversing, Birdsong and Bakchus dropped their hands. “It is ok,” Bakchus said. “They are willing to work with us. The man that was taken was their general.”


Walker woke when the other men were brought in. They were put in separate cells near his. One of them was William Travers, and the other was a stranger, but he knew him on sight. “Caesar,” he said. He waited for the guards to lock the cages, and spoke to them. “Travers, are you alright?”
“Walker, is that you? I’ve been shot in the leg. I thing the bullet went clean through. How did you get here?”
“It’s a long story,” he said. Walker looked at the Roman general sitting cross-legged in the adjoining cell. He called out to him in Latin. “Julius Caesar, my name is Thomas Walker. We are friends.”
Caesar didn’t move, only answering, “You are no friend unless you can get me to my ship.”
“We shall try, General.”
“What’s the story with this place,” Travers said. “How is the security?”
“I don’t know anything about that. I passed out soon after arriving. I took an arrow in the arm, and it was all I had to get it out. I do have a surprise for you though.”
“What surprise?”
“I have my pistol. They didn’t search me when I was brought in.”
“Now that is a surprise. There is hope yet.”


Cassivellaunus was waiting patiently when Deeston brought MacLean in. “Good of you to join me. Sit my friends, and eat. I hear the battle went as planned.”
“Yes, my lord,” Deeston said. “We have the Roman General, and the army has left the island. Causalities were slight. I say we were quite victorious.”
MacLean ate heartily. He was famished after his days away. “I agree. We did lose the tank to some outsiders. They came here looking for it, and me. Since it was destroyed, they wont be back. I will question the one we captured.”
“That wont be necessary,” Cassivellaunus said. “There will be no interrogations. The prisoners will be executed at dawn.”
“No,” MacLean said. “We must find out what plans they have for us. They can tell us if more troops are coming.”
“There will be no troops coming if there is nothing for them to come for. The tank is destroyed, and soon so shall you be. Guards, take him away.”
Men rushed in and grabbed MacLean. He put up a struggle, but could not break their grip. Deeston accompanied them as they placed him in the cell.
“This is the reinforced cage for our special prisoner. You thought I meant Caesar, but I was thinking of you. Lord MacLean. You’ll likely be executed with the others in the morning. Enjoy your stay.”


Jansen studied the fort through the binoculars. It was a huge place, taking advantage of the natural surroundings. It was a hill fort, surrounded by trenches and trees. Guards were posted all over. Titus watched him with much curiosity until Jansen handed the Lieutenant the binoculars. He looked through them in amazement, and excitedly described what he saw to his men. They asked Bakchus what he would take in trade for them.
“We will wait for nightfall before going in. We must proceed with caution,” Jansen said.


“Give me the gun,” Travers said.
“I need to know what you plan on doing before I do that,” MacLean said.
“I can’t walk. There’s no way I am leaving here alive. If I cover you, maybe create enough of a diversion, then you can make it out. Walker, they’re going to kill us. They aren’t going to let us go. Take Caesar with you.”
Walker pushed the gun’s lock and threw it to Travers. Travers worked his way onto his knees, and then stood leaning against the cell. The guards were talking, and paid no attention. Travers reached through the bars and shot them both. Walker kicked the door to his cell and it crashed open. Caesar did the same.


When the shot rang out, the Wolf Pack and the Romans were in the middle of their own plan. They had skirted the guards, and came in from behind the fort. The men climbed the wall, and had spotted the captives. The plan was to attack the guards and free them, carrying them back to the wall where Birdsong would be waiting Hearing the shots and the excited yells that followed meant only one thing; now there was no plan. As British warriors by the dozens bolted out of huts and towards the cages, the Wolf Pack unloaded on them. Automatic rifles lit up the night, shell casing flying everywhere. The Romans made for the cages, only to find them empty, save for Travers. Titus ordered two of his men to carry Travers to the wall. Not far away was another cage, this one occupied by MacLean.
“Help me,” he said in Latin. “Help me and I will make you powerful. I will make you ruler of all Rome.”
Titus opened the cage, and let him out. He hit MacLean hard with the hilt of his short sword, and as he fell, cut his neck in two. MacLean made no sound as he hit the ground. Titus wiped the blood from his sword on MacLean’s back.
“I have a ruler. His name is Caesar.”


Walker and Caesar ran as fast as they could. When they heard the shots from the rifles, they ducked into an empty building that turned out to be a stable. Both men were breathing hard, and Caesar said, “Some friend you are. We are out, but not free. We must flee this place, and make our way to the coast.”
“That sound you hear is my people. They are here to free us, but they are terribly outnumbered. We must find them and help fight. We need to find them before we are discovered.”
Before they left the stable, they took a club and a charred piece of wood out of the fire for weapons. They came upon a man who was watching the action, and Caesar cracked his skull with the club. They followed the back of the lodges and worked their way up the wall to where their comrades were. Upon seeing them, Birdsong called the others on the radio.


Everyone seemed to arrive at the same time at the wall. The Romans rejoiced at the sight of their leader, and the Wolf Pack did the same when Travers was hoisted up. From the top of the wall, they had a definite advantage over the warriors below, picking them off with precise shots. Before long, the warriors retreated to the far side of the fort.
“We must go now,” Travers said. “I don’t know how I am going to make it back to the portal on this leg. I cannot walk.”
“We will get you a horse,” Walker said. “We need horses for everyone, and I know where they are. Caesar and I found them earlier. We can get there through a gate around the nearest corner.”
Bakchus told the Romans the plans to steal mounts for the escape and they agreed. Caesar was given a sword, and they departed, while several men covered them. It didn’t take long to secure horses for everyone. Travers was helped on his, and everyone readied themselves for a quick retreat.
“Tell them I am thankful for their help,” Jansen said. “We could not have done it without them.”
“They say the same,” Walker said.
Walker and Caesar locked hands. “I cannot thank you and your people enough,” Caesar said.
“I ask only one thing of you. In your writings of this campaign, mention none of this. I will never forget you, General. One day you shall defeat these warriors, and rule all of Rome.”


The men parted ways. Everyone rode hard and fast down the path, and separated at the road. It was late the next day when they arrived at the portal. They left the horses there, and walked through together. British Intelligence officers waited on the other side.
“Did you complete the mission? Is MacLean dead? Did you find the tank?”
No one spoke. Travers was resting on Bakchus’ shoulder and limping to the transport. “It’s done,” he said. “Half my men are dead, but it’s done.”
“Take me home,” Walker said. “I need some stitches and some good Scotch.”
“I’ve got a bottle in the truck,” Travers said. “Lets go home.”

Walker stood over area 9-H, looking at the barrel of the tank, a good meter of it now unearthed. He wondered if the military would come for it, or just cover it back up. He stood there for several minutes, in his familiar dress of brown trousers and white oxford shirt, only now the shirt sleeve was cut short for his injured arm. He walked down to the beach, across the dark sand and pebbles. He reached in his pocket with his left hand, and pulled out an arrowhead. It was from the arrow that struck him; he had untied it from the shaft and kept it. Walker studied the object, poured bronze from a forge somewhere across both water and time. He ran his fingers over the rub marks from the sharpening stone, and looked out across the water. Walker threw the arrowhead as far as he could, watching it skip three times, before sinking below the waves and into the darkness of the sea.




THE END