Chapter 15

January 10th, 1964

Fort Benning, Georgia

Dennis winced, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

Was he in a misty field or forest? It was hard to tell given what little visibility there was, the gray mist barely allowing him to see his own hands in front of his eyes. He wasn't sure where the light letting him see ahead of him was coming from, but he began probing around in the mist.

"Hello?" he called.

No reply.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, noting then that he did, in fact, have pockets. With a mental shrug, he walked onward. He began to notice structures around him as he walked, at first mere shadows in the fog but eventually gaining form.

They looked old but familiar.

He walked on, feeling the ground beneath him was a mess of gravel and dirt. He noticed then that they were shattered columns of some form, not dissimilar to Greek or Roman architecture. He did his best to ignore the feeling of dread they gave him, trying not to imagine sinister eyes watching him from just beyond his field of view, then hiding behind the broken columns when he turned in its direction.

Then he saw shattered tombstones.

The pattern they were set on implied many bodies had been buried here, to the point that it reminded him of the World War Two memorial in Normandy. But there were no crosses or Stars of David. He slowed his steps as he approached one of them, seeing it wasn’t particularly broken compared to the others. They were all made of a generic stone, most broken at the top, some simply reduced to rubble. He kneeled down after a moment’s thought to try and read its inscription.

He winced.

It was in that awful language the otherworldly Romans used. The writing made no sense to him, but it seemed so familiar...

He stood up, the suppressed feeling of dread rising up uncontrollably.

Then he heard her.

Off in the distance, a half-laughing, half-crying cackle was ringing through the ancient cemetery, reverberating off the columns and tombs and assaulting his hearing.

"Who's there?!" He demanded.

The maybe laughter maybe crying continued in the distance, quieting down ever so slightly.

He didn't move, suddenly remembering.

Oh… right… this again.

Dennis stayed in place, waiting for the dream to end.

The crying and laughing seemed to be combined into an almost indistinguishable cacophony that made it painful to listen to, but he knew he wouldn't find any answers no matter how much he searched.

He wasn't sure how long he remained there, waiting.

Certainly, longer than a minute.

Then-

"Help... me…"

Dennis felt his eyes shoot open, the voice still in his mind as he began to register where he was. He lifted his head from the desk, good old American English stared back at him as he noticed the book he had used as a pillow was still open to the page he had left off.

A black and white photograph of ancient Roman inscriptions on a decorated wall.

Outside birds were singing, and the first signs of the early morning sun were beginning to reveal themselves through the pane glass window, which undoubtedly meant one thing.

Another day...

“Sleep alright?” came the groggy question.

Dennis glanced at Sean, the young man on the floor, language book on his side as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Well enough.”

“Didn’t sound like it...”

Dennis didn't reply.

“Trouble at home or something?”

Dennis only kept his gaze out the window, seeing a bird land in one of the oak trees and vanish behind its almost barren branches. With a forced yawn, he snapped his fingers twice, turned back to Sean, and said “Don’t get distracted, Cawthorne. Latin for ‘family’ and ‘troubles’. Go.”

Sean groaned.

“It’s too early, man. Let’s get breakfast first.” placing the book aside and hopping off the bed, adjusting his white undershirt and dog tags.

“You get breakfast if you want. I’ll eat later.”

“Come on. You’re already looking kinda sickly.”

Dennis felt his eyes narrow, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

He could hear Sean smile as he added “Man can’t complete a mission on an empty stomach. Sure there’s something in the Bible about that. Come on.”

Dennis eyed the word Legatus a final time before letting out a groan, and saying “Alright, fine.”

He frowned as Sean gave him an almost triumphant look, as though accepting made Dennis the younger brother in some twisted dynamic. He kept the thoughts to himself.

As they walked down the halls, he noted the currently empty mailboxes for the dormitory. His mind briefly returned to the final part of his dream.

...Mom...

***

"Had fun last night?"

Dennis turned his attention from picking at his porridge to Andrew Reagan. The man had come up to him on the table and paused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just looks like you were up all night."

The 18-year-old huffed.

"Had a bad dream is all…" he said flatly, in a tone that essentially put the matter to rest.

"Oh, I’m sorry. What about?"

"Ah, nothing really- always happens to be me, alone, in a cemetery, someone laughing and crying kinda like... how a clown does, you know? Circus ones?"

The blonde-haired Green Beret raised an eyebrow.

"You scared of clowns?"

Dennis shook his head.

"Nah, man, I just don't get why I keep having the same damned dream every now and again."

Andrew Reagan only huffed.

"Could mean something. My pa was always talking about dreams having meanings."

"He a shrink?"

"Naw, fortune teller. Ma made him promise not to bring that stuff up when I was a kid, not that he listened to her."

Dennis only frowned.

Andrew said "Not that it matters. Maybe the training is getting to you. No offense, but you're one of the smallest guys here."

The “smallest guy there” didn't mean to glance around at the other guys in the mess hall when the other man finished speaking, but he couldn't help it. His eyes darted slightly to the guys around him, from one guy in the 52nd to another. Almost everyone else there looked like they’d hit their growth spurt sometime five years prior, even if they were mostly around the same age. He, on the other hand...

"I qualified." Dennis huffed the ever-effective mantra that silenced what doubters there were.

But Andrew wasn’t exactly a doubter.

"Yeah, for interpreting. And even taking into consideration our mission... I don’t know."

"Yeah, well… Army don't make mistakes… everyone will need a translator once we go through that portal." He said, stuffing the very mushy Army-grade porridge into his mouth to chew. Honestly, if this was how elite special forces behaved, then maybe it wasn’t as difficult to be one as he thought.

"True enough." Andrew sighed, and then glanced up, noticing something. He then said “Talk later”, got up, and left.

Dennis noted he hadn’t touched his food, and saw the man meet up with several other Green Berets, talking amongst each other.

His attention was then immediately drawn back to the table as someone quickly sat down. An older guy; hair well combed, mustache to grooming standards…

“Hey, James Hastings, Fifty-second, uh I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

Dennis eyed the man, but nodded slowly, the face appearing somewhat familiar. Hastings quickly dug into his own breakfast, neither speaking.

Hastings smiled.

Dennis said nothing.

After a moment, Hastings finally spoke up.

"I, uh... wonder why Kennedy hasn't up and sent any scouting parties. Across that portal I mean."

Dennis shrugged but seeing the man wanted a conversation, he replied.

"Something about waiting, security, stuff like that. Not like we got any hostages over there to rescue."

“True.”

“Tragically, if you ask me.”

“Tragically? I say it’s better. Now we can respond properly knowing that thing won’t close on us.”

"Still, even if that guy accidentally rescued-"

"Oswald."

"I don't care if his name was Harvey or Amelia, he was a commie that got martyred same as all the other Texans that day. And thanks to him we don't have an excuse to just barge in immediately!"

“Was he a communist?”

“He defected to the commies before coming back here with his Russian wife. Probably a spy.”

“Kind of heartless of you.”

“Just saying. The Army was an hour away. We could've rescued them, set up a perimeter, and waited, instead we're going to face… what, barricades, catapults, wizards… whatever monster women those people have…”

Hastings shrugged, not arguing the point further.

Then, with an odd smile, he said in a low whisper, "Uh... What do you think of them monster gals? I hear some are quite attractive."

A pause.

"Hastings, you some kind of pervert?" Dennis asked, eyes narrowing, some of the other men on the table glancing their way.

"Hey, come on, I'm just repeating what I heard. Guys said the wolf girl teaching here is cute, and... come on, you can't blame me for being a bit curious." The man said, raising his hands in an "I surrender" fashion, shaking his head as a stupefied smile manifested on his unshaven face.

Dennis huffed, saying "Yeah, well, all you should be curious about is what resistance we might have to stomp out.” Then, as if receiving an epiphany, Dennis mumbled "Huh… maybe that's why I keep having the same…"

Hastings said, "Actually, I wanted to ask just how different the other world is from what you've read."

"I think we both read the same newspapers."

"Yeah, but you have actual translations to study, right? Secret information and stuff? Come on, anything you can hint at?"

"No."

"Come on, I'm just curious about what we might encounter that’s... you know... friendly."

Dennis stood up and gruffly replied, "Stick to the newspapers."

List is way too long to discuss over chow even if I wanted to… God damned aliens…

Alpine Mountain Range

Atilla observed the barricades with a look of weariness.

Nothing had so much as peered through in the last two months, and the men appeared bored. The legates maintained discipline, their men maintaining their professional guard. Centurions marched in patrol, and wyvern riders circled the mountaintops in the distance. From his command post atop a hill, he watched as some mages gathered water from a small stream in the distance, the water flowing into their buckets on command. Near him, fire mages occasionally caused visible sparks of fire in the early morning hours as they began to prepare for breakfast.

Behind them, he could see the legions had prepared well over a dozen catapults and ballistae, all trained on the massive doorway from as far away a distance as they could attack and remain effective. He recalled seeing catapults rip a village of demi-humans to shreds as the large boulders destroyed the small wooden huts of the rebels.

If enemy men marched through, they would surely be crushed.

But if they were merely marching through the catapults and ballistae wouldn’t be entirely necessary. The heavy legions and their short swords would suffice. But the staffs that spat fire and death alongside metal carriages and their ability to launch hundreds of small metal arrows as a form of attack were a different story. Atilla wondered if catapults would work against this new foe at all. A heavy enough rock could disrupt an infantry charge if it hit right, but whatever these machinations were?

He sighed.

It was more important they be proactive in their approach and deny the enemy any opportunity to strike into their lands.

Thus, Atilla turned to his architects with a look of tired disappointment.

"Then it cannot be done?" he asked them.

"We can enhance some of the materials needed to reinforce it, but what you are asking for would take months to accomplish even with our manpower.”

The pieces of papyrus on the table in the command center showed a large coliseum that would have no exits or entrances, only spots for archers to attack the invaders from on high and little room for the invaders to move about. He already had the number's advantage, and the fact the Doorway was the only way for the enemy to arrive meant that they could only come through one direction and he could plan around that.

It was a decent chokepoint to focus all attacks on.

How much better would it be to fight them from the high ground in an area they couldn’t really move around in?

"Get to it. At least completely seal that entrance. The palisades barely held against that first attack and I doubt the bricks we’ve placed will add much…"

He muttered the last part, eyeing the reinforced barricade around the accursed doorway. A grey line of bricks added to the wooden palisade stood there now.

But would it be enough?

"Yes, but… General, given the lack of attacks..."

"What?"

"Well... The emperor... he would like you to attempt to gather some information on the enemy.”

“Excuse me?”

"He sent a scroll with instructions." Another voice interrupted.

Atilla turned to see a hooded figure that had materialized in the tent. It was shorter, scrawny almost. The hood covered them from head to toe, but it couldn’t hide the lion-like tail, nor the parchment it was holding in its hands.

Atilla huffed in annoyance.

“Oh, the Seljuk Tribe...” then, to his architects, "Thank you… Get to work." He ordered taking the piece of parchment.

“The Emperor wishes this or does your leader wish for it?”

Perhaps in good faith, perhaps to give him a false sense of security, the Seljuk agent removed her hood, revealing herself to be a woman.

Atilla ignored the cat-like ears and perturbed eyes as the beast said “It is merely the order I received.”

Atilla said nothing then, instead reading the letter over.

"Relocation of two of your legions south to protect our borders may be necessary… the tribe of Seljuk will attempt an intelligence gathering mission... Send… what?!"

He re-read the order again and again.

Send a raiding force so, if possible, we may avenge our fallen men.

He looked at the Doorway and back at the parchment, worry lining his still-young features. The feline creature stared at him unblinking.

Then, as if reading his mind, the Seljuk agent said “It does not need to be an entire scouting force. Just two men will suffice if there is trouble.”

“Two men? What are you getting at?”

“It’s all I need, you see. General, Emperor Adrian is afraid of what is to come. This is but an attempt at distracting from it. Albeit one with unintended benefits.”

“Watch your tongue, cat!”

The woman said nothing, remaining unblinking as Atilla re-read the order.

After a moment, Atilla said “I can see why the emperor allows your kind to work with us, however. Your treachery may spare us much trouble. Two men, you said?”

She nodded.

Atilla called out. "Legate!"

An older man walked into the tent.

"I need to know who are your worst two officers."

The man paused, but before he could answer, Atilla added "I am talking about the kind of men who you would not miss if they died on a suicide mission tonight."

"Ah… well, general… they would be…"

***

Leo and Filip were, by all definitions, not the men for a mission like this one, Lucy decided. Their minds felt weak, their stance was one that would likely break upon even the most remote of challenges. Oh certainly, they were neither children of nobility nor prosperous merchants, and yet they clearly lacked all sorts of discipline befitting those of even lesser roles.

All despite being junior officers. What an achievement!

Really, the rags and masks hiding their chainmail armor and blades suited them better. But as the pair marched, torches in hand, down the oppressive darkness that lay within the eerie doorway, the only other source of light being the torches on their entrance already far behind them, they couldn't help but mutter that odds were, their commander wanted them dead.

Not terribly stupid, it seems.

Though Lucy knew that wasn’t entirely the case, they were simply the most expendable officers available that, if questioned by the emperor, would likely be immortalized as they allowed their men to successfully retreat while they bravely held the enemy back as they did everything to follow his orders despite the odds.

Of course, it was just the three of them.

Lucy wondered if the emperor was beginning to lose his senses. Another mission to scout in force would only result in greater losses given that the enemy knew of them by now, no? She could assume he was simply frightened, terrified of what was to come and was pushing his luck to see what he could get away with. Refusing to send diplomats at first, she could somewhat understand, but now? Surely, there was a better way and surely the so-called Emperor knew better.

But only Seljuk himself would ever know unless she was granted some immense privilege soon, and even the danger presented here wouldn’t really be a danger.

Not to her, at least. Not to the point she would be promoted, certainly.

Along with the men beside her, one hand on their torch, one hand on their blades, they advanced little by little.

"They said it would be nighttime on the other side, yes?" The one named Leo asked as quietly as he could.

The other quickly said, "That's what they said…"

“Be silent.” She ordered.

She smiled as she heard them both go quiet without objection, the grips on their torches and blades audibly tightening in fear. Or anger.

To their disadvantage, it was indeed nighttime back in the opposite direction, but there was a bright half-moon lighting their world, and they worried this nightmare world on the other end could be the same.

Step by step, as quietly as possible, they advanced, the other side somewhat becoming visible. It was a strange place, the interior of the doorway, absolutely no light, absolutely no sense of direction except back and forth.

To the sides, there was nothing, nothing at all but seemingly eternal darkness that even her feline eyes could not penetrate. As they approached the other side, they could hear groans and loud movements, more than likely of the metal carriages the others had seen.

Lucy braced herself as she continued steadily forward.

"What if we run in the other direction? Maybe it will lead us to a safer world…" Filip mumbled.

"Stop.” She ordered.

They were almost to the other side, but now they stopped. They had reached the exit but now they only stared.

It was blocked.

Filip touched the metal wall in front of them while Leo illuminated it.

"Iron… cold, too… this has been here a while." He whispered, the noise on the other end continuing.

He then pushed on it.

"It's solidly in place… I can’t move it." He whispered back.

Lucy eyed the iron wall, then glanced upwards. It almost reached the top of the doorway, but she could see the black sky of the other world on the other end. No stars were visible, and yet the darkness within the doorway was far darker than the darkness of a starless night sky.

No one spoke.

After a moment both legionnaires began to laugh, almost maniacally. Likely because they couldn't sneak out into the other side and do the mission that would more than likely result in them dying, but because in their minds, the sealed-up structure was clear evidence of a now indisputable fact.

"They're afraid!"

Lucy didn’t challenge the thought.

But now she wondered something else.

If they’re afraid, then why are so many of them moving around nearby?

***

Isaac Hilaire lowered the camera and turned around, visibly confused at the nearby commotion around the strange structure.

Officers and guards had shifted around, all eyeing the steel door separating both worlds, heads occasionally turning to look at another person for guidance.

“Hilaire! Camera over here, boy, don’t get distracted.”

“Aye, sir!” Isaac quickly stepped in line and followed Lieutenant John A. Cooper behind the line of trucks.

“What?” Miloradovic asked, tapping his feet.

“Nothing. Just saw the guys over there get rustled up I think.”

“Oh?” Milo’s eyes almost seemed to sparkle in the night’s darkness.

Lieutenant Cooper was quick to bring them back to reality.

“Boys, focus on getting some snapshots of the trucks and munitions we’re setting up here. You’re not getting paid to faff around. We want these images for the press, and the press want them for the history books, and your grandkids will want to see them.”

Milo went ahead, snapping an image of one of the truck’s hoods in silence.

Isaac, however...

“Hey, lieutenant, does all this gear make you wonder at all? What we’ll see on the other side, I mean.” he said, snapping a picture.

“Yeah, sure.” Cooper replied with little interest it seemed.

Isaac snapped another picture, lowering the camera and noting the many crates of ammunition packed into the truck, sitting silently.

Then he said, “You think they want to fight?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“But, sir, I mean... no word, nothing. Even Japan sent some word after Pearl.”

“Yeah, and the Koreans didn’t send word before invading, either. All that means is we’re dealing with bigger savages. Let me tell you, the gooks over there... I don’t feel sorry for ‘em. Don’t you feel sorry for these wannabe Romans... excuse me.”

Isaac shifted slightly, as if the line had bothered him.

Muttering a calm “Aye, sir.” as Lieutenant Cooper walked off.

Milo turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Saw that look in your eye. What’s up?”

“Look?”

“Yeah, the look. What is it?”

Isaac lowered his camera, his mouth forming a thin line as he decided whether to say anything or not.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than you. Come on, tell me so we can get some shots of the Pattons next.”

“Yeah, yeah... well, uh... My uh... my girl’s Japanese.”

“Oh.” Milo said simply.

Neither spoke for a moment.

“I won’t say anything about her subpar tastes in men.”

“Man, shut up. I just told you something in confidence and you use it to cut me down like that so soon? Shameful!”

“I'm a shameless Slav. Hey, y’think we can swipe some Army gear? Doubt they’d notice a meal or two gone.”

“You want to risk that here? In Texas?”

“...yeah, you’re right. Should wait till we’re over the other end. Plenty of chances there. Could probably grab one of the new rifles.”

“That plastic thing? I’d bet there’re guys willing to trade it in for the M14.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I’m not looking to trade. Would be nice to have a few extra firearms on hand, and I doubt the Romans will be dropping any.”

“Didn’t you take fencing lessons or something? Grab a sword.”

Milo laughed, adding “Different principle, but... maybe. Good way to conserve ammo in a pinch. Museum pieces...”

Hilaire nodded slowly and snapped another photo.

A pinch...

He craned his neck towards the sealed-up portal, noticing between the trucks the officers had now huddled together, seemingly arguing amongst themselves about... something. He couldn’t quite tell what.

Well... so long as it doesn’t turn into another Mariana Island...

He turned to the small Chinese Dragon painted on one of the transport trucks and snapped another photo.