Nine Eleven: Time Patrol by Bob Mayer

Author:Bob Mayer [Mayer, Bob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: time travel, Science Fiction, thriller
Publisher: Cool Gus
Published: 2016-09-11T04:00:00+00:00

Teutoberg Forest, Germania, 11 September 9 A.D.

The Centurion retrieved his sword, then brought it up to face the Jager as the Legionnaire went on guard, half facing Roland, half the Germanics crowded on the other side of the clearing. The two Romans edged close, shoulder to shoulder.

“Who are you?” the Centurion asked them both.

Roland ignored the Romans and focused on the spear in the man’s hand. Roland knew it was stronger than steel, made from metal salvaged from a Naga staff. “You’re a Jager.”

A woman’s voice came from behind Roland. “What beast was that? What happened to it?”

Too many people, asking too many questions. Roland looked over his shoulder. The tribespeople had gathered some courage and come forward with their weapons, a mixture of farming implements, knives, axes, and a couple of swords, at the ready. At the lead was an old, heavy-set woman, a scythe in her hand.

“How do you know what I am?” the Jager asked.

“I met one before,” Roland said.

“You did? And a Grendel?”

“That, too.”

The man chuckled. “But you live, so that is good. Unless you ran. Many run.” He looked about. “You didn’t run here. None of you. Brave. Foolish. But brave.”

“What did you say of our menfolk?” the Germanic woman demanded.

The Jager looked from Roland to the two Romans, then to the tribespeople. “An interesting gathering. Some of you are enemies. But you.” He nodded toward Roland. “You’re different. Where did you meet one of my brethren?”

“Not here,” Roland said. “Not now.” Cryptic, but accurate.

“Our men!” The woman came closer, raising the scythe. “They went off to battle. What did you say of them? Did you see them?”

“Good ears,” Jager said. He jerked a thumb the way he’d come. “They’re back there. They met a battle, just not the one they were expecting.”

The woman didn’t wait to discuss it further, hustling past them, forgetting about the Romans, the beast, everything, going for her men, the rest of the old men, women and children following.

“We’ll be off, then,” Rufus said, backing up.

“Hold, Rufus,” the Centurion ordered. “What is all this? Magic? Demons?”

“You could call it that,” Roland agreed. “What Legion are you from?”

“We are from Varus’s command group,” the Centurion said. “What is this of their men off to battle? Battle who?”

They know nothing, Roland realized. Was he here to kill the Grendel? But then he was still around. And if—

His train of wondering derailed as the wails of women echoed through the dark forest.

“They found their men,” Jager said. “What remains of them after their meeting with Grendel.” The Jager went into the forest.

Roland looked at the two Romans. “They’re dead, or going to be dead soon.”

The Centurion was confused. “The Germanics?”

“Your three Legions,” Roland said. “The Seventeenth, the Eighteenth, and the Nineteenth.”

The Centurion stared at him as if he’d uttered complete nonsense. The wailing from the Germanic women added to the surreal situation.

“You can come with me and survive,” Roland said, “or try to go back and die. And there’s nothing to go back to.

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