Savior in Time

Savior in Time

By Christopher David Petersen

Copyright 2012 Christopher David Petersen

Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1:

Battle of Teutoburg Forest

Northern Germany

9 A.D.

Day three…

Attus Naevius held his shield above his head and stared out over the grassy field in front of him. Waterlogged from three days of relentless rain, the disk of wood and leather felt heavy and unwieldy and he struggled to maintain his grip on the now nearly useless armor.

Standing to his left, his son Marcus rested the edge of his shield on a small branch above him, helping to reduce some of the weight. As the rains struck the top surface and poured off the sides, the cold torrents saturated his leather clothes and sandals, draining him of his precious energy. He shivered momentarily, then glanced to his father.

I’m freezing. I wish they’d give the order to attack, he said through chattering teeth.

Patience, Marcus. Your wish will be granted shortly. General Publius has been waiting on daylight. Now that we can see, I’m certain he’ll be giving the order to advance, Attus assured. He turned toward his son and stared disapprovingly at him. Are you in such a hurry to die? he asked.

"I know we’ve lost many men, but I still think we can beat them. We’re Romans by God… the greatest army in the world," Marcus responded proudly.

Attus placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.

Marcus, we may be part of a great army, but we’re not invincible. I fear this next siege will be our last. General Publius’ thirst for victory has clouded his judgment. With reinforcements only a few weeks away, he should have waited on their arrival before attacking. Now, with our bows rendered useless by the rains and armed only with daggers and waterlogged shields, our pitiful weapons are no match for the enemy’s swords and lances. The simple truth is we’re paying the price for our arrogance.

Marcus listened to his father’s words. In his twenty-five year old mind, he simply could not accept the logic behind the statement: pride and youth stood as a barrier to wisdom.

All I need is one more crack at them. I’m sure we can defeat them this time, he shot back resolutely.

Attus wiped away the cold water that dripped from his grayish beard and shook his head in objection. Seeing the energy beaming from his son’s eyes, he elected not to challenge him further. He knew they’d both need all the advantage they could muster if either of them were to survive.

He rubbed his son’s shoulder lightly and smiled.

Someday Marcus, you’ll rise to greatness, he said in encouraging tone.

Marcus smiled proudly at his father’s words, then turned back toward the field to reflect on them. Attus stared at his son’s profile momentarily, then turned away in sadness, knowing too well their fate was grim.

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On the opposite side of the field…

General Arminius stared at the remaining Roman troops that hid in the tree line across the field. Although the heavy rains made them hard to see, he visualized the enemy and their disheveled appearance from the day before. He looked back to his own forces and surveyed his heavily armored men, focusing momentarily on their greater weaponry. He nodded confidently, then reflected on his imminent and probable victory…

Three days before…

After weeks of reconnaissance, Gen. Arminius had amassed his army of twenty-five thousand troops along both sides of a long valley. Well hidden and undetected, the two mile long line of Germanic troops waited on their order to advance. As the last of the Roman line marched by, Gen. Arminius commanded his troops to attack.

At first, thousands of javelins were hurled at the enemy, striking them down before they had a chance to raise their shields. In the minutes that followed, more javelins were thrown at the now crouching Roman forces. The Romans quickly rallied, stringing their bows and launching a storm of arrows at their enemy. Then, like two large waves, the Germanic army swept over their foe from each side, mauling them, decimating their numbers. As the skies opened and heavy rains poured down upon both armies, drawstrings on the Roman bows became saturated, causing them to go slack and useless. They pulled daggers from their sheaths and continued on. Savage fighting ensued as the stronger, yet ill-equipped Romans struggled against their well-armed attackers.

Over the next two days, with the foul weather growing in intensity, Gen. Arminius forced the Romans through the valley, chasing them, cutting them down by the thousands as the Romans searched for protection from their advancing foe. With each battle, they were able to repel the German’s advance, secure a fortified position and counterattack, only to be overrun by the sheer numbers of the Germanic forces once more.

By the end of the second day, in an act of desperation, Gen. Publius of the Roman forces, took up position along a tree line of an open field. With daylight quickly vanishing, Gen. Arminius held back his advance. During the night, he broke off a large portion of his army, marching them around the remaining Roman forces, approaching them from the rear. At daybreak on the third morning, Gen. Arminius now waited on his forces to push the unsuspecting Romans into the field.

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Day three…

Attus shivered in the pouring rain and held his stare at the distant barricade hastily strewn on the opposite side of the field, a quarter mile away. The morning light had barely broken and already he could see harried activity all along its length. He reached down and touched the dagger at his hip and felt apprehension at its inadequacy.

Still holding his shield above his head to block the rain, he switched hands, letting the blood circulate to the now tired limb. He shook out his hand, the excess water rolling off his finger tips and splashing the face of his son.

Marcus felt the drops of water and turned toward his father. He felt a moment of sympathy for the man he regarded his whole life as strong and invincible, but now appeared weak and vulnerable as he shivered in the cold. He wanted to do something to relieve his father’s discomfort, but wearing only his woolen tunic under his light armor, he had no other clothing to spare.

He moved his own shield from above his head and forced his father’s shield to the side. Startled, Attus shot his son a peculiar stare. Marcus grinned and responded before his father could comment on the action.

Rest father, he said simply. Seeing his father’s prideful reluctance, he added, I can feel my mother’s eyes are watching me with satisfaction.

Attus stared at his son momentarily, reading the meaning of his words. He understood Marcus’ action and nodded in acquiescence.

Your mother has raised a great son, he responded proudly.

Marcus felt his blood course through his body as he beamed with honor in his father’s words. Attus could see the effect his words had on him. He reached up and rested his hand on Marcus’ shoulder, gently nudging him with loving respect.

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and his approving smiled vanished. He stared past Marcus with intensity.

Marcus could see his father’s distraction and turned in the direction of his stare. For a split-second, he watched in curiosity at the sight of the enemy flooding the woods behind them. As reality registered in his mind, he realized they had been caught off guard by the surprise advance. Seeing the enemy in front of them along the distant wall and now behind them charging through the woods, his blood boiled with rage. Instinctively, he reached for his dagger. He turned back to his father. Attus stood with his shield ready and his dagger in hand, his face looking strong and resolute.

It’s time, he said with a simple nod to Marcus.

Within seconds, threatening shouts from the advancing enemy left little doubt of their deadly intentions.

Roman Gen. Publius ordered his army into the open field. As thousands of men rushed across the waterlogged terrain, the general commanded their legions to advance on the barricade in the distance. A loud and turbulent roar bellowed from the brave men as they eagerly charged toward their enemy.

Attus and Marcus plowed through the dense grass of the open field. With each stride, mud oozed up from their foot placement and seemed to grab their leather sandals, nearly pulling them from their feet. Halfway across the field, their footwear became completely coated with the slippery muck, rendering them nearly useless. Undaunted, the men pressed on.

Far behind them, half the Germanic army poured from the woods and onto the muddy field. Like the Romans ahead of them, they too struggled to negotiate the slippery conditions as they pursued their enemy. Using their javelins for balance, they plunged the butt-end of the pole into the soft ground as they ran. Soon, even this was no help as the javelins sunk too deep to be effective, causing their advance to slow even further.

Behind the barricade made of stone and tree branches, the Germanic army watched the Romans near. One hundred feet away, Gen. Arminius commanded his men to launch their javelins. Within seconds of the order, thousands of spears soared through the sky in an arcing trajectory.

On the field, the Roman commanders cried out for the cover of shields. Instantly, the men crouched low and held their armor against the onslaught of deadly projectiles. As the javelins contacted the rectangular shields, the waterlogged wood and leather were no match for the steely points of the spears. Instantly, the metal blades pierced the now softened material, embedding into the flesh of those unlucky enough to be in the weapons path. Cries of agony sounded across the field.

Marcus heard the shout of pain beside him. His eyes darted to his father on his right. A wave of relief swept over him to see he had escaped the initial assault. Further right, Marcus could see the long shaft of the spear extending from the front of a shield. Behind the shield, the shaft continued through a young soldier’s chest, the metal blade now extending from his back.

The young soldier stared at Marcus in shock, his eyes not yet accepting his fate. A second later, the man’s knees collapsed and he fell to his side.

Marcus gazed at the dying man, then back to his father.

They’ve thrown their javelins. That makes us even, he said encouragingly.

Attus shook his head. Swords against daggers? I wouldn’t call that even, he responded.

We’re Romans. That makes it even, Marcus shot back confidently.

As both men pressed on, Attus merely nodded, unwilling to break his son’s spirit by their reality.

Fifty feet from the barricade, with the rains still falling heavy, the determined faces of the Germanic army now became recognizable. Marcus re-gripped the slippery handle on his dagger. He picked a target and concentrated on the man he would next engage. In the soldier’s hand, Marcus could see the three-foot sword of his enemy. Although his dagger was no match for the man’s longer weapon, his father had taught him to overcome such odds. His mind rushed through his boyhood training, filling him with confidence.

Mere feet from the barricade, the enemy soldier thrust his sword at Marcus’ stomach. Anticipating the move, Marcus stabbed at the oncoming blade with his dagger, deflecting it to the side. Instantly, he slashed his dagger at the soldier’s throat, cutting through his windpipe and carotid artery. The soldier recoiled backward, clutching his gaping wound, then falling to his knees. Another man rushed in to fill the void. Marcus feigned a lunged with his weapon, causing the soldier to block. As the man raised his arm, Marcus ducked low and plunged his knife into the soldier’s chest. Quickly he stood and thrust his fist at the man’s jaw, knocking him off his feet.

Marcus watched his father expertly wound and disable several soldiers. As Attus slipped over the barricade, Marcus nodded proudly at his father’s bravery and skill. Inspired by the sight, he slashed at several more men, then launched himself over the barricade with equal intensity. He rolled to a kneeling position and plunged his dagger into a soldier’s stomach. The man cried out in pain, and stumbled rearward. Marcus leapt to his feet and slashed at two more men.

On all sides, Roman soldiers poured over the barricade. Savage fighting ensued. Although the Roman army was vastly outnumbered, their superior training and skill proved too great for the weaker Germanic army. Within minutes, the Germanic forces began to succumb to the pressure. They began to move back from the barricade, slowly retreating toward the woods.

Armed now with the swords from their fallen enemy, Attus and Marcus slashed and stabbed at the men to their front. Suddenly, Marcus heard his father cry out in pain. He turned and watched in horror as five men surround his father. Wielding his sword and dagger, Attus blocked their advances and delivered savage strikes… but it was to no avail: the enemy’s numbers were now too great. With each turn to attack, others stabbed him from behind.

Marcus heard his father’s cries once more. He rushed to help, but was quickly surrounded. He lunged his sword forward while slashing with his dagger. He felt a sharp pain at his side, then another across his back, causing him to drop to a knee. Instinctively, he ducked and tumbled forward to evade a sweeping blow of the enemy’s sword. While rolling back to his knees, he plunged his dagger into the legs of two men, as he thrust his sword rearward. He felt the long blade enter flesh and heard the roar of pain. As the three Germanic soldiers fell from their wounds, more rushed in to take their place.

Marcus heard his father cry out again, the sound was startling and distinct. The muted howl left little doubt in Marcus’ mind that his father’s lungs were now filling with blood. Frantic to save him, he rushed past two soldiers, embedding his elbows in their throats and knocking them off their feet. With a clear path to his father, he watched in horror as two soldiers plunged their swords into his stomach. Attus opened his mouth to scream, but no sound was heard. He dropped to his knees, and gasped for breath.

Nooo! Marcus shouted in angst.

His own cry rang in the ears of the enemy. In reflex, a soldier spun around, wielding his sword. Marcus leaned back to evade the advance, but the blade slashed through his right arm, leaving a gaping wound in his bicep. Blood poured from the gash as he swung his own sword at the attacking soldier, cutting across his throat. As the man dropped to the ground, Marcus rushed forward in desperation, but only too late. He watched in horror as another soldier ran his sword into the back of his father’s neck, severing his spinal cord and instantly killing him. Attus’ lifeless body slumped forward on the ground.

Clutching his wound, Marcus reeled back in his stance, the sight of his father’s death momentarily draining him of his will to fight. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared at the blood now pooling under his father’s face. He watched a soldier kick his father’s lifeless arm out of his way. Rage instantly exploded inside him. He lunged forward and resumed his attack.

Chapter 2:

Present day…

Outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts

6:00 A.M.

Heading east on route 128…

Jeremy Combs checked his rearview mirror, then refocused on the road in front of him. The headlights that only minutes before illuminated his path, were now rendered unnecessary by the morning’s dawn. He scanned the meandering blacktop that worked its way through the forested location. Aside from the occasional song bird that crossed from one side of the road to the other, life seemed nonexistent at that early morning hour.

A rush of wind crossed his face, sending a slight chill through his body. He turned to his right and noticed his girlfriend, Becky Hines, lowering her window. Riding next to him in the passenger seat, Becky stuck her hand out the window and angled her palm toward the wind, causing it to playfully rise and lower like waves on an ocean. Although the air was cool, it was refreshing, and she delighted herself in the simple game as she breathed in the invigorating air.

As her long blond hair whisked rearward, she turned to Jeremy and smiled.

Don’t you just love proms? she asked in a whimsical tone.

Jeremy returned her smile and rubbed her nearby hand.

Yeah, it was awesome, he responded agreeably.

So you really liked my dress? she asked.

You were beautiful last night.

Just last night? What about today? she pressed.

You’re beautiful every day, he shot back nervously.

Becky smiled and squeezed his hand in satisfaction. She stared out the windshield a moment and watched the curves of the road. Feeling somewhat bored, she searched her mind for small talk.

How long will it take to get there? she asked.

About an hour or so.

I hope we get a good spot, she continued.

I’m sure at this hour, the beach will be nearly deserted, he responded confidently.

You think the water will be cold?

This time of the year, I’m sure it’ll be so cold it’ll be painful, he answered.

Well, at least it’ll be a sunny day… perfect for tanning, she responded optimistically.

Jeremy turned and smiled at Becky. He loved her positive nature and her bounding sense of energy. For a moment, he let his mind wander, envisioning his life… their life, as husband and wife.

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Heading west: in the opposite direction…

Frank Miller brought the beer bottle to his lips and tipped it upward, allowing the now warm beer to pour into his mouth. As he slurped the last drop from the bottle’s rim, he felt moisture on his chest. Looking down, he noticed a large wet stain on his dirty yellowed t-shirt where the excess had dribbled from his chin and onto his shirt. With drunken clumsiness, he swept his fingers over his fat stomach, rubbing the wet spot as he clutched the bottle with his pinky finger. Satisfied with his efforts, he returned his stare out his windshield. For a moment, his eyes processed the vision, converting his double vision into single. Realizing he had drifted across the yellow dividing line, he quickly jerked the wheel, pulling himself back into his lane.

For a moment, he reflected on the previous night’s outdoor party. It had started early in the evening and lasted through the night. With much food and several kegs of beer, he regarded it as a party to remember. He smiled with pride and satisfaction at his level of drunkenness, having outdrank nearly all who attended the rowdy affair.

Refocusing his attention on the road, his eyes caught sight of a sign up ahead, indicating an upcoming curve in the road. He smiled approvingly to himself and lowered his window. He placed the beer bottle in his left hand and extended it out the window. As he had done so many times before, he timed his approach, then launched the bottle up and over the car. The glass projectile hurled through the air. A second later, it impacted the road sign with a thunderous explosion of broken glass.

Yesss! he shouted with pride while belching out a loud burp of trapped air.

With the sound still echoing in his mind, he checked his rearview mirror, hoping to confirm his feat of skill. Slowly, with his eyes focused behind him, his car drifted across the yellow line as it entered the sharp curve ahead.

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Jeremy returned his focus to the road. As he began to enter the curve, he noticed faint beams of light through the trees, indicating another car approaching from the opposite direction. Although he couldn’t put his finger on it, something seemed strange about the sight. Only too late, as the car appeared in his lane from around the corner, did he realize the crisis.

Becky screamed in horror, instinctively thrusting her hands against the dashboard, preparing for the impending crash. In reflex, Jeremy slammed his hand into the steering wheel, sounding the horn, then jerking the wheel to the left. Instantly, the car lurched across the yellow line, the rear end now skidding sideways out of control.

In that split second, his heart now pounded wildly and his mind raced with indecision. With the oncoming car only feet away, he slammed on his brakes and turned the wheel to control the skidding. His mouth felt dry with fear as he watched the slow-motion event unfold before his eyes.

Hearing the sound of the horn, Frank’s lethargic mind, slowly processed the scene. He hit his brakes and instinctively tried to steer his car back into his own lane. Mere feet from impact, he stiffened his arms to brace himself against the impending crash.

With both cars now rushing toward the inside corner, three individuals screamed in terror as they waited for the inevitable crash.

Becky stared out her open window and watched the headlights speed at her door. She stared in horror as the car’s grill slammed into the passenger door just behind her. The deafening sound of exploding glass and twisting metal thundered in the early morning hour.

Instantly, with both car’s paths changing abruptly, Becky was launched from her unbelted seat, and up through the open window. She hurled through the air, then impacted the bank on the inside corner of the road, tumbling across the ground and coming to rest as a lifeless form against a tree.

With the sudden stop, Frank ejected through his windshield, his skull instantly shattering as it broke through the glass. He flung through the air, careened off a tree and cartwheeled to the ground: dead.

Jeremy’s car spun around from the impact. Belted inside his seat, his body was violently slammed from door to dashboard and back, creating massive internal injuries with each blow he took. Still with forward momentum, the left side of the car skidded into the inside guardrails, instantly stopping as the front end tangled with the solid wooden posts and steel cables. The sudden stop and resulting internal trauma, quickly snuffed the life from Jeremy’s fragile body.

Within seconds, all was quiet. Both cars had found their final place of rest and were eerily silent. Minutes later, in the surrounding forest, frantic sounds from song birds could be heard. Somehow, even they sensed the awful carnage.

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Massachusetts General Hospital

Boston, Massachusetts

Dr. David Warner placed his tray of food on the table and sat down to eat his breakfast. He took a sip of his much needed coffee and savored the flavor. He then proceeded to eat his pancakes. After several bites, he grimaced slightly and pushed the hospital food off to the side, electing to fill up on coffee instead.

Staring out the window, he reflected on his life and his move from Chattanooga Tennessee to Boston Massachusetts. His previous travels back in time, although rewarding, had left him feeling emotionally drained and in need of change. When the offer came in from Massachusetts General to become head of surgery, the change of scenery appealed to him. Although the new title and position were thrilling at first, after nearly a year, the stress of managing such a complex department began to wear on his nerves. As an added detractor, his notoriety as a time traveler called for public appearances, advocated by hospital management as a way to boost their public image, a ploy David detested but agreed to begrudgingly.

As he sipped his coffee, he tried to clear his mind of negativity. He smiled at the thought of his upcoming vacation: one month in Europe. Although he studied various countries and their languages back in school, he had never actually experienced their cultures first hand. He felt excited that he would now be able to see them at his leisure.

He took another sip of coffee and heard a loud overhead speaker bellow out his name:

Dr. Warner, report to O.R. immediately.

Instantly, his cellphone rang. He glanced at his watch, then back to the phone. Apprehensively, he answered it.

This is Dr. Warner, he said in a reserved tone.

From the other side, a voice frantically announced