Yesterday's Warrior Read online

  YESTERDAY’S WARRIOR

  S.A. ISON

  Yesterday’s Warrior

  Copyright © 2021 by S.A. Ison All rights reserved.

  Book Design by Elizabeth Mackey

  Book Edited by Ronald Ison Esq. Editing Services

  Book Edited by Boyd Editing Ent.

  All rights Reserved. Except as under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without prior written permission of S.A. Ison

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the production of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons – living or dead- is entirely coincidental.

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.A. ISON

  BLACK SOUL RISING From the Taldano Files

  INOCULATION ZERO Welcome to the Stone Age

  Book 1

  INOCULATION ZERO Welcome to the Age of War

  Book 2

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN PURGE

  Book 1

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN FEAR

  Book 2

  EMP ANTEDILUVIAN COURAGE Book 3

  POSEIDON RUSSIAN DOOMSDAY

  Book 1

  POSEIDON RUBBLE AND ASH

  Book 2

  EMP PRIMEVAL

  PUSHED BACK A TIME TRAVELER’S JOURNAL

  Book 1

  THE RECALCITRANT ASSASSIN

  BREAKING NEWS

  THE LONG WALK HOME

  EMP DESOLATION

  THE VERMILION STRAIN POST-APOCALYPTIC EXTINCTION

  THE HIVE A POST-APOCALYPTIC LIFE

  PYTHAGORAS FALLS

  MY NAME IS MARY A REINCARNATION

  THE MAD DOG EVENT

  DISTURBANCE IN THE WAKE

  OUT OF TIME AN OLD FASHION WESTERN

  PUSHED BACK The Time Traveler’s Daughters Book 2

  FUTURE RELEASES

  A BONE TO PICK

  NO ONE’S TIME

  THE INNOCUOUS MAN A.I. APOCALYPSE

  Per la mia Bellissima e Preziosissima figlia, Mariagrazia

  Many years ago, I had the privilege of being stationed in Italy. During my seven years living in Italy, I was able to visit Rome many times. On several occasions while visiting Rome, I visited the Colosseum on the Piazza del Colosseo Via Labicana, and the Ludus Magnus across the street.

  When I stood inside the massive walls of the Colosseum, there was a palpable feeling of sorrow when I looked down into the arena. To this day, I cannot even fathom what it must have been like two thousand years ago. To stand on blood-soaked sand and know that I would be slaughtered in either a fair fight or outright murdered.

  The horrific violence done down there resonates through centuries, you have only to stand on the walls and listen to those distant cries. I hope to convey what I think it might have been like to get thrown back into that time. Forced to kill in order to live. To kill those who cannot defend themselves and hate yourself for doing so, but wanting desperately to live.

  This book is full of violence. Most of my books have some degree of violence, but this book is filled with it. I tried to get as close to the accuracy of the time as possible. This book is not for the faint of heart.

  IL PROLOGO

  Sextus stood at the gate beside the muneraruius, manager, of the Flavian Amphitheater, Aurelius Scauras. The screams of the prisoners were piercing but it rivaled the snarling of the dogs. Sextus was in charge of dogs, lions, bears and tigers, when they could get them. He was a Beastiarius and though he fought and killed many of the animals, he was in charge of the dogs’ care. He fed them and trained them, but he did not beat or harass them, that was left up to the slaves. Unfortunately, his dogs were more often left to starve before a performance. Sextus, however, secretly fed bits of meat to them; he couldn’t stand for the dogs to suffer, though most of the time it was out of his hands. It wasn’t much, but it kept the dogs loyal to him alone and lethal to all others.

  His favorite dog was the Neapolitan Mastiff and he watched as the massive dog yanked at a prisoner’s leg. He heard the bone break and the man screamed in agony. The other dogs, most of them mutts, tore at the prisoners, shaking them like rags. Snarls and barking filled the air along with the shouts and taunts of the crowd above. Laughter and jeers filled the air as the prisoners, who were this morning’s lot of criminals, were torn apart. Sextus heard a very loud man, up above him. Because Sextus was within the walls of the amphitheater, behind the gated portal that led to the bloody sand, he could not see the egregious man.

  “Those mongrels are useless; they have no teeth. I have dogs worthy of a fight,” the man above boasted. There was hooting and laughing and the man kept at it. Sextus snorted. Everyone had an opinion about their animals. He watched as a large hound was ripping the intestines out of a man who was screaming and trying to hold onto his slippery guts. The dog yanked and yanked and the crowd cheered and heckled once more. He heard more filthy remarks from above and then a scream and he jerked back when a fat man fell nearly in front of the gate. It seemed that his companions were tired of his comments. The man laid there at first, his robe up around his balding head. Sextus thought perhaps he was some kind of merchant. One sandal had come off and lay off to the side. The man was stunned for a few moments and then scrambled up. By then, the large mastiff was running toward the fallen spectator. The fat man screamed and ran toward the gate. The guards at the portal stood near but made no move to open it. Only Scauras could give the order to open the portal and he did not.

  The Neapolitan Mastiff hit the man and knocked him to the ground, his breath knocked out of him, his face planted into the sand.

  “Help me, get this mongrel off me!” the man screamed as he kicked ineffectively. The screaming brought several other dogs and soon, the man was swarmed and his screaming diminished as the dogs tore the flesh from his body. Sextus heard laughter from above; he suspected that the man wasn’t well liked. At least my dogs will eat well, he thought and a grim smile slid across his face.

  Θ

  Four young Americans walk the streets of Rome. They are the best and brightest of the United Sates Marine Corps. LCpl Marco Velasco, a twenty-year-old Floridian, PFC Greg Price, who is also the youngest at nineteen and the lowest rank among them. Twenty-one-year-old Lance Corporal Thaddeus Amedeo Giangreco, a Navy brat and LCpl Dean Hofstadter, twenty and a California boy, who make up the last of their group. Dean is also the shortest man and has been deemed the best looking.

  They are exploring Rome and all it has to offer. Like all confident young men, they feel immortal and powerful. Never in a million years could the young men have been prepared for the nightmare that would follow them on one such weekend and all the horror and sorrow that followed. How could anyone survive? Would anyone survive?

  I

  Marco Velasco shoveled the cold gelato into his mouth. It was hot and humid for mid-spring and the clouds were finally rolling in. He was used to the Florida heat, but here in Rome, it seemed nearly stifling. Marco looked over to Greg Price, who was from Prentiss, Mississippi. Greg had a heavy southern accent and he was a geek of the first caliber, but he was tolerated. Greg was shoveling gelato into his mouth as well. They had stopped at a shop down the road on Via dei Fori Imperiali. Marco imagined that others had walked this very street over two thousand years ago. Around him were a mix of ancient Rome and modern architecture. It was peculiar and sometimes startling. Standing by a café’ one only had to turn left or right and see a building that had the fluted columns of a millennia past.

  They were staying at a small and inexpensive hotel on Via Mazzarino, where the bulk of their personal belonging sat. It wa
sn’t prudent to carry a lot of money on the streets of Rome. During his military orientation upon his arrival in Italy, Velasco and the other military personnel were warned not to carry their wallets in their back pockets due to pickpockets and not to carry purses that could be easily stolen. They were also warned about wearing jewelry, necklaces or hanging earrings. Theft was rampant in large cities and Naples and Rome were no exceptions. All the men carried their IDs and money in their front pockets. They had left their wallets at the hotel.

  Marco was okay with that since it kept him relatively worry free. He also kept his phone in his front pocket as well. The others had opted to leave their phones in the hotel, so Marco was the communications guy. He looked down into the empty cup and was disappointed. He looked around for a trash can and walked over and dropped the paper cup and spoon into it. Greg did the same and then jammed his hands in his pockets and looked around.

  “Hey Hofstadter, can you give us a cheer? For real,” Greg said, his voice slow and soft. Dean looked over and scratched his nose with his middle finger. Marco snorted with a laugh. Dean had mentioned that he’d been a cheerleader in high school. He’d been teased but Dean was easygoing and had listed all of his girlfriends who had been cheerleaders and had shown his gallery of girls to them. This was effective in shutting them up.

  “Yeah Dean. Come on Dean, give us a cheer,” Marco said in a bogus excited voice and laughed.

  “Give me an A, give me a S. Give me another S. Now give me a H, give me an O! Now give me a L and give me an E. What does that spell? Marco Velasco! Rahh Rahh,” Dean said, using his arms to make the letters. Greg sniggered, his dark skin pinkening at his cheeks. Greg was a tall slender black man and he towered over Dean. He raised a high five to Dean, who smacked his hand.

  “See those girls over there? Watch, I’m gonna rock this,” Dean said and grinned. There was a group of young Italian women heading their way. Dean move out ahead of them and executed a standing backwards flip. The young women squealed with delight and giggled, waving shyly at the blond Marine. Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned. Marco laughed and shook his head. Showoff, he thought.

  “You shouldn’t encourage him like that,” Giangreco said. Thad, was teaching Dean and Greg Italian and Greg’s southern articulation of the language engendered great hilarity. Greg’s easygoing nature was what Marco liked best about the man.

  “That was some seriously good ice cream. For real,” Greg said, his drawl heavy. Marco had a southern drawl as well, but not nearly as heavy as Greg’s. His family lived in Florida and Marco was of Cuban and Puerto Rican descent. Because of his heavy Spanish influence, it made it easier to learn Italian, since many of the word were similar. He and Thad had taken up the challenge to teach Dean and Greg. Both were coming along very slowly, because Dean had only been in country three months and Greg had only been there two months.

  All had agreed they liked Italy but for one exception. Earthquakes. Nearly every day it seemed there was a tremor or quake. Marco’s first few months in country took getting used to. He remembered waiting in a bus and was fiddling with his phone when he realized the bus was rocking gently. He looked up from his phone and looked out the bus window. He had been both mesmerized and horrified to watch the parking lot undulate and the cars and vehicles move along the wave. His eyes then went to the buildings around him and they all seemed to sway slightly. He’d never felt an earthquake in Florida.

  Greg was the only one who had not experienced an earthquake yet, only a few tremors. Dean rarely acknowledged them; California was sitting along the ring of fire. Thad had lived in Japan and he’d mentioned there had been quite a few earthquakes during his time there with his family. One time, nearly six months ago, Marco had been out in downtown Naples with Thad when a good-sized earthquake hit and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he nearly shit himself. Around him, people cried out in panic and he’d heard the deep rumbling of the earth. Both men had stood rooted to the ground, for there was nowhere to run.

  They weren’t near any really tall building so they didn’t have to worry about getting hit with falling debris. They only worried about a stampede from frightened people if they were so inclined to run. Thankfully, the quake had ended just as abruptly. Mount Vesuvius was letting them all know it was still there and still active. When he’d gone shopping in Pozzuoli, he could smell the solfatara, which stank like rotten eggs and sulfur, after a tremor. It was just one of many such occasions that Italy moved and shifted. This morning, before he’d gotten out of bed at the hotel, he’d felt the faint rumbling and shifting of the earth and he was on the third floor. He hadn’t moved and just laid there and hoped it would end quickly. It did.

  “Dude, it’s called gelato. It’s not ice cream,” Dean said, looking over his shoulder.

  “I know, I just call it ice cream, you know,” Greg said and shrugged easily. He reached out a long arm and patted Dean on the head, causing Thad to laugh. Dean swatted him away and snorted. Dean was a cocky bantam rooster, in Marco’s eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dean never took himself seriously, he would probably be despisable, but Dean was good people, despite being a former cheerleader. Thad was a good man too and they had hit it off immediately. Marco had been Giangreco’s sponsor, the man who helped him get settled into his new surroundings and job, when he’d first arrived in country.

  Thad was easygoing until you stepped over an invisible line. Marco guessed it was because he had been raised in a military family. Thad had a sense of quiet kindness about him and didn’t tolerate bullies, assholes and shitheads. Because he was a big man, some of the Marines had tried to test him. They had severely regretted their mistake. He sniggered. Thad was a second-degree black belt.

  “What on earth are you laughing at?” Thad asked.

  “Nothing. Just thinking about that dickwad, Winks, when he wanted to do a throw-down at the gym,” Marco said as he caught up.

  “That guy has a hard-on for you. Seriously,” Greg said.

  “That’s cause he’s sketchy and all talk and no substance. Thad kicked his ass at the gym and rocked on Call of Duty, man,” Dean said.

  “Winks is just an asshole,” Thad said and shrugged.

  Though Dean was the shortest man in their group, he was deemed the best looking, since nearly all of the Italian ladies went gaga over him. He was a blond haired, blue eyed American with deep dimples on each side of his smile. The group depended on Dean to draw the women in and Thad acted as translator since he was fluent in Italian, though Marco was getting better at it. The night before the men had gone clubbing in Rome and had spent the night dancing with beautiful Italian women. Only Greg seemed a little bleary this afternoon, he’d had a little too much to drink.

  “You’re not gonna puke are you Greg?” Marco asked.

  “Naw. Why?” Greg asked.

  “You look a little rough,” Marco said.

  “That’s cause I was streamin’ Mandalorian after I got back to my room,” he grinned.

  “Dude, you’re such a geek. I thought black dudes were supposed to be cool and all,” Dean said and shoved Greg.

  “Geek is the new cool,” Greg said and laughed.

  “Hermono. No. No it’s not,” Marco said, flailing spastic hands beneath his chin and made a goofy face. They continued their meandering down the street.

  They were a cohesive group and each of their personalities meshed well with the others. Though Marco had been enjoying Italy before he met Thad, it seemed to get a little better as their friendship and camaraderie grew. Dean and Greg added to that and though all missed their families, it was nice to belong to a group. It was also good to get away from base and the strict rules and comportment of being a Marine. Thad was the oldest of the group and they unofficially looked to him for direction.

  Thad stopped and looked around; he read the street sign, Piazza del Colosseo Via Labicana. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he was in Italy. He had requested Sicily, Italy as his first duty station and had been surprised to
get Naples. It wasn’t often that a Marine got his first or even second choice of duty stations. Naples hadn’t been on his list, but it was close enough to Sicily that he was happy about it. He and his parents planned to meet up in Sicily in a year. They wanted to walk the streets of Catania, Sicily, where his great-grandfather was born. Until that time, Thad was immersing himself into the Italian culture.

  Though Thad could speak Italian, it was quite a bit different from the Americanized style of it. He was self-conscious when he spoke it around the locals; they always gave him a funny look. They understood him perfectly, but they knew he wasn’t born or raised in Italy. However, being fluent in Italian made him popular among his peers on base, for he was invited out into town often, to act as translator. This had gotten old quickly and his many friends had been whittled down to three other men, whom he respected and trusted. He had only been in Italy for seven months, but when he and his friends got a free weekend, they would head out and explore Italy and Thad began to explore his roots.

  “Hey guys, there is the Ludus Magnus,” Thad said, pointing over to a large open area that had bumps of rock and concrete. They could not go down and walk around but they stood at the low wall and looked down.

  “So, what is it?” Greg asked, looking over at Thad.

  “This is where the gladiators trained. See, look behind us and you’ll see the Colosseum,”

  “For real? Wow, so what, they like trained here and went across the street to fight?” Greg asked, looking back and forth between the Ludus Magnus and the massive Colosseum behind them.