Previous Instalments:
- Where Ancient Meets Modern – A Clash of Worlds: Where Ancient Meets Modern
The Eruption of Chaos
The city’s usual muted hum was often the preferred soundtrack for Jacob; a low urban thrum that underscored the quiet order of his life.
Perched on the twelfth floor of his apartment, he often found solace in the sweeping panoramic view of Boston; a familiar tapestry of brick and glass, tonight however, the city’s distant murmur felt less comforting, like a calm before the storm.
Rain lashed against the window panes blurring the distant glow of Prudential Tower into a soft, impressionistic smear; Jacob, a man in his late fifties with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, and a gaze that held a weary wisdom of too many years in corporate finance, he nursed a glass of amber liquid, his gaze fixed not on the storm outside, but on the flickering light of the television screen.
A News anachor with a remarkably calm demeanour was narrating a story that defied all logic; the report originated from Cassis – a picturesque coastal town in Southern France, the report though was not on tourism, it was on a sudden, and inexplicable; the appearance of what eyewitnesses described as a full Roman Legion – his brow furrowed “A Roman what now?” hr murmured, leaning forwards to get a closer look at the screen.
The footage was grainy, distant and showed a confused melee of what looked like a historic square; figures in segmentata armour with plumed helmets and gladii, could vaguely discerned amidst the modern police vehicles and bewildered tourists, it felt like a bizarre, elaborate visual marketing stunt or perhaps a segment from an ambitious historical reenactment gone spectacularly wrong.
“Sources confirm the sudden arrival of these Ancient Soldiers emerging amidst a distortion into oncoming traffic” the Anchor continued “Local authorities confirm the only injured that have been seen are amongst the Roman formations, and authorities are now struggling in their approach to this fully equipped Roman army,”
There was a momentary pause before the anchor resumed “Attempts to communicate have been met with hesitation and confusion; they are reported to be speaking an Ancient form of Latin…”
Arthur took a low sip of his scotch, a dry chuckle escaping his lips “Well…, that’s new” he muttered as he shook his head; ‘Rome’ he thought, deciding he needed a stronger drink than mere scotch if this would become a new normal
As he moved though, the screen flickered – the poised anchor’s image pixelated, replaced by a stark red and black graphic; a piercing, insistent siren blaring from the television speakers cutting through the rain’s drumming “We interrupt this Program for an Emergency Broadcast System Announcement” a grave, almost robotic male voice cut through the alarm.
“This is an Emergency Alert for All Citizens of Boston and the surrounding Metropolitan Areas; Immediate Shelter-In-Place Order is in Effect; Repeat, Remain Indoors and Secure all Doors and Windows, Do not Venture Outside, Law Enforcement and Emergency Services are Responding to an Unprecedented Incursion; Further Information will be Provided as it Becomes Available – This is Not a Drill”
The siren faded, replaced with an unnerving silence, then, the low thrum of an emergency tone – Jacob stared, his glass halfway from his lips, his initial amusement replaced by a cold knot of dread ‘An Incursion?; What on Earth….’ He thought of the Roman’s in Cassis, was it connected, but with Boston?
Before he could properly process the jarring shift from Ancient Rome to Local Emergency, a Sharp, staccato ‘Crack-Crack-Crack’ ruptured the quiet outside, slicing through the rain’s drumming like a knife – it was the undeniable sound of gunfire; it was Close…, Too Close.
The sudden, violent intrusion shattered his complacency – he moved, abandoning his drink, a jolt of adrenaline erasing all prior fatigue, he strode to the window, pushing aside the drapes, his hands, usually steady, trembled slightly as he peered down into the rain-slicked streets below
1779
The air was thick and heavy, saturated with a metallic tang of imminent battle and the scent of damp pine; Captain Elias, his Scarlet Coat already splattered with mud and grime of a protracted siege, gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white – around him was the ragged line of his men; His Majesty’s 23rd Regiment – they were braced for the inevitable.
They were entrenched, yet outnumbered, facing a determined push from the combined forces of the Continental Army and their French Allies.
The cries of American Revels; a guttural mix of English, French and a Fiercer, new dialect of Freedom echoed out.
As they two sides prepared for their usual clash; there seemed to be a shift in the air that was not coming from either side; it began as a vibration before a sound unlike any other erupted high above.
A thunderclap of impossible magnitude, it was not a roar from the storm, nor the crashing of falling trees or even the shriek of cannon or musket fire – it was like a physical blow.
A Concussive wave that slammed into the chest that stole the breath away; it sparked the soldiers who were already on edge to fire in a panic.
Present Day, Boston
Jacob squinted through the rain; his heart was hammering against his ribs – Gunfire had just erupted mixed with shouts and mostly chilling, confused screams; as his gaze swept over the streets below, the familiar sights were there, but then…, he saw them.
They are seemingly materialized; not from any specific direction, but shimmered into existence from the very air; coalescing into solid form on the street in – the first figures Jacob’s brain managed to fully register were unmistakable; Scarlet.
The Vibrant scarlet of the British Redcoats, their tricorn hats, white cross-belts and polished muskets; they looked as though they had just stepped directly from a history book, or rather, a historical nightmare and they were not alone.
Scrambling were men in tattered homespun uniforms, many with muskets of their own wearing distinctively revolutionary cocked hats; Blue and Brown coats, some just plain civilian attire – their purpose though, that was clear; unmistakable American Revolutionaries.
Jacob stood transfixed, his mind was racing and refusing to accept the visual data, he blinked hard, wondering if his scotch, or perhaps the sheer absurdity of the news report had broken his grip on reality – but the chaos below was real.
Redcoat, disorientated by driven by instinct moved to form raged lines, raising muskets and firing on the equally bewildered Revolutionaries.
The initial engagement was sporadic, a handful of shots – but it was spiralling into a furious engagement.
One soldier, in a state of utter confusion held his musket close as his eyes canned the surrounding streets; his red uniform soaked within the rain, his vision partially blurred, but, within the chaotic fight he noticed a startled young woman shielding a child, breaking formation he rushed in that direction, his action drawing attention from other confused British Redcoats as he went to shield the woman from another charging Briton with a bayonet “Stop!” he shouted swinging the back of his musket at his own ally, his eyes following as the soldier stumbled sideways.
His actions however were not a one-off, soldiers on both sides found themselves suddenly taking note of terrified citizens, some immediately being targeted or defended from equally terrified soldiers.
Cars swerved, horns blared adding to the cacophony; the response was immediate though; locals would fight back, Police would arrive on scene and then that familiar deafening clap signalled the arrival of fighter craft – Boston had entered a state of utter chaos.
Jacob, watching from his apartment would stare in both a mix of horror and amazement at what had just begun to unfold, question how things would return back to normal…, and if it actually could.
Written By: Westley H.
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