Avenging Angels Bad Times Book Three Chuck Dixon This Book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both. Copyright © 2019 (as revised) Chuck Dixon Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected] Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture. The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. LMBPN Publishing PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy Las Vegas, NV 89109 First US edition, May 2020 eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-846-1 Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-847-8 Contents 1. Jerusalem, AD 31 2. Paris Canal, St-Martin 3. Somewhere Sunny 4. Galilee 5. Caesarea Provincial, Capital of Judea, AD 16 6. Our Lunch With Samuel 7. Nazareth, AD 16 8. The Ocean Raj, Somewhere South of Cyprus 9. Bern, Switzerland 10. The Stranger Returns 11. Another Time, Another Place 12. The War Room 13. A New Member of the Club 14. The Order of March 15. Warrior Princess 16. Transit: the Med 17. Station Five 18. At Home 19. Forward into the Past 20. Things Change 21. Pax Romana 22. Drive Curious 23. A Stolen March 24. The Road 25. A Change of Address 26. The Testing of Tacitus 27. Questions Beget Questions 28. Run and Gun 29. Déjeuner Pour Un 30. Unforgiving Options 31. At Madame’s Pleasure 32. A Wolf in the Fold 33. Passion and Procrastination 34. Witnesses 35. The Fury of the Tetrarch 36. The Human Storm 37. Strangers With Candy 38. The Tally 39. Under the Gaze of God 40. Stone Soup 41. The Intruders 42. Eye to Eye 43. Farewells 44. The Arbor Path 45. The Hares and the Tortoise 46. When Are You? 47. Caesarea Redux 48. The Ocean Raj 49. What the Blind Woman Saw 50. New Sheriff in Town 51. Paris in the Now Afterword About the Author Other LMBPN Publishing Books 1 Jerusalem, AD 31 The sun had no mercy. It was a hammer, and the Roman fort was the anvil. It was noon, and invisible fire rained down from a cloudless sky. The light glared painfully off of white-washed walls and tiled rooftops. There was a feeble breeze from the surrounding hills brushing over the ramparts of the fortress the invaders built at the corner of the great temple. The zephyr was scant relief to the soldiers on sentry there. It did little more than stir the inferno. At least they were above the stink of the streets below. The tribune had gone indoors to enjoy the comforts of shade and so could not see centurion Aelius Sextus Antoninus removing his helmet to wipe the sweat from the band. The centurion enjoyed the momentary sensation of a gust in the sodden bristles atop his head before returning the foul-smelling leather bucket to its place. This was his nineteenth year in the ranks. Fifteen with the Eighth and the last four with this pack of dogs in the Tenth. They were condemned to service in Palestine as a punishment for various offenses from gambling to sloth to minor theft. Aelius was here also, despite coming from a good, well, a decent family. His offense was his brutal efficiency. He was a tough and able commander and seen by his masters as the best choice to whip these scum into fighting condition. It was his penultimate year in service, and so he kept his thoughts to himself. Aelius buckled the strap beneath his chin and walked the walls. His century, eighty men representative of the worst the legions had to offer, stood in place sweltering in their armor, their pila in their fists, shields on their arms, and swords on their belts. They wore the lighter steer-hide kit, and that was a mercy. Still, armor was armor, and it hung from their shoulders, heavy with sweat. The centurion allowed for regular water breaks. They could not have the rabble seeing any man of the Tenth faint in the ranks. It would not do. The projected power of Caesar Tiberius must appear indomitable. Fear of that power was all that kept these Jews in line. And the Jews were becoming more troublesome all the time. Their own king could not control them. Their priests could not calm them. The filthy mob bridled under a Roman harness, and no amount of the lash would calm them. They took umbrage at everything Roman. Every perceived slight was an excuse for riots. The day the eagles were raised over the newly constructed fortress, a crowd gathered at the gates throwing stones and shouting. They were driven away at spear point and scores were taken away to be scourged. The next morning two soldiers were found murdered, probably caught drunk on their way back from whoring. Twenty Judeans were put on crosses the next day. Ten for each Roman dead. Things had settled down a bit since then. There were sullen looks and occasional squabbles and little else through the winter. Any fool could see it was a fragile peace, an illusion. Now the city was crowded with pilgrims to the temple to celebrate the Jews’ holiday of Passover. They were celebrating their emancipation from the Egyptians long ago. The yoke of servitude placed upon them by Rome was bitterly felt in these days of remembrance. The tension was strained for all to feel. And today would be a high-water mark. “I am not one to question a prefect’s wishes,” Aelius said to a pimply optio whose name had slipped his mind. “But he might have held off on executions until this damned festival is over.” “What is this festival of theirs, sir?” the optio said. His voice was reedy from a parched throat. “They celebrate leaving Egypt for this place, Optio,” Aelius said. “Why did they leave Egypt, sir?” “I’ll be damned and gone to hell if I know. I’ve been to Egypt, and it looks much the same as this to me.” “Centurion!” Aelius
