Read A Long Time Until Now Online
Authors: Michael Z Williamson
Tags: #fiction, #science fiction, #time travel, #General, #Action & Adventure
A Long Time Until Now (27 page)
Dalton snorked. “Two hundred meters? What good is that?”
She smiled in the faint firelight as she said, “More useful than shouting, and infinitely farther than zero. Also, you can text me updates on materials, inventory, or AARs.”
Elliott said, “I see it for watch. We can relay photos, too. Or give orders quietly. Thank you very much, Sergeant Alexander.” The range was pathetic, but hell, it was progress. They had the vehicles and parts of them, the gear and their personal stuff, and their skills. It was a lot better than it could be.
“You’re welcome, sir.” It sounded as if she were emphasizing just to drive it in.
“We can test that tomorrow. I’ll also do a periodic inspection of what we’ve got so far. So with that said, I guess it’s free time. Keep the watch schedule. Spencer.”
Everyone wandered off, but only a few feet. The glow of tablets and phones indicated movies and music. That helped a lot. It would get repetitive eventually, but for now, they weren’t entirely cut off from civilization. He’d wondered at first if a full break was better, much like Basic Training from civilian world. But they needed some connection.
“Sir,” Spencer said.
“So, we were right on the walls.” He started walking the perimeter. Spencer followed.
“Hell, I knew that, sir. Animals, natives. Someone is going to be hostile.”
“Yes. Can we speed up the north wall?” He walked along the laid-out line and the huge gap.
Spencer said, “It’s getting faster as we go, except we’re dragging logs farther. The straight ones are getting scarce. We’re carrying them five hundred meters, now. We’ll be taking them from downstream and dragging them uphill.”
The drag marks were quite visible, where logs had ripped grass and brush from the hillside in furrows. In the dusk they were creepy, like giant worm tracks. The trimmed limbs and branches lay in a long pile that would at least hinder attackers.
“Do what you can. What’s our strategy if we are attacked? Fire the brush?”
“I’d rather not. We need the fuel. It won’t flare up that fast. It won’t burn very long. We’ve got a pretty good break at the moment,” Spencer said, pointing. “It spans most of the gap and is about ten feet wide, five feet tall. It’s a lot of brush, and no one is crossing it quickly. We just dive into the trucks and button up. We have the turrets.”
“What if we have to shoot?” He’d really prefer to avoid violence with the natives.
“Then we shoot. They don’t know how much ammo we have. But that later group bothers me.”
“Yes, but why?” He had his own theories.
Spencer said, “I suspect they have more belief in gods than spirits. Some modern tribesmen think they’re immune to bullets through various magic. It never works, which just means they need more magic. Casualties don’t dissuade them.”
If so, that was concerning. “Then it depends on if that’s a small group of time travelers, or a regional takeover by contemporaries.” Certainly there was local internecine conflict of some kind.
Spencer said, “And what other groups are out there? If we’re suspecting two, there could be more.”
Spencer had the same thoughts he did.
With a slow nod, Sean said, “Yeah. Get the north done. I’ll figure something out for the river side.”
“Earthworks in several rings, fences, brush, the river. But we need some type of crossing.”
“I’ll design something.”
“I mean the fence crossing the stream. Then we’ll want a bridge, too.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he repeated with some exasperation.
“Sorry, sir, just making sure.”
“Should we store stuff in the trucks?”
“It’s very inconvenient, we don’t have a definite threat yet, and we have at least half a perimeter and modern weapons. I think we’re okay. But we do need to keep the watch up.”
Spencer pointed up where Oglesby and Dalton sat. Dalton was on watch, Oglesby was just shooting the shit, but as long as it kept the watchstander awake, that was fine. Dalton kept scanning the distance.
He said, “I’m tempted to suggest a night vision scan every half hour.”
Spencer replied, “I think that’s a good idea. Possibly not all the time, but definitely the next few days.”
“As long as we have rechargeables, I’m going to make it a regular thing.”
“I’ll spread the word, sir.”
CHAPTER 12
The next day, the two latrine sides went up, and the roof went on. It wasn’t perfect, nor was it a private bathroom, but Martin Spencer felt relieved. He didn’t like shitting in public, and he was sure the women liked it less. Everyone had been discreet and polite on the matter, but the more civilized they could remain, the better. He felt creepy when he caught a glimpse of the women squatting.
They’d need a door and plank walls next. Though Barker was working on that sweat lodge and it would be done in a few days. That would be welcome, too. It had been two months since he’d felt hot water. For now the lodge was just a lashed frame of withes. Alexander was supposed to stitch pieces of goatskin to cover it when she wasn’t busy with administration, helping gather herbs, or chopping firewood. Despite snarky comments from Dalton and Oglesby, she did her share of work. They also liked sleeping in the tepee she stitched the cover for. Well, was still stitching. Some of it was still draped, but that was coming along. They got goat hides with every kill, and tendons and rawhide for stitching them together.
He knew of tepees from books. Barker had built them. With the inside liner and cover over the living area, reflected heat was keeping it quite warm for now. It was also very dark, and darker as the ponchos and plastic got replaced with stitched hide. Eventually, they’d need to scrape some lighter ones, or weave something. But he suspected they’d appreciate the heaviness in a few weeks.
Dalton and Trinidad were chopping trees. Caswell was hunting with Ortiz. Barker was cooking. Oglesby was down and in Number Eight to enjoy privacy. Elliott, Doc, Alexander and himself were doing camp labor—dragging brush, cutting it into firewood, stretching leather, and shortly they’d be macheteing grass. Eventually he’d have to make a scythe. Forge first.
He dragged a pruned bough over to the woodpile and started sectioning it into sticks and small loglets.
Right then, Doc said, “Chilly this morning.”
“Yeah. Winter is coming,” Spencer agreed. They’d had frost. The leaves had started to turn yellow, except for some kind of ivy around the trees that was turning an absolutely brilliant crimson red.
“That breeze is stiff. I almost want to take cover behind the woodpile.”
He burst out laughing.
Devereaux stared at him. “Eh?”
“Old, very racist slang.”
Doc stared at the sky and thought for a moment, then said, “Oh. Ooooh. Hehehe. Good thing we’re not where I can file an EEO complaint, Sergeant.”
“Yeah, good thing my only familiarity is historical. Seriously, Armand, I’m very glad we have you. I expect to get old first. You’re going to be my savior.”
“Hopefully. I’ve got limited facilities.” Devereaux pointed at him. “How’s your guts?”
“Bone meal seems to help, as does the low carb diet.” He seemed to be okay taking a pill every other day, and had a little irritation but no pain. Still, he might be dissolving his esophagus from that, and eventually it would kill him. He or Alexander would be first from their medical issues, unless rampaging animals trod Caswell or Dalton into the mud.
“Good. I wish I had some way to scope you, but there isn’t.”
“I’m more concerned about the palisade at the moment.” His stomach would kill him slowly. The predators or intruders might be a lot quicker. They’d had a bear walk through the previous night, and crap behind Number Eight, less than twenty feet from Ortiz on watch, thirty from the tepee.
“At least we’re getting buff and fit,” Devereaux said, and flexed a bicep. He’d been wiry and lean before. He had bulked up and ripped down from the diet and exercise.
“We are. Pity there’s no one we can use it on.”
“Native women. Eventually. They’re very nice to look at, when they’re young and healthy.”
Martin said, “Yeah, but they don’t stay that way long, and you’d need to teach one hygiene, I have no idea what we do about age restrictions, and they have families who want gifts.”
“I know.” There was a long pause. “Martin, since we’re using first names for now, what do we do about the regs? How long do we try to remain U.S. Army?”
He’d thought about that often.
“I’d say as long as we can. It’s frustrating, but we need the framework for discipline. In a way, this is worse than death. It’s a lot like being a POW.”
“It is. It’s depressing. I’m worried about a couple of our people.”
“Which ones?”
Doc checked his fingers. “Well . . . Alexander is depressed, partly environmental, partly endocrinal. Caswell seems constantly hyperalert and ready to break. And the LT. He’s prone to zone out.”
There was a hollow thumping sound. Was someone fitting another pole? He thought today was chopping day.
Martin said, “I think Elliott will be okay. Alexander is a medical case, but she responds when you prod her. Caswell . . . she seems to have a lot of issues. Some of it’s being Air Force among us. Some is being female. Some is that unrealistic view she’s had of the egalitarianism of primitive societies. A lot of feminists have that, even though nothing I’ve read supports the idea. They want it really badly, but it doesn’t have much evidence on its side.”
“I wondered about that.”
The thumping came again, and he said, “Stop wondering and start running, it’s a stampede.” He turned and shouted, “Dalton! Trinidad! Stampede! Head for the stockade.”
They had plenty of time. It wasn’t quite a stampede, but it was a large movement of animals. To the west, the large, ugly antelope ran in streams among the wooly rhino, who stirred up dust and plant debris with their gallops.
Spencer shouted, “Open the gate!” as he climbed up onto Number Eight, and without looking down called, “Oglesby, we have stampede,” as he climbed up into the turret.
“Uh? Oh.” The man had been sleeping.
Trinidad called back, “Why the gate?”
“
Open the fucking gate!
” Why couldn’t he just do as he was fucking told?
The kid did it.
“I don’t get it, either,” Elliott said as he climbed up the back.
“Half a gate. They’ll bump it and might break it. Better they run right through.”
“Logical,” Elliott agreed, then said, “Everyone aboard the vehicles.”
“Ramps up?”
“I don’t think that’s a problem, but keep a spear handy.”
The rhino weren’t numerous, but they were huge. One of them lumbered through the gate, snorting, and drove straight through the fire circle without damaging anything. He appeared to move a lot lighter than his bulk suggested, but the ground shook. He charged over the tree stumps and brush by the creek and kept going, splashing mud as he scrambled up the far bank.
Several gazelles followed, and one of the ugly saiga type beasts.
That was it. A few others had gone around the ditch, and some south of the wall. All in all, a nice livestock show.
“I wonder what set them off?” Alexander asked below him.
“Could be anything. Something disturbed one, he jogged, bumped another, pretty soon they’re charging. Everything else around them either takes it as a hint, or tries to get out of the way.”
From the roof of Number Nine, Ortiz said, “That was a small one. There’s lots of room. They don’t seem to form huge herds, just family groups.”
“Yeah. Not like zebra or buffalo.”
Barker said, “I saw a couple of those aurochs, and some wild boar. We need steak and ham.”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t think you can take them down with a rifle?”
“Brain shot will, or we build a trap. I’m not interested in being sporting. I’m interested in eating.”
The excitement over, they dispersed.
“We need that other gate ASAP,” Spencer said.
Trinidad said, “Let’s grind the pivot and get it moving.”
“I need a damned hatchet. The axes are too big, and the machetes are suboptimal.”
Dalton said, “So forge one.” He was being half derisive. Yes, it was going to take a while to get to that stage, and the kid would be less smartass then.
“I will, eventually. Several.” He hoped. First they had to find ore. He could definitely reduce it, eventually. He even knew how to carburize, which put him above anyone before the year 1000 or so.
In the meantime, the rushing animals proved they needed the barricade.
Shaping the pivots took a lot of chiseling and carving. Trinidad was murder with a machete. He used a combination of slicing chops, hacking chops, scrapes and cuts with wrist twists to turn the top point of the log into a quite smooth cone. It wasn’t as smooth as a lathe would make it, but impressive.
“We should have done this sooner,” Martin said as he watched.
The socket was a beast. It wouldn’t be done today. They hammered, chiseled, gouged with knives, filed and scraped.
Trinidad said, “I need a lump from the fire and a reed,” he said. “Just burn it deeper.”
“Not a bad idea, hold on.”
Actually . . . yes. It should work.
Trinidad ran that way, and Spencer noted the increase in the man’s muscle mass. They were all getting bigger from manual labor.
Caswell and Ortiz returned with something small and meaty looking. It might be a yearling deer. They hung it in the kitchen area.
“We got a stampede,” she said.
“Yeah, it came through here.”
“Luckily, they didn’t seem crowded. I thought a rhino was going to stomp me into the ground, but he shifted at the last minute.”
“Good. I’m not sure what we can do about that while hunting. It doesn’t seem to happen often, though.”
“Approaching party!” Barker called from the lookout.
“Oh, goddammit. Paleos?”
“Negative. Large party, numbering about three zero. Armed with bows, with dogs.”
A chill ran down him.
“Body armor, weapons. Magazines in, chambers empty for now, but be ready. I’ll do the meet and greet, the LT has the trucks.”
“I’ll meet them,” Elliott said. “You keep the trucks.”
“Understood, sir,” he said, and felt disgusted with himself for feeling relief. He really wanted to avoid fights.
So why had he started snapping orders and assuming command?
Because he didn’t trust anyone to do the right thing, and he could avoid his fears by giving orders to others. Not good.
The troops were running in and out of the tepee, quite briskly, and wearing armor and helmets. If someone wanted to get stupid with a bow . . .
“Two-forty mounted,” Barker called. “Belt in the box, top cover open.”
“Good, keep it like that for now.”
Yeah. If they got stupid . . .
Please, don’t get stupid.
Sean Elliott shrugged into his ITV and tossed on his ACH. It felt comforting, but almost unfamiliar. It had been weeks since he’d bothered.
“Oglesby with me. Dalton. Caswell. Ortiz . . . no, Trinidad.”
He was risking Trinidad, the intel expert, over the vet, and their edible plant expert, but dammit, he couldn’t leave everyone safe, and he only had nine people.
Alexander ran up with his Bluetooth. He shrugged and stuck it in.
Barker called, “Five hundred meters. I count three-two adults. I’m calling it a war party.”
That was not what he wanted to hear.
“Roger that. We’ll head out so we’re in view.” He wanted that gun covering him. Was Barker good enough to miss him if he fired?
“Go ahead and load,” he ordered. “Fingers off triggers, muzzles safe. We’re not going to start anything.”
Dalton said, “But if they do, we’ll finish it.”
He said, “Be frugal with ammo. Start with two warning shots.”
Caswell said, “Sir, they have no context for a warning shot. It’s just a loud noise. If nothing happens, it won’t have a good effect, and it means if we do shoot one later, they’ll decide the noise isn’t always deadly.”
“Okay.” That was logical. It limited his options though. “Then I guess you shoot to disable or kill. Once they’re down, stop, and Doc will try to save them.”
“Just like Hajjis,” Dalton said. “Has A-stan ever changed?”
“Here we go. Oglesby, let me know if you have anything.”
The man nodded. “Hooah, sir. It’s possible there will be some PIE. It’s even vaguely possible I’ll recognize it if they talk slow. That would be awesome.”
“I’ll take your word on it.” He’d meant to ask what PIE was last time, and hadn’t. Obviously something linguistically common. Pre-something?
