CHAPTER 29
The next morning, Armand Devereaux sat at CQ for sick call, then joined for PT after it started. He could see the Germans gathering for breakfast. They were quite pleased with the pork options and eggs. A couple asked for porridge. Toast went over well.
They watched the morning PT with interest. They clearly understood this was military drill. They also seemed to grasp that one element was subordinate to the other. Hell, go ahead and say “inferior.” The recoverees were very much supplicants and while they’d survived, they hadn’t done so with much dignity or skill. It was fair to say his element was top notch, but even with that as an outlier, these guys had failed hard. The Germans could tell who was who.
It took them a while to figure out the females. Caswell’s duties made her a camp follower, but they probably couldn’t figure out her military status, and the uniform didn’t help since everyone was in the same clothing. It had been explained that the scientists were scribes and wise women, and they seemed to get that. He saw two of them talking, pointing and nodding. He followed the gestures and indications and they’d apparently figured out the Bykos were their own senior element. They knew the captain and SFC Spencer were senior for the Americans. As medic, Armand had a high status. As obvious charge of support, Caswell had some status, but he couldn’t tell how they interpreted it. Dalton was armed on perimeter, obviously a trusted armsman. The scientists they’d been told about, and the rest were the peasants they’d been described. He watched more gesturing as they noticed that none of the recoverees had any visible weapons, not even knives, while the others all had big field knives and obvious items of status.
It was fascinating to see how their background colored their own interpretation, and that he could see it from their interactions.
When Sergeant Spencer came up to refill his CamelBak, Armand asked him.
“How do you think the Germanics are interpreting this? Caswell seems to confuse them.”
Spencer filled the bladder, capped it, sat down and leaned back.
“Women warriors aren’t totally unknown in their mythos, but she hasn’t done anything relevant in their sight. They assume we’re warriors based on presentation, and they definitely interpret the other element as serfs. They’re not sure about the Bykos, but can tell they’re peers to the captain. They accept that the scientists are doing something for the gods and don’t need or want details. It’s women’s magic, and men stay out of it.”
“That was pretty much my take.”
“Yeah. It’s going to be interesting to see how they react. The captain wants to talk to them about recovery as soon as daily schedule is set. They’re well impressed with the food so far.”
“Hell, so am I. They must be amazed.”
“Likely. Hopefully getting them set and home is an easy add-on. I need to go, Doc.”
“No problem, thanks for the insight.”
There was a bleep from the system, and Arnet said, “It’s the locals returning with the game we asked for.”
Spencer was suddenly alert. He grabbed his phone and quickly tapped something.
Shortly, Caswell walked up.
“Sergeant?”
“You get the game from them, inspect it, remind them to stay away, and dismiss them. Status show for the Germans.”
“Ah, got it.” She nodded and strode deliberately toward the wards. “Hamilton, I need your assistance, please.”
The private ran to follow.
The men arrived with two good-looking, bled and gutted carcasses. He assumed the thoracic organs were still inside. Those were choice cuts to these people.
Caswell took her time inspecting them, and made comments, translated through Hamilton. After a few minutes, she nodded, made a gesture that was almost a blessing, and pointed the way they’d come. They showed obvious subservience as they turned and left.
She called, “Keisuke, please help Hamilton move the meat to the kitchen.”
“Hooah!” he replied, and ran up. She let them do the carrying as she led the way.
Spencer said, “Excellent.”
Armand replied, “Establishes status for her?”
“Yes, she’s at least a senior householder. They should give her some respect. I have no idea if we need it, but it’s there.”
“And we get venison for dinner.”
Sean Elliott sat down with the Germans, Cryder, Spencer, and Oglesby.
He began, “Please use whatever honorific is appropriate, and adjust as needed. Spencer will advise and offer holds if needed, but I want to be as open as possible. Everyone please do your best.”
Spencer raised a forefinger, and said, “Want me to start then, sir? You two are senior and should be…well, senior.”
Cryder almost laughed. “Go ahead,” he agreed.
“Sure,” Sean echoed.
Spencer nodded. “Greetings, men. We’re going to cover some details of returning home, though the finer points will be up to the wizards, who aren’t here. We will depart with our serfs. You may have noticed they are less favored, and struggle a lot.”
Whew. That was harsh, but it wasn’t entirely inaccurate, and it did establish position and probably a noble obligation.
There were nods and comments to the affirmative.
He continued, “We will move from here to a departure point chosen as a bridge through the heavens. Everything will go with us. We will then return with our carts and tools, to return you with us, to the wizards’ castle, and then to your home. There are limits on what you can take with you.”
There was discussion, intermittently translated by the machine, until the leader spoke.
“I am Gurm. When can this take place, and what strictures do the wizards have?”
Spencer looked at Cryder and said, “I believe this is your call, sir.”
Cryder nodded. “It’ll be several weeks. I’ll ask the wizards as soon as we return, but there is always preparation time. They must gather energies and sacrifices, and then confer with the signs of the gods on when and where. You can all bring personal items, and a limited amount of things you’ve acquired. Some family will be able to come along, but not all retainers. Many of the locals will need to stay.”
Sean thought that quite a good presentation that should be clear.
Gurm asked, “Can we send a message or offering to your wizards?”
Cryder replied, “We can relay any message. Offerings aren’t necessary. Our council of kings has instructed them to fix the mistake.”
“Wulf would like to have a time and place.”
“If I had one I would tell you. I can’t speak for the wizards or the kings.”
“Will you swear a blood oath?”
Cryder looked over at Spencer.
Spencer said, “Probably he means a slice of the hand, some dripped blood, and probably the captain, too.”
Nodding, Cryder turned back. “If it is a fair…not harmful oath, I can. Captain Elliott, are you also agreeable to an oath with these men?”
Here we are, he thought. He spoke carefully for the translator.
“They are honorable men and I will gladly swear an oath with them.”
Gurm nodded, pulled out a small, pointed knife, and made a slice near the heel of his hand. Blood welled and dripped at once. The man gave no indication it was at all uncomfortable.
Sean clenched his teeth and tried not to show it. He drew his Cold Steel that actually saw little use. Following Gurm’s lead he made a small cut on the edge of his palm that burned and stung and dripped.
He saw Cryder had already done so.
The three of them basically high-fived, and that stung more. Blood smeared, and that was a bit disturbing, having someone else’s blood mix in. It was far more personal than just being splashed. He understood why such oaths carried power.
Arnet arrived with clean white cloths to bind the cuts, and noted, “Medicated, will heal quickly. His will take slightly longer but faster than natural.”
“Thank you,” he replied in relief as he carefully wrapped the fabric around his hand and felt the stinging throb dull to a tense ache.
Cryder suggested, “We can return you to your camp tomorrow. There is a marker for us to use to locate you when we return. This evening, please join us for a feast and revel.”
Gurm agreed, “That’s very hospitable.”
The evening was fun. Roast venison with herbs and salt. Mashed potatoes from the pantry. Some local greens and more herbs. Gravy. Beer, wine, and flavored rum. String, horn, and wind music from archive, and Sergeant Spencer had some band called Skáld on his memory stick. They sounded very Viking, and the Germans were quite enthusiastic, once they got over the shock of the musicians being elsewhere.
When they were told they could keep the quilted blankets, they were even more appreciative. They bedded down in a well-intoxicated haze and snored. Arnet adjusted something and the walls of the shelter became soundproof.
It was a chill night, foggy, damp, and then sharp. It was late October and felt like it.
Sean alternated socializing with writing up the day’s summary. His hand had already healed, which was impressive and appreciated. Primitive rituals he could do without.
Kate Sheridan watched as the Germans boarded the vehicle and headed back to their village. It was early, with the sun burning through the fog, but hot breakfast was almost instant, so she grabbed coffee and sausage and warmed up at the fire. As field conditions went, it was quite decent. The toilet was still cold, but with a draft of warm air to make it a bit less challenging to go. The hot food and fire helped. The wards were a nice touch. She saw signs of a bear that had ambled by late.
The Nordwandlaz were a nice bonus on their genetic analysis. Certainly there were burial finds with occasional DNA, but living beings left complete codes. Of course, no one here had managed to place exactly where they were from. Hopefully that could be deciphered, rather than having to guess.
Others rose, cleaned up, got food. It was less organized than the Army seemed to prefer, but the resources made it work. Amalie came up blinking, grabbed a double coffee with a huge amount of cream and a bacon stick.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” she agreed. “Ready for the move?”
“Supposed to be the final one. Not ready, but let’s get it done.”
“Yeah. The troops aren’t doing PT this morning.”
“While everyone else was partying, I took care of processing more samples.”
“I’m sorry. I should have helped.” The older woman never seemed to take breaks.
“Don’t be. I hate company. I was much better over there. I heard the music and laughter. That’s enough for me.”
“Okay. You might want to see someone about that, though.”
“Or I might not.” Amalie’s tone was very cold and hard.
“Well, if it works for you, then that’s fine,” she said hastily, trying to cover the gaffe.
Down at the fire, Captain Elliott was doing his morning briefing.
“Striking camp will again start with personal gear, then tents, then group gear. The wards will be last, and Arnet and Caswell will handle our detainees. Once the wards are down, those collars are all we have. If you run, it’s going to hurt. Not that I think anyone else will; you want to go home. But that’s the rule. The faster we do this, the faster we can be comfortable at our final point, which can get boring at the end, though this time we have entertainment at least.”
Cryder added, “I’ve set safety at ten meters outside the ward radius. Generous, I think. Outside that, you get a beep, a tingle, a zap, and unconscious, about that fast.”
Elliott resumed. “That all said, everyone has a few more minutes for breakfast, then start with personal gear. Report that to Sergeant Caswell. Sergeant Spencer is handling the perimeter. Arnet is in charge of the CQ. Scientists, can you hear me up there?”
“Yes, sir!” Kate called back.
“Anything you need?”
“We should be able to pack it all down alone.”
“Roger that. I show 0823. By 0845 teardown should be in progress. Any sick call, see Doc ASAP.”
Kate and Amalie finished eating and downed their coffees with a couple of gulps, then folded down the laptop-equivalents and stowed test strips and vials. The Bykos had really good tech to share. She was still pretty pissed at the control of their findings.
“I hope we can keep enough data to matter,” she commented. “I’d hate for the work to be wasted.”
Raven muttered, “Memorizing everything I can. Also pics. I suggest not mentioning it.”
She gave a single nod of assent and didn’t reply. Her counterpart did have an amazing memory, though the details of genotyping were pretty complex.
There weren’t any issues and it happened quickly. By 0930 the camp was struck, and she offered help hauling the ward posts back to Roller One. The graveled running track went away with some device that threw gravel almost like a lawnmower would, and roughed up the soil. That made sense. Plowed terrain untended would blend quickly. A compacted mass of gravel could last thousands of years under the right circumstances.
By then, Arnet had assembled some sort of trailer.
“It has seats and a folding overhead. It’s not very comfortable, but better than walking.”
It was obvious who was riding in that.
By 1000 everyone was loaded up, she in Roller One with Caswell, Oglesby, and the captain in back, Dalton and Cryder up front.
The Byko warned, “This will be an all-day trip and we might need ground recon for water features.”
“Trouble crossing?” Dalton asked.
The man shook his head. “None at all for the vehicle, but it might be overly steep, scary, and painful for occupants.”
“Ah, so pick good slopes?”
“If and when needed. I see two streams on the map and some depressions that might be.”
“Roger that.”
This was always the frustrating part. She was the least qualified person at this point, despite a PhD. She could handle a firearm at an amateur, occasional trip to the range level. She didn’t know enough to recon for a vehicle crossing, nor anything about winches or anything if they needed them. She was strictly a passenger along for a bumpy, cramped, uncomfortable ride.
At that, this was far roomier than a HMMWV, but she wasn’t small, and it was still tight quarters. Younger and leaner people had it much easier.
She never liked helmets or even hard hats, but even with the smoothing action of the vehicle’s track system, it was a chaotic ride, and her helmet bumped the overhead repeatedly. They were crossing terrain. The river was far north from here, but all the runoff from these hills fed it. She wondered how it changed with glaciation, and what the millennia of wind, rain, and winters would do to it. It would be fascinating to mount a long-term camera and take an image a day.
They jolted into and out of a deep rut, almost a gully, which was followed by a rock.
“Cryder, technical question,” she asked.
“Go,” he prompted.
“Have you heard of what we called terrastar wheels? Three wheels rotating around a planetary hub.”
“Yes. Those lack springs and bars. They work okay as water paddles, roll in and out of low-terrain dips well, especially at speed. At slow speed or deeper obstacles, they require considerably large pneumo tires or a hydraul mechanism to level the ride.”
“Ah, so not as good?”
He shrugged. “Better than some axled wheels. Almost as good as some of your tracks. Not as effective as the be…system we have here.”
He’d almost named it. Belt? Bed? Bearing? She guessed the name would give something away, but he wouldn’t answer now, so she didn’t ask.
“Okay. I’ve seen them and built models but never ridden on them.”
He tilted his head over his shoulder again. “This is as smooth as it gets.”
Captain Elliott said, “I’ve seen those, and I’d love to try them out sometime. They were used on an artillery piece.”
“Huh. I saw them in a movie and in schematics.”
“I get what he says about unsprung weight and suspension, though,” Elliott noted.
“Yeah, that’s something I look at from time to time.”
Elliott was a civil engineer, not mechanical, but neither was she. They talked about gear ratios and cog angles for a bit. It was fun.
She asked, “What are you thinking about, Dan?”
Oglesby shook himself alert, and replied, “Dr. Raven suggested I write up the linguistic separation for her to refer to someone.”
“Oh, yes, that. What do you think?”
“I can do it,” he said. “I have no idea how it will be adapted for anything in our era.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted, “But our research group has been really good about getting information out.”
She realized she shouldn’t tell them any more, and certainly not around Cryder.
Luckily, Caswell interrupted. “Excuse me, but I’m watching the trailer…it’s struggling.”
Elliott looked back. “Yeah, that’s a rough ride, and maybe some bruises. I think Noirot and Kita are okay. The others are getting a shaking.”
An hour later, Kate realized Cryder wasn’t kidding about the ride. With Dalton guiding, thigh deep in a narrow stream, the vehicle dropped into the course at a combination pitch down thirty degrees and left roll forty. The nose jammed into the far bank and wouldn’t lift, until something protruded and cut enough earth for it to clear. The near-silent motor hummed and buzzed with power as the drive forced the nose to scoop through the earth and rise. Dalton scrambled ahead and to one side, shouting and pointing.
“Nose is jammed! Oh, shit. Okay, you’re clear. Left is about four inches out, right almost in contact. Whoa! Whoa! Mud jammed everywhere. Okay, you’re…flat, plane, whatever to the ground. Nose is above the terrain line. Clear!”
The vehicle slammed up and ahead, rolled forward almost plane, and stopped. Dalton ran back to check the other truck.
Roller Two rose up behind them, with just enough room past the gully for the passenger trailer. Cryder bumped forward a bit more to give them some space.
Dalton opened the door.
“Is there a tarp or something you want me to sit on?” he asked. He was soaked and caked.
Cryder pointed back. “Use the hose to clean off, and the air blast to dry. We can wait a couple of minutes.”
“Hooah.” The man stepped back, shrugged and pulled off boots, socks, and pants. He pressure-washed everything and blew them with hot air. Not for the first time she admired his nice calves. He definitely walked a lot and did some lifting. He dressed quickly and got back in.
They stopped for lunch, eating in and around the vehicles. It was decidedly chill now. Dalton had to be really glad to be warm and dry.
Because she was concerned, Kate made a quick check of the recoverees. They seemed mostly calm despite riding down those ravines in an open trailer, and still pissed off at being caged. Noirot clutched her daughter, who definitely wasn’t happy with the trip.
Raven nodded and had nothing to say. She understood some of that was OPSEC, but the woman had always been remote, asocial, and detached.
She returned to Roller One and accepted a ration packet that opened easily. There was a tube of something that claimed to be chicken noodle soup, which heated itself on opening and was pretty good, even sucked through a straw.
While munching onion crackers and some sort of meat-cheese spread, she noted, “No flying cars for this, eh?”
Cryder replied, “Possible, but obviously uses more energy. Larger footprint for payload. Makes slow ground approach impossible. Nothing here is far enough to justify one.”
“You don’t want to take a loop around and check out the geography?”
“I might.” He grinned. “This way I’m not tempted. The boffos want us to minimize interaction and engagement.”
“I get that,” she replied. “It would be fascinating.”
“They may set a mission for that,” he said. “This isn’t it.”
“Pity.” She really would like to see more.
“Going to have to roll faster where terrain allows. I want to avoid a bivouac en route.”
“Yeah, why do that if we don’t have to?”
“Finish eating and we’ll drive.”
Cryder wasn’t kidding. They had to be hitting 50 MPH on the flats. His control panel had a terrain monitor like some video games, but it only gave approximations. They slammed across a few dips and hummocks, and she was near nauseous when they slowed to cross another stream, this one thankfully shallow and not too wide.
Dalton commented, “Huh, about like the one we based near last time. Including a damp, seasonal feeder.”
“We’re a long way from there, but it’s typical for the terrain,” Cryder explained.
“Yeah, just interesting to see and brings back memories.”
“That plateau up there is our destination,” the man said as he pointed.
“Good. It’s getting dark fast.”
It still took another half hour to reach, with terrain obstacles including jutting rock outcroppings and copses of scrub.
As they circled around one, Dalton asked, “Can this thing drive over or through those?”
Cryder almost squinted and said, “If it were urgent enough I could slam through, but we’d ride over the downed trunks. I could push through a thin spot and force some space with a bit more time. Otherwise I’d cut through with fire or explosive.”
“How much time would that save?”
“It’d be slower. Going around is much easier generally.”
“Okay. I just wondered because this thing is on par with some of our armored vehicles.”
“They have a mass advantage, and possibly a frame advantage depending on incidence of angle and mass-impact vector.”
Kate understood that at least. This was physics.
“What about armor?”
Cryder laughed. “You’ve nothing close to this. And this is what you’d call a truck. Equivalent to your patrol armored cars.”
“Damn,” Dalton muttered, clearly impressed.
Arnet announced, “Stopped.”
Martin Spencer unassed, and stretched upright. God, that ached. It was early dusk, fading quickly. He looked forward, and got a nod from Captain Elliott.
“Listen up!” he ordered. “Wards up first. Tents second. We’ll take care of details in the morning. Wards are Dalton, myself, Uhiara, Oglesby and Dr. Sheridan. Sergeant Caswell is in charge of tents, she’ll pick her team. Hamilton, Oyo, please assist Cryder with the vehicles and latrine. Captain, Cryder, any additions or comments?”
Elliott called, “Doc is available for any travel discomfort, once Arnet is free from setup. Get done fast and I’ll authorize a holiday fire and some rum.”
Several troops sounded off with, “Hooah!”
Rough setup was done quickly. His team didn’t waste time, and everyone was sweating in short order from hauling wards, spiking them in, and folding the feet into place. The grass was knee deep and full of brush, stalks, weeds, and other scrub.
The wards were powered up, the latrine dug in, and the tents arrayed in an arc. Caswell had someone do a rough cut with the trimmer so they didn’t have to pitch atop plant stalks. The mounted gun atop Roller Two was live, and he assumed the captain had them on rotation tonight at least. The prison tent went up and the two least trustworthy went into it.
It was dark, but smartlights from the vehicles followed everyone, buzzing little helpers that tracked eye movement and illuminated whatever one was working on. He also had the chest-mounted light in the Byko field harness. All in all, it took a half hour to do what would take several hours with a larger cooperative element.
Both the scientists needed painkillers for joints. Someone snarked about “fat chicks,” but he knew what age did. None of them were old, but certainly late thirties was older than mid-twenties. A couple of the recoverees had been shaken about riding as cargo. There were some bruises and scrapes. Burnham had a pretty good welt on his left tricep.
“Additional order!” he shouted. “Everyone who was in the trailer, see Doc for a check-over. ASAP.”
Arnet assisted Doc. Cryder took over on housekeeping and opened up the kitchen. There was bread, several types of spreads—meat, cheese, peanut butter, some vegetable stuff that had the texture of relish but tasted fresh, not pickled—and condiments. Next to that, the beverage dispenser had field rum, a sports drink, and water. Caswell stationed herself there.
She pointed at the dispensers. “One drink per person, but it’s a double. There’s grape juice for Kita.”
The little girl grinned at her name, happy again to be in a camp and with food and people. Children had simple needs and concerns. She chugged grape juice and got straight into a peanut butter sandwich. She reminded Martin of his own daughter at that age.
The captain and Sergeant Burnham had a fire going, with a loose rock circle denoting the pit. A handful of cushions and boxes from the vehicles, and some rocks, provided enough things to sit on. As field conditions went, once again it was pretty damned good.
There was enthusiastic talk around the fire.
Dalton informed the recoverees on process. “We’ll be here getting bored, getting tense, then bang! We’re in Bykostan. Fr—”
Keisuke asked, “It’s called Bykostan?”
“Yeah, Central Asia, future from us. All high tech, a research facility in the wilderness. They have a place for us to stay, eat, get debriefed. From there we’ll be going home.”
“But you have to come back for those German guys.”
Arnet said, “We do, you don’t. It’ll be fine. You won’t notice that aspect. Then we send you all home, following our council’s guidance.”
“Finally. It’s been a long fucking time.”
Arnet added, “Remember it hasn’t been long there. It’s been a few months subjective. We should have you back within days of when we transitioned.”
Oyo twisted her head and said, “That’s going to take some adjustment.”
Martin offered, “It will, but you’ll have lots of support. We have counselors, contacts, benefits, paid consults, and we all have private communications with each other. You can set that up among yourselves.”
A faint, cold mist started descending. The tiny drops stung and tickled, then coalesced into an icy glaze on skin and clothing. The Byko fabric uniforms were great, and he was dry underneath, but his neck and hands chilled and dripped.
“Everyone may as well lights out,” he suggested. “Tomorrow we start turning this into a comfortable place to stay for the remainder.”
“Why bother?” a male voiced asked. He wasn’t sure who.
“So we have something to do. We’ll hunt, have fires, music, movies, and generally stay active until the last countdown. Any comments, sir?”
Captain Elliott had been over talking to Cryder. He turned and said, “Oh six hundred wakeup. Breakfast, sick call, PT, and then camp improvement as Sergeant Spencer mentioned. It’ll all go away before we leave anyway.”
With that, people did start crawling into tents. Enough light leaked from seams that he could tell they were watching some combination of movies, games, or porn. As long as they woke up ready to work, that wasn’t his problem.
Martin once again exercised the privilege of rank for first watch shift. Staying up late suited him. Getting up early less so. A two-hour chunk in the middle of the night was somewhere below taking a dump in a porta-potty in Alaska at -45°F.
He sat atop Roller Two at the turret, which could be controlled from inside, but he wanted a view of the camp. There was a near invisible folding screen that covered him from the drizzle. Arnet sat below at a monitor station.
“How late are you up?” he asked.
Arnet replied, “Caswell replaces me in an hour, then Dalton replaces you. Staggered shifts.”
“Cool,” he nodded. “Think it’ll be an easy transition home? Given they were five years on this one?”
“They should be,” the man said with a nod. “They wanted to ensure they were well past the other element’s arrival. In our case and all other cases, subsequent transitions are very accurate. Cryder got back to you within a day of their target tick.”
“Oh, good.” That was reassuring.
Nothing of significance happened. Some wildlife wandered by including a hyena. People woke up to drain excess beer. The rain tapered off. When Dalton crawled out and came over, he told the man exactly that.
“Quiet is good, Sergeant,” Dalton agreed. “Sleep well.”
“Thanks. Hope it stays quiet.”
He’d thought he was still awake, but once he was horizontal in his bag he was warm, drowsy, and quickly asleep.