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CHAPTER 27

The recovery element set off to meet the Germanics. All six of them fit into the vehicle with a bit of working.

Sean was pleased with his sword. It certainly looked lethal, and had bronze and faux garnet inlay, with a scabbard that looked like leather shaped over carved wood. He wouldn’t mind a real one at some point. It was classy looking. It was most certainly the mark of a warrior, and much more so than the parade swords officers dressed up with these days. This thing looked as if it would actually cleave bone.

Sergeant Spencer also had a sword, slightly less elaborate, as did Arnet. The men all had knives or machetes showing that were obviously weapons. Doc also carried a wooden club, almost a mace. With the Byko fabric armor, they should be well protected apart from their faces, and they did have eyepro.

From the driver’s seat, Arnet said, “As before, there’s significant terrain interruption and the last part will be on foot.”

Dalton commented, “I gather this thing can’t blow through the trees.”

“Easily,” Arnet assured him. “That will be obvious and threatening, though.”

“Oh.”

“How far?” Sean asked.

“Appears to be about twenty kilometers. That’s probably outside their hunting radius, as well.”

“That would be ideal. You said they had some agriculture, though?”

“They appear to raise rice, and some sort of grain. A small patch, but likely enough for their needs. They also have fish traps and seem to hunt.”

Spencer said, “All well within their tech.”

The vehicle rolled over the terrain. While smoother than a US military vehicle would have been, the suspension couldn’t flatten out actual hummocks and slopes. It wasn’t a jolting ride, but it was certainly a shifting ride.

It took only a few minutes to reach the edge of the woods, and stop among some scrub.

Arnet opened the doors and hatch.

“Dismount,” Sean ordered.

Once everyone was out, the vehicle closed back up, turned shimmery and largely disappeared, then reappeared looking like a gray rock outcropping. Nice trick.

Two buzzing tones announced the hummingbird-size drones Arnet had to accompany them, and they lifted until they were barely visible and barely audible, circling like insects.

Arnet had a helmet that appeared metal, which obviously included sensors and displays. He looped his sword over his shoulder by its baldric, and Sean followed suit.

Arnet stepped forward and said, “This way.”

Sean ordered, “Sergeant Spencer, you may load and please sling your weapon for now. Everyone else keep a relaxed hold on your weapon.” He’d gone without. He’d let someone else shoot on his behalf if need be, though he certainly wished for something. He’d gotten used to being armed all the time.

“Sergeant Dalton, rear guard, please. Five-meter spacing.”

“Hooah, sir.”

They spread out and moved forward. Arnet pointed at what appeared to be a game path and they moved onto it. At this point they were all experienced, and strode quietly through the growth, ducking limbs or carefully moving them aside as needed.

It was only twenty minutes before the woods thinned slightly. They thinned because they’d been harvested. Every tree under about a six-inch diameter was a stump, and much growth was trod down. They were obviously close.

From behind him, Sergeant Spencer said, “Now is the time to start talking, sir, so we’re travelers, not attackers.”

“I understand,” he said at a normal level. He raised it slightly and turned over his shoulder. “How’s it look back there, Dalton?”

“Fine, sir. I think I smell smoke.”

“Good call.” Yes, that was definitely campfire smoke.

Almost at once there were voices ahead.

They turned into shouts, and what were obviously orders. There were rustling and camp noises. Dogs. Everyone had dogs now.

Spencer hurried forward and asked, “Sir, if I may?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He raised his voice and shouted, “Hallo! Laager! Stadt! Borg!

Someone shouted back “Allo!” and something unintelligible. It could be German, if German was also Swedish, very fluid, and had too many vowels.

They all kept moving. In a few steps, Sean could see rising smoke, and then the tops of log buildings. That was familiar.

“Formation and march,” he said. “Route step until we’re in view, then patrol march.”

They trudged through growth, and onto a well-worn path that was obviously a route to the fort. It even had brush and gravel filling in dips and holes to even it out.

“They maintain this area,” he noted.

Shortly, they emerged into a clearing. He wasn’t sure how much was natural and how much cleared woods. It was big enough, though. Several acres.

This was definitely a defended position. The palisade wasn’t as tall as the one he’d built, but it had a ditch like his as well. It also had an abatis outside. He realized that would have helped the defensibility. He’d thought too modern.

Over there was a goat pen, very much like the one they’d had. Some antelope and deer were in it, too, apparently lamed to stop them vaulting the fence. There were several horses, not modern, but not feral primitive either. They were domesticated.

Ahead was a welcoming party that looked as if it could become a war band very quickly.

The element facing them was twenty men in two offset ranks. The men did have swords, shields, spears. Most were in tunics, a couple in padded armor.

Then he did see some fence on high ground farther in. They were building out, it seemed.

“Almost a motte-and-bailey defense,” Spencer said. “And they definitely look and sound European.”

That was neat, but he wanted to deal with diplomacy before the details. Hopefully this group would be more amenable than the Paleos.

“Cool. Can we manage to talk to them?”

“We’ll try. Oglesby, with me.”

Spencer stepped slowly forward, hands held open.

“Allo.”

One of the opposite nodded, opened hands, and agreed, “Allo.”

Spencer indicated Sean with a nod and a noticeable but not excessive bow.

“We speak for Captain Sean Elliott. We also were lost, but we have a way home.”

Reading from his tablet, Oglesby slowly enunciated something a bit more complex in something German sounding.

Sean watched the leader and the men behind him. They seemed alert, though not aggressive.

It appeared Oglesby was able to make himself understood, in an interrupted, piecemeal fashion. It didn’t take long to get to firm handshakes and smiles, and the contingent visibly relaxed.

Spencer turned and said, “No obvious hostilities, sir.”

That was good.

“Stand down, but stand ready,” he said in a conversational voice. The troops relaxed into parade rest and let themselves shift about a bit.

Shortly, the chief seemed surprised.

Oglesby repeated whatever he’d said, and the man’s eyes got wide. He held hands up to heaven and invoked something.

Spencer asked, “Sir, can you come forward? We seem to be at that point.”

“Of course,” he replied and stepped off.

He strode forward, slowed as he closed, and stopped two paces behind Spencer and Oglesby.

Spencer turned again, bowed fractionally, and said, “Captain Sean, this is Wulf, who I think best is considered a band leader.”

“Handshakes?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Sean nodded, stepped another step forward as Wulf did, and offered his hand. The man’s skin was coarse, warm, and his grip very firm, but not with intent to hurt, just to be solid. He returned it.

“It is good to meet you,” he said with a nod and smile. They locked eyes. Wulf appeared intelligent, confident, determined. He was an equal.

Wulf was about his height, very blond, tanned, with blue eyes and a lot of beard. It was well groomed, as was his longish hair. The helmet he wore looked to be a metal frame with leather inset into it. His shield was well worn, and his sword not as clean or elaborate as Sean’s, but maintained. He wore quilted fabric, natural colored under the stains with some repaired tears, leather boots, and what appeared to be skin pants. He’d probably had those made to replace worn-out fabric.

“We are explaining that there is a way home, but it will be difficult.”

“I understand. Should Arnet join us?”

Spencer said, “Yes. Arnet, if it pleases you to join us,” and nodded fractionally that way. “Also, men, please come within five paces and stop.”

“The men” at this point were Dalton and Doc. Dalton said, “If I may, sir?” to Doc, who nodded.

Dalton continued, “Element, by my command, attention, forward, march.” The two strode evenly across the ground, stopped where indicated, and Dalton ordered, “Element, halt. Parade, rest.”

Well done. It should be obvious they were an orderly military unit, and friendly, but capable.

Wulf turned and dismissed his men, who shouldered arms and marched back inside their village. He indicated for the Americans to follow.

Sean asked, “Sergeant Spencer?”

“Sir, I get no bad vibes at all. He’s more than happy to meet with someone who has something useful for him, and he obviously can’t steal it. We’ve made an offer in his favor. I think it’s all good.”

“Fair enough, but everyone remain alert, watch your positions and cover, and be ready just in case.”

“We’re ready, sir,” Dalton assured him.

“Then let’s go in. Be alert but polite.”

“As always. Well, as always before this trip.”

Inside the ditch and abatis was the earthen rampart and palisade about five feet tall, then another ditch that was soggy and wet from runoff. A planked, removable bridge crossed that. Then there was another palisade, very much like the one the Americans had built last time, though rounder and less regular.

Inside was a small village of mixed Paleos and Germanics. At least three of the women seemed native to the Germans. Those also had spears and were keeping the other women and a few children both corralled and protected, by their demeanor.

Central to the village was a longhouse, several smaller houses, and obvious workshops, including a blacksmith’s shop and a pole lathe.

Sean muttered, “Damn, Martin, you were spot on.”

“It’s three-thousand-year-old tech, sir. The basics are well described.”

“Yeah, but you knew about it. Our recoverees didn’t. Even with it right here.”

“It can be hard to motivate, sir.”

Hewn wooden benches and chairs awaited them under an awning of stitched leather. One of the local women stood ready, in a Dark Ages dress of undyed wool, with a wooden pitcher.

They all sat, Wulf at the head nearest what was probably his lodge, with his presumed wife—from his culture—standing there directing servants. He had a man on either side, probably advisors, in the first seat on each side.

Sean chose to sit next to one of them, facing the entrance to the camp. Arnet sat across. Oglesby was next to Sean, Spencer next to him. Doc sat with Arnet, and Dalton sat at the end where he could watch their host. That left four spots for others, who were apparently men of status. The dogs were on leashes and were tossed occasional scraps. That kept them quiet.

The servants delivered wooden platters with what was a sort of bread, baked from what might be a predecessor of modern wheat, and crackers that were obviously rice and acorn flour. All were gritty and dense. There was roast meat, probably aurochs, and some gray salt. The men were given wooden cups. Sean, Arnet, and Spencer were provided auroch horns, carved with figures and filled with a beverage from a ceramic jug that was recognizable in design.

Spencer said, “Probably mead or beer.”

A moment later, Wulf raised his horn and made what was obviously a toast.

Sean followed, and sipped carefully while their host chugged.

Sweet, tart, definitely alcoholic. There was a slimy aftertaste he really didn’t like, but it was drinkable, barely.

“Mead,” Spencer said. “Fermented from honey, though it seems more beerlike than wine. Also, breaking bread and alcohol is significant. They’re trying to be diplomatic, not hostile.”

That was good news. “That’s a first this time. Let’s try to get a discussion going.”

Arnet’s device had picked up a couple of words and started translating out loud. That shocked them, and Oglesby tried to explain it was good magic.

“I think I managed to get ‘clean’ across, and that it’s to help talk between groups.”

“Good.”

Oglesby said, “This is definitely some form of proto-Germanic or proto-Scandinavian as Sergeant Spencer guessed. Some of the words are passingly familiar.”

“Good. Analyze later, though, please.” It would be fascinating, but he wanted this to go as quickly as possible.

“Of course. Wulf asked how our gods brought us here. Should I tell him our wizards did?”

Sean thought and said, “Arnet’s wizards did, to find our lost element. They’re very powerful.”

“Got it.”

There was back and forth, and the man seemed surprised and impressed, to a point. A handful of words came through. “Shrieker” was one of them.

Spencer replied, “He doesn’t think highly of our lost element, apparently. They got in with the savages instead of building like men.”

“I see. I guess I need to explain that they are not our warriors, only…what?”

Spencer said, “Some peasants and serfs. They’re not trained to fight or build, only for menial work.”

“That’s really not fair, but I guess if it makes this go smoothly…”

Spencer nodded. “It will. Say we were honor bound to bring them home, as sworn to us, and the wizards are helping, but at a price.”

“Hooah.” Oglesby got to it, picking words carefully.

Wulf seemed to accept that with a gruff nod. He spoke back.

“He says we’re to be respected for being honorable to our peasants. He also appreciates the offer of magic to return. How do we proceed and what will it cost him?”

Arnet said, “We’re fixing a problem caused by others, and it’s beneficial to all that he return where he is needed, so we do not need pay. Additionally, we may have a small gift from the defeated wizard who caused it. Is that okay?”

Spencer said, “It is. Add that small gifts to seal the agreement are certainly welcome, as is his generosity, but he also is a man of honor and we take the compliment as payment.”

“Whew.” Oglesby tilted his head and commenced to translating. The machine went along, and was slightly different.

Oglesby said, “I think the machine has it now. I’ll just check it as we go. Anyway, he’s pleased with that, and says basically that he appreciates working with fellow professionals after so long trying to talk to the savages, though I gather he was trying to make them serfs or underlings.”

Spencer grinned. “I guarantee he was. Do you blame him?”

Sean considered. “No, we were more diplomatic, but that was the long-term plan. We had the advantage of comprehending the scenario.”

“Correct.”

With both parties showing peaceful strength, both with the goal of returning home, the discussion proceeded with more beer and food, and smiles and laughter.

Wulf asked, “Where is this strange land we are in? We went downriver and saw nothing beyond more savages. After fifteen days we came back.”

Spencer scrolled down his phone screen, and said, “Tell him we’re east of Derbent and the land of the Bulgars…but a long way. That river ends in a sea, and across that sea is a desert, and across that desert another sea before he’d reach that land. There are no people, and monsters that would take an army.” To Sean he said, “I don’t want the man thinking that a slightly longer boat voyage would get him to a Rus trading post. If he’s late enough to know who the Rus were.”

Wulf replied, “I don’t know of those places. They must be east of Anastasios’s lands.”

“Oh, yes,” Spencer replied with a nod, then turned and elaborated. “Apparently, they don’t have any solid trade connections down that way. Early German.”

Spencer looked at Sean and said, “They have rather sophisticated swords for that early. Not what I expected.”

“Possibly you were wrong about this era?”

Spencer wrinkled his brow. He seemed a bit perturbed. “Possibly everything we know is slightly wrong. We’ve got few documents and a handful of artifacts to deduce from. There’s a lot wrong.”

“Like what?”

“If they’re Merovingian they should be Christian and speaking Latin. They know a bit of Latin, and they know about Christ, but not in much detail. They’re still very pagan, but it’s not quite Germanic paganism. Nor is it a mix that would place them in the northeast fringe, near the Saxons. I can’t identify his group or nation. They’re obviously somewhere in that range, and he claims 715 AD by Roman figuring. Which leads to all the questions I have above. Early German but not what they should be.”

“Are you going to record it all for the experts?”

“I already have,” he said with a tilt of the phone in his hand. “Video, audio, comments.”

The twenty-three Germans, who called themselves “Nordwandlaz,” had been here for three years. There were four couples and fifteen men who arrived single. There were six mixed kids and two who’d come along. They’d done quite a bit of building. A small number had local wives, and there were a couple of camp prostitutes who seemed glad enough to exchange favors for the advanced facilities and expectation of marrying off eventually.

With the machine translating on its own for the most part, Wulf said, “I don’t want to deal with the scrian…screechers.”

Spencer said, “I think that’s similar to what the Norse called the natives in the Americas. Skrælings. Shriekers.”

Arnet said, “He doesn’t have to deal with them, but our camp is near theirs and he’ll need to come there. He can bring an entourage. I reserve the right to limit how many actually enter camp at any time, and also, Cryder will have input on that.”

Oglesby said, “I’ll see what we can do.” He turned back to Wulf and the machine.

It wasn’t an angry discussion, but it was a diplomatic one—who had what authority, what was a reasonable meeting place and terms. Was there shelter?

Arnet agreed shelter for them would not be a problem, and said, “We have an awning we can erect with sides against wind. With a fire, it will be comfortable at night.”

Sean said, “That’s my thought. Impress them step by step so there’s always some new trick. It keeps them interested, aware they’re subordinate, and hopefully impressed enough to take instruction.”

“You’re well versed for a savage,” Arnet replied with a grin.

Sean wasn’t sure he was joking.

He offered, “Well, they can follow us now, establish a route of their choosing, or they can go to the native village and then proceed from there, though you can let him know we’re not thrilled with the natives either, but have them under control.”

Oglesby translated and said, “They’d like to send five men now. He wonders how we control even savages, given their numbers.”

“Tell him we were only as forceful as needed to make the chief understand.”

Spencer added, “But, if they cause any grief, we’re capable of wiping them out.” He turned to Sean. “These are professional warriors, sir. It has to be kept in terms of strength.”

“I trust your judgment.”

More back and forth, and more mead. It was sweet and alcoholic, but whatever they’d aged it in, probably a salt-cured skin, gave it a tang that was vile. He managed to sip, take the occasional guzzle when they did.

Really, they’d managed as well as his element, since they were used to field conditions like that, and didn’t need modern utilities.

Finally, Oglesby said, “Okay, five of them will come with us now, then will return and report back. He understands the time frame for our departure. We haven’t discussed other details.”

Arnet said, “Make sure he understands it’ll require a separate magical trip. We only had plans for one.”

Oglesby agreed, “Right.”

Sean tried to count the locals present. They’d have to bring any children. The wives were possible, depending on the Byko rules. Everything else would have to be slagged.

“Then please let us thank him and get on our way, with whomever he wants to send. Spencer, I want you and Dalton behind them, just in case.”

“Understood, sir.”

Sean rose, extended his hand again, and this time Wulf clasped his elbow with the other hand. He returned it. It seemed to indicate a closer relationship. The man certainly seemed cheered at the prospect of returning home.

Five of the Germans were ready with packs and bedrolls. They also bowed fractionally in respect, and Oglesby translated marching orders.

“That’s it,” he said. “Lead the way, sir.”

Sean nodded, turned, and started walking. Arnet fell in next to him. Oglesby and Doc made a second rank, then the cluster of Germans, with Dalton and Spencer bringing up the rear with firepower.

They moved briskly through the woods, and Oglesby was kept busy trying to translate small talk about the route, how they traveled, and other relevant queries. He wore down fast from the additional effort. Fortunately it wasn’t a long hike, though mostly uphill through heavy brush.

Arnet unscreened the truck before they reached it. At the vehicle, there was another discussion, of how it was a wagon without horses, moved by magic, and they would need to hold on. Dalton climbed up and showed them where to place their feet. They tried not to look nervous, stood where shown, then held onto the rack.

Arnet started slowly, creeping over the terrain. As the men adapted to being passengers, he increased speed. It probably helped that the vehicle was near silent. A diesel engine would likely have made them more twitchy.

Very quickly they were enjoying it.

Oglesby translated one’s comment as, “Like riding a horse, but smoother.”

The man laughed deeply in baritone.


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