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CHAPTER 37

Jenny Caswell had a task. Morning formation was done. The weather had cleared up and warmed a bit, into the forties. She had Dr. Raven with her, one of the native wives, Uka, and one of the Germanic women, Lils. They were trying to dig up some herbs and greens to go with the feast. The machine could replicate most seasonings, but it would add to the ritual of the event to use real greens.

She’d gotten pretty good at this during their time in the Paleolithic. Uka was amazing, though. She was wiry and fit and looked perfectly average in a woolen dress. Lils was experienced and cheerful, a curvy woman of about twenty-five. Dr. Raven was partly along for support, partly for professional interest and specimen gathering, but did recognize a couple of plants. They had one weapon, Jenny and Raven had machetes and knives, and the two “primitive” women, which seemed rude, but she wasn’t sure how else to put it, had little utility knives that could cut plants and not much else. There was a huge contrast in armament and attitude between them.

“Oh, that’s cumin,” Raven announced at the edge of the trees, amid rotting snow.

Uka agreed in broken German, “Es yuotz.” Jenny’s phone translated it as “Very good.”

Lils found some tree fungus under a log.

Shortly they had a mix of green herbs and mushrooms.

They walked back to the camp, with a bagful of seasoning and garnish for the intended meat.

Cryder was true to his word, and brought in three yearling bucks of some sort of deer. Far prettier than the ugly saiga and relatives, these were something that looked a lot like Bambi. Two were dead, one was trussed. Along with that were a dozen fat fish.

“How did you get fish that size?” Jenny asked. “The stream can’t have anything like that.”

“Sent a drone down to the river,” he replied.

“Three deer?”

“Two to eat, one stunned for sacrifice.” He prodded it with his boot. “Which we can eat if they choose. Didn’t ask.”

“Nice hunting,” she commented.

“Line-of-sight weapon and drones to flush them.” He pointed at the two devices settling back into Roller Two.

There was a sizeable fire for roasting, and she and the other women got to work cutting, shredding, pressing, chopping. Lils was amazed by modern kitchen knives.

Scarf,” she noted, holding a knife up. Sharp.

“Very,” Jenny agreed.

Shortly they had an entire table of native herbs ready, with wild garlic and onions, and some coarse ground salt.

“Did you find them under the snow?” Oglesby asked.

“Some are pretty durable. They’re wilted and brown, but still edible as seasoning. It should work out, though.”

He asked, “Are you going to take charge of that?”

She replied, “I can. They expect a female cook, and of course I know how.”

“How much does that bother you?”

Jenny shrugged. “That’s normal for their culture. As long as they respect my boundaries, and it helps the process, it’s not an issue. But I will not make you a sandwich.”

“That’s fair,” he agreed. “I probably have more experience anyway.”

“Nice try,” she snickered.


Rich Dalton watched as the group elder took charge of the sacrifice, stringing up the live deer by its hind legs, over a pole Arnet erected. He had some sort of bundle of leaves from a tree, a knife, a headdress with horns, and a bowl.

He was really uncomfortable with this pagan ritual, but understood that the word of Christ had not yet reached their lands. He prayed silently that they find the Holy Spirit soon, and stood as far back as was polite.

The deer alternated between struggles and holding still, and obviously understood it was in grave distress. Its chest heaved, though the position might have something to do with that. It flailed with its hooves and Rich almost hoped it clobbered the dude. But, this had to go well to assuage some of their concerns.

The man intoned, and chanted, and called, arms raised. Then he slashed the beast’s throat. It squealed, snorted, and sprayed blood from the wound, and then wriggled less and less as it bled out, with muscle tremors continuing.

In the meantime, its blood gushed into the slush, and the bowl. He figured he knew what that was for, and he was correct. The first hot flood spurted into the wooden hollow, and the man took a drink, then turned to offer it to Wulf, Cryder, and the captain. It steamed in the cool air.

Damn, the captain had to eat all kinds of crap on these missions. More so than the rest of them. He took it stoically, though, raising the proffered bowl and at least pretending to take a mouthful, and it was certainly a sip.

The Germans seemed happy with the result, their shaman raised his hands and shouted again, with “Wotan” being almost audible in the invocation.

Then the man sliced the belly, yanked out the guts hot and steaming, and fairly expertly cut the liver out.

It was very clear he expected to cook and eat it, and at least cooking was part of the process.

The horses seemed unbothered and continued munching grass. Apparently, they knew they were safe.

Shortly everyone was gathered around the roast venison and herbs and weeds, and the sacrifice was being hacked into gobbets and skewered over the fire. The dozen dogs got lots of leftover guts, organ meats, and bones to chew.

Rich walked forward, found Sergeant Spencer, and asked him.

“What is all this for, and why do they eat it after sacrificing it? They didn’t burn or expose it, just ritually killed it.”

Spencer said, “We don’t have a lot of records from that time, and rituals varied greatly between groups. I also haven’t read up on them. You remember I had trouble placing them at all. So I really don’t know, other than it was a sacrifice, and the blood and liver probably indicate strength and life for the transition.”

“It’s amazing how much all these cultures had similarities before modern times.”

“Yes, and it all got incorporated into early religions, then into the Church, and then evolved into modern evocations that don’t require actual sacrifice, but keep the base concepts. A bit like your friend Mommed, who’s less Muslim than you are by his time.”

Rich was slightly disturbed by that, but it was true. “Yeah, I supposed God is adjusting His message as we move forward. You know, that gives me hope that eventually we all become worthy.”

“As a member of the Loyal Opposition, I’m glad to help,” Spencer offered with a grin.

Rich snorted back.

“I very much appreciate that God can give me messages from those who believe differently.”

Spencer nodded. “If he exists, that’s exactly how he should do it.”

“Indeed. The message is universal. Thanks again, Sergeant Spencer.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

In the shadow of a pagan sacrifice, he’d reaffirmed his beliefs, and the support of his friends.

And the meat smelled really good.

After noshing down meat, veggies, bread, a mug of the ale that was quite tasty, he sat back and watched as six of the Germans started up with drums, wind instruments, and a flute. Like the ancients, they were carved horn and bone. And the music was quickly repetitive and the dancers started swaying, almost in a trance.

Well, shoot, if the twenty-first century had a genre called “Trance,” and the Bykos had something similar, and Paleolithics and the Dark Ages, that seemed to be pretty much a human universal.

Men and women strutted around the fire, banging sticks, blowing horns, painted in deer blood. Some moved back and chanted in slow tones. Dr. Sheridan carefully moved in with them, as did Oglesby. It appeared they wanted to experience it for a bit. After a few minutes, they stepped back out.

He could use a second drink, but he’d seen enough primitive dancing he didn’t need more, though the scientists were recording it all. He eased back from the circle and headed up to the kitchen.

On second thought, a ginger ale would be good. The one beer was enough.

Captain Elliott and the Bykos were up here. Sergeant Spencer appeared to be the command presence by the fire.

He drew his drink and stepped under the awning.

Elliott greeted him, “Good evening, Rich.”

“Evening, Captain,” he replied. “Are we good to move, then?”

“Yes, whenever they’re up and about in the morning, or oh nine hundred if they’re not. We’re going to relocate to departure point and see about separating them.”

Rich flared his eyebrows. “That’s going to be awkward.” He took a cold, refreshing chug, even though it was a chill night.

Cryder had a thin smile as he said, “For them, possibly.”

“Is there anything I can do to help make it easier?”

The captain shook his head. “No, but we are going to try to get support from Shug’s people.”

“Oh?”

Elliott explained, “Separated women will need support and a place to go. We never did figure out if they were captives, diplomatic trades, purchases, or volunteers. And they’re going to be heartbroken missing their kids.”

“Yeah, that part is awful. I try not to think about it.”

“Offer all the prayers you can. That’s all there is. I wonder how many myths of demons who steal babies are about to start.”

That brought him up short. He’d encountered some of those.

“Oh, damn.”

Elliott nodded and replied, “Anyway, we move first, get backup, then split everyone up before we move. They’re going to hate us, but it has to be done.”

Cryder put in, “Unfortunate, but as with any casualties, we have to proceed with the rest of the mission.”

“I just wish the mothers could come along. Separating them is hard.”

Dr. Raven had just arrived. She stepped into the light and said, “Keep in mind they expect to birth a child about every three years, and lose about half of them.”

She was getting coffee and selecting additives. Migraine?

“Sure, but dead is not the same as abducted. One has closure.”

She looked sad herself.

“It’s tragic,” she agreed. “All of this has been.”

“I guess I’ll pray,” Rich said. He couldn’t think of anything else.

“It can’t hurt,” the second hard-core atheist told him.


The next morning was gray, biting cold, and gusty, but there wasn’t any snowfall. Porridge and hot sausage were encouraged for breakfast. Armand Devereaux chose sausage, scrambled eggs, and a couple of steaming cups of coffee. With everyone fed, dressed, and ready to move, they struck camp. Wards, tents, covers came down, were stowed, and everyone formed up.

The movement started with the Nordwandlaz traveling behind Roller Two on foot and in their wagon, as Arnet used Roller One to rip down and flatten out the berm, disperse the remains of the fire, and clear a couple of other things. Then the clan mounted the running boards and jump seats on both vehicles, and others sat in the trailer. It was a bit tight, but everyone was able to take transport.

It took less than an hour to reach the evac point, and another hour to cordon it off. It was another plateau at mid-hill, but this one had a number of trees across it.

Cryder announced, “We will stay here eighteen days until recovery. There will be limited hunting parties and wood gathering for fifteen days. Then we will secure the perimeter and remain inside until departure. Does everyone understand?”

The machines translated, and there was some back-and-forth, but everyone understood it.

While Armand helped with the wards going up, Arnet shouted a warning and started blasting trees.

Each one got shot with some sort of explosive that blew the base apart. He knocked them all down—there were seventeen—and then unlimbered a boom with a chain saw and sectioned two of them up.

As Armand placed his last ward of the stack, Arnet sprayed some sort of chemical.

“They’re firewood now,” he announced. “Burn away!”

With the camp cordoned, the man continued with a future version of a stump grinder, shaving the roots to ground level.

After that it was time to set the rest of the camp.

Armand had to admit, the Germanics were pretty damned good builders. They dug, and cut logs and had small leantos up within the day. They were about the size of large doghouses, but sod foundations, log pillars and layers, and thatched roofs yielded very warm structures. The captain even loaned them the two basic axes on hand, which they quickly learned to love, with the contoured handles and better steel of the twenty-first century.

“Your smiths are blessed by the gods,” Artis pronounced.

Spencer told him, “They are, and they have huge, lever-powered hammers to ease the forging.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

Arnet fabricated more timbers and threw together a jungle gym with swings for the German children. They were on it at once. Armand watched them immediately play King of the Castle, and swing around in a game of follow the leader.

So that took them down to fifteen days. The Germanics had huts, the Americans had tents. Armand held sick call every day and dealt with calluses, blisters, sprains, and strains. There were fewer of those than he expected after three days of building. These men were tough. One of the women came up and shyly explained her symptoms. It sounded like endometriosis, and he asked Arnet for assistance.

“I’ve something that can deal short term. Long term means no kids.”

She was very nervous about the machine translation, and kept staring at the speaker. She agreed to short-term relief, being about a year.

Armand half frowned and shook his head.

“I wish she understood how the return is working.”

Arnet shrugged. “Still better off n she was.”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He called Dr. Sheridan as a chaperone to hold her hand and keep her calm. Then they had to explain to her husband that the relief would be temporary, but there would be no kids in the interim, either. He shrugged and nodded and agreed.

“It is good she not hurt.”

“Okay, then.”

Arnet raised a screen, Armand assisted. A probe went into her vagina, the screen showed cervical passage and uterine entry, and some medication dispersed from the end.

Her eyes went wide and she seemed relieved almost at once, relaxing and stretching.

They removed the probe, she straightened her dress, and she was simultaneously shy and excited at the same time.

Armand felt like an ass for how they were going to separate everyone shortly. He was only too glad to get back to an infected blister on the heel of a man’s hand, from axe use. He debrided and cleaned, Arnet sprayed it with what might as well be a healing potion, and then applied a bandage, while the man’s friends made masturbation jokes. Some things were universal.


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