CHAPTER 22
Rich Dalton found the move okay. It was good to get a bit of exercise, and see some of the landscape. One thing he always hated was how little of an area he got to see while deployed. One couldn’t get a sense of the area, or of God’s work, from a narrow strip of patrol and a firebase.
The camp went up easily enough. The weather was coolish but decent and he still loved how fresh the air was with every breath. Invigorating.
For dinner they had chicken with a choice of some sort of curry, something like a sweet hot barbecue, or a peppery lemon dusting. He had a little of each. The curry was green and incendiary, but had a savory undertone. He enjoyed the conflicting sensations. The barbecue was very good, with a flavor he couldn’t quite identify underneath. The lemon pepper as a powder rather than sauce was interesting. The chicken strips had a crisp outside and fluffy, tender meat inside. Certainly processed, but very good.
He got around it in a hurry, and was sitting back when Keisuke asked, “Sergeant Dalton?”
He responded, “Yes, what’s up?”
“So what was it like for you guys for two years?”
Damn, did that trigger memories.
“Well, when we arrived we completely spaced out for three days. We just froze. I prayed. Doc kept inventorying stuff. We were spooked by every animal noise. I prayed. I don’t really remember much else.”
The man nodded. “Yeah, that sounds familiar.”
“The LT, now the captain, moved us downhill to the river. There was dispute over that, I think. We were still hoping to get radio signal.”
Keisuke shook his head. “We never did.”
“Nor did we. We figured out we could reach each other and nothing else.”
Keisuke shrugged. “We only had the one.”
“Man, that sucks. We could talk between MRAPs. That clued us in.”
He looked wistful. “Trucks would have been nice.”
Rich went on. “We had to ground-guide them the whole way down. Then we bivvied, and a single native found us, and then we went to greet them. The Urushu. Friendly folks.
“We were still totally confused, and terrified. I hung onto my faith in God, but not much else, I admit. It was rocky. We talked to the natives—Urushu, then. And we moved upstream from them to a nice little creek on a rise. The captain had us build a palisade. I thought he was nuts, or just trying to keep us busy, you know? But then some group from about this time, from all the way over near what’s now England, was also displaced. There were a couple of hundred of them. They moved in on the Urushu, and eventually we had a fight to try to displace them. And we had predators. So it turned out okay. We were actually turning into a trading village. Which was good, because we didn’t have much to hunt with.
“We lucked out because Staff Sergeant Barker with us knew flint knapping and such. He got a tepee up right away, until we built other stuff. Caswell is very good with wild vegetables and plants and even found us berries and nuts for dessert. We had Staff Sergeant Alexander, and she was able to get a primitive network up for the phones, log and monitor everything, act as CQ, and she could spin and weave. SFC Spencer knows blacksmithing, and I gave him a rash of crap about it, but in spring the next year he started smelting iron. That was awesome. Barker built a sweat lodge that doubled as a smokehouse for meat, which made it easier than using the tepee fire. We kept burning our eyes out on smoke until then.
“Winter was nasty. We rotated on watch, which sucked since there was mostly nothing. And it was freaking cold.
“After the winter it got easier. We built a second tepee and used that for compacted snow so we had ice all year. We graveled things. I never actually expected Sergeant Spencer would get his forge going, but he did, and made us a lot of tools—shovels, axes, picks. We built a log cabin for each pair of us. Except then the other group displaced, the Gadorth, wanted a fight. Then we had Roman legionaries show up, and they wanted a fight. The palisade saved our asses.
“They had ten East Indian musketeers that Sergeant Spencer figured were from the 1600s. They didn’t have enough numbers or tech, so they were basically specialists for the Romans. It was hilarious when they tried to impress us with their boomsticks. They fired one volley. Sergeant Caswell took down two goats at a hundred meters and rattled off a burst on auto. That pretty much shut them up.
“The Romans are tough bastards, though. Seriously. They tried twice to take us down, and then when we wanted to talk to them, they were pretty bent on being top dogs. They enslaved the remaining Urushu, and the Gadorth, which was kinda poetic, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
“So once things settled down, we were a trading village, and Doc was doing a lot of medical support for everyone.
“We built the smokehouse and sweat lodge. We even managed to smoke some bacon and make some wine, between our two awesome NCOs. Trinidad, Navy intel type with us, knew how to dig wells, from the PI. We had a screened latrine. Solar charging of phones and such at the trucks, which were our HQ and gunnery platforms—had to use that with the Gadorth. The phones were only good for a hundred meters or so, but that helped on watch, especially when it was cold.
“Then the Guardians showed up, and you’ve seen what their vehicles can do.” He waved at the two trucks. “They had one, they’d been living in it, but suddenly we had hot showers and a better latrine, liquor, better food, some chemicals for working. Sergeant Spencer and Alexander got the meds they needed, and we got a lot of salt for curing stuff.
“So, with the Guardians and some extra tools, they helped build a hot tub, using the heater on their truck. That became a pilgrimage point for locals, and we basically got all our meat brought to us.”
Keisuke looked sad, and pissed.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
“Need anything?”
“I guess I didn’t actually want to know how shitty we had it by comparison.”
He’d been so busy reminiscing…
“I’m very sorry,” he said. “I can’t tell the story to anyone else, and I didn’t think about how our events were different.”
“Yeah. We’re here eating bugs and half-rotten meat, sleeping on sticks, and you talk about bacon, log cabins, and a fucking hot tub.”
“I really am sorry.”
Dammit, why had he done that? He’d let himself get distracted, and he was proud of their accomplishments, and that wasn’t what these guys needed to hear.
Honestly, without the whole team, it was likely he’d be in this same spot now.
Sergeant Spencer put in, “Hell, we even got to change our underwear. Of course, I had to change with Doc, and Dalton had to change with Oglesby…”
That got everyone laughing, and the mood lightened again.
Spencer was good at that. He appreciated it.
Uhiara asked, “Say, Mr. Arnet, does Coca-Cola still exist? Obviously you have the recipe or something close.”
Arnet replied, “I know of the brand and beverage. Our organizational approach differs from yours. But if you ask for Coca-Cola at one of the parties or venues, you’ll be served.”
“Well, that’s good. Other brands of stuff, too?”
“Probably. I don’t know which ones no longer exist.” He grinned. “But certainly a great many do.”
Rich took the change in conversation as an opportunity to bow out and take dishes for cleaning.
Sean Elliott enjoyed the clean air, currently very cool but very fresh with just enough breeze to move it. It was quite pleasant weatherwise. With the after-dinner cocktails serving social and medical destressing functions, and with a bit more distance from the local village, it seemed a good time to follow up further.
He asked the group at large, “You mentioned your other gear was secure, but not at this…your last location. A cave, you said?”
Keisuke said, “Oh, the LT stacked all the weapons in a cave, way back, over a ledge. Said he hoped they’d be found in the future. He buried a couple of the rucks with a flat rock he carved a message into. Lots of, ‘Don’t send us on this mission.’”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Elliot mused aloud.
Spencer said, “Because you’re smart enough to realize it wouldn’t work that way, sir. But now we have to retrieve those.”
Munoz asked, “Why? If they don’t matter, what’s the harm?”
Spencer replied, “Because they could still get found, which wouldn’t change being lost, because if it did you wouldn’t be here, but could screw something else up.”
Cryder said, “This is a third-order effect we’d considered. It’ll have to be dealt with.”
LT Cole said, “I still don’t get it.”
“I don’t, really,” Cryder said. “But the boffos tell me it’s important.”
Sean asked, “Okay, can you show us on an aerial where that cave is?”
Cole half winced. “Maybe. It’s upriver a bit, uphill next to a bluff.”
“How far is that?”
“From here? It was…most of a day from the village.”
“Call it twenty-five klicks?”
“Probably. We were pretty used to humping by then. It wasn’t hard. I didn’t keep a pace count. Sorry.”
Of course he didn’t.
“Klicks? Kilometers?” Arnet asked.
“Yes. So, that makes it how far from here?”
“I can probably show you on a map.”
“Okay. Cryder, can you bring one up?”
The tall man replied, “Yes I can.”
It took him less than a minute to lay down his equivalent of a laptop, pull out a paper-thin screen the size of a posterboard, and have an aerial shot from their previous location up.
“The village is here. We were here. We are now here.” He indicated by pointing.
Cole looked at the image, reached out, and traced along the river. He paused his finger at a bend with a bluff.
“About here. I can show you.”
Cryder said, “I can send a drone and get closer images to make sure.”
Sean nodded. “Okay, we’ll add that to our priorities and deal with it. What exactly is stowed there?”
Cole recited slowly, obviously counting as he went. “Eleven rucks, helmets, and IOTVs. Ten weapons. One radio. Three GPS units. Eight cell phones. Six NODs. We kept the CamelBaks, clothes, sleeping bags, and woobies.”
Cryder asked, “Why that cave?”
“Sir, it was a combination of that being a sacred site to them, and them needing us to separate from the old ways, basically, and me hoping that something would be discovered that led to us.”
Cryder’s drones had accounted for 547 empty 5.56mm cases in three locations, including nine from the village. That was far from the starting loadout of 300 for each Soldier.
“They’re still sweeping that last place,” he noted. “They’ll likely find more, but the rate is slowing significantly. I presume there are others. If we find the locations, we’ll get more.”
Sean said, “I asked and interviewed at length, but they were both highly stressed and had no map reference. Even with these as markers, they have no idea where they might have gone next.” That was as diplomatic as he could phrase it.
Cryder shrugged. “That’s fair.”
He seemed to mean it. Sean had no idea how badly the two Bykos had freaked out on finding they were lost, or if they had. But it was certainly reasonable for people under sudden stress of that level to do so.
“Lieutenant Cole,” he said, “can you organize a sweep for firewood, debris, and general organization inside the perimeter? Your people, and any of mine who aren’t otherwise occupied.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied. On the one hand it was makework and everyone knew it. On the other hand, it did need to be done, and the troops needed to accept that Cole was still an officer. Then, Sean had to plan this recovery op, with input from Cole, so needed him to think of himself as an officer.
Cryder was still scanning images, and said, “I’ve aerial photos for Shug to look at, assuming he can comprend them. We’ll find his location so we can re-home him.”
“Good, let’s try it.” He turned and called, “SHUG!”
The boy came up from fire tending. He did well at maintaining fuel, cover, other prep work and perimeter patrol. He was probably bored as hell. He wore leggings under his tunic, and shoes a bit like moccasins, but did use a Byko-fabricated Gore-Tex jacket. A unique mix of garb.
Oglesby came along.
Sean explained, “These are pictures of the river from above, and from hilltop angles. Can you tell where your home is?”
Oglesby relayed it, and Shug looked confused, then curious, then reasonably informed.
“He’ll try.”
At least the boy was familiar with the concept of pictures, and could recognize things in them.
Cryder handed him a printout from a high altitude. Just how far could those little drones go?
Shug turned the image around from several angles, settled on one he liked, from the north. It took him a few minutes of tracing, but eventually he indicated several bends in the river.
Oglesby said, “He thinks it’s one of those.”
“Okay, can he describe the area? Outcroppings, hills.”
There was back and forth.
“He says the one upstream of where he should be should have tall, bare rocks. It sounds like a fault that turned vertical.”
“Hold on.” Cryder scanned through the recording, narrowed down with finger motions, then turned his finger to rotate view.
“Is this it?”
Shug squinted and shook his head.
“Well, then we have to go downstream quite a bit.” He did more scanning, following, rotating.
“This one?”
Shug got excited. He pointed and talked at length.
Oglesby grinned. “He’s telling me all about it, but yes, that’s it.”
“Okay. I don’t have images past that one, but I will tomorrow. Tell him we almost have it.”
They knew where the lost element had hidden its modern gear. They knew where to take Shug. Things were shaping up well. Those done, they could try to recover a bit more brass and, apparently, not worry if they didn’t get it. Then back to Bykostan and then home. Though there was also this possible other historical element they needed to know about. They were running out of days fast.
The next day started with PT, sick call, and more summaries of the displacees’ experiences. Those narratives would have to be vetted here for anything best kept unsaid. That included anything from smoking pot to sex with locals other than in the context of being married, species of game hunted, and various injuries and losses of equipment. In short, their reports were going to be fabricated bullshit for the bureaucrats, with certain facts furnished to the counselors, and other data that Doctors Sheridan and Raven would hide for their own purposes.
Martin Spencer and the captain were going to have to coordinate all that. In the meantime, he collared Burnham again.
“Sergeant Burnham, it’s cocktail hour again.”
“Absolutely, Martin. I wish this ritual would catch on in the Army.”
Martin chuckled. “It was a thing around World War Two, I hear. I like it.”
“Do they have plain old beer here?”
“I don’t see why not. Let’s ask.” He raised his voice. “Arnet!”
The man stuck his head out from the CQ awning.
“I am here.”
“Is it possible the kitchen can dispense something like beer?”
“Easily. Already programmed for my preference, but I can open it up for other types. Give me a mo.”
Martin could see Arnet’s hands swiping over the tablet he used to control everything.
When done, the man said, “You can mix anything you want, no matter how disgusting now. Or just plain old beer.”
“Thanks. Much appreciated.”
“Noprob.”
He looked at the screen on the foldout surface, and used the touch keyboard the Bykos had helpfully set up.
He requested ALE, LOW HOP, HIGH MALT, BROWN, and waited to see.
It filled a cup, he grabbed it and took a sip.
“That’s a respectable nut brown,” he said. “And perfectly cool, without being iced.”
Burnham tossed his head to one side. “Fucking amazing. Let me see if it can do a lager.”
Apparently it could. Burnham typed, it filled, he sipped and nodded.
He said, “Well, this just makes the day perfect so far.”
Martin replied, “Heh. Wait until I brief you.”
He’d rehearsed a summary of how to AAR to please the system—what heroics to promote, what issues to keep zipped about, how to phrase interactions. He ran down the list as Burnham paid attention. The man seemed to be much mentally healthier than he had been, and better than most of the others.
Martin summarized and concluded with, “You absolutely can’t mention anything that will get the EPA, EEO, or any other agency or group writing papers and issuing citations.”
Burnham replied, “But if I’m following what you’re saying, basically nothing happened. We met the locals and sat around eating venison for the duration.”
He replied, “Venison is probably safe. Don’t admit to hunting aurochs, any of the predators, any migratory birds. The fish are okay. You absolutely haven’t killed any lions, tigers, bears, or antlered anything other than local deer.”
Burnham stared. “I can’t believe that’s an issue.”
“Our own debriefer very diplomatically told us not to mention anything about aurochs, specifically, since they’re extinct.”
Wrinkling his brow the same way Dalton had when he’d been debriefed, Burnham said, “Yeah, but long before we came about. In our time, I mean.”
He nodded. “I know. Don’t expect rational behavior from the government.”
“I’ll do it,” the other NCO agreed, swigging more beer. “I believe you. But holy shit, man.”
He nodded. “I know. Also, nothing happened to Noirot except she married a local.”
The man looked properly pissed.
“Martin…I don’t want to burn the LT for being in over his head, but she should not have to hide what happened.”
He tried to be reassuring. “The counselors will know about it. Dr. Fairley, who I talk to, is very good, and knows all the stuff that never went on paper. The general treats us right. The bureaucrats get told what they need to file reports.”
Burnham looked a bit less antagonistic. “Okay, I guess. For that matter, how do these bureaucrats not blab everything in their reports?”
“We were officially lost with a local tribe for six months with comms down and awaiting proper negotiations and safe passage back. Yours will probably be a month or so.”
“But it’s been five years…” He left it hang. He looked much older than thirty, and had a deer in the headlights expression.
“I know. The Bykos will reduce the aging a lot. You’ll be very fit and not worse for it.”
He nodded. “Got it. But I can’t pretend things are normal.”
Martin grimaced. “Yeah, I know. We’re all doing what we can. Want another drink?”
The man sighed. “I shouldn’t, but yes, please. More of that mango juice with rum.”
“Cheers.”
By dinner, Cryder had more overhead images of the river valley. Sean Elliott called Shug over to look at them. The young man took the sheets, turned them around, held them while turning himself in relation to the terrain, and then shouted out excitedly.
“That’s it,” Oglesby said. It wasn’t really necessary. Shug was obviously pointing at something he recognized.
“He says his village is up that bluff, under the trees, partly visible in that clearing.”
Cryder raised his eyebrows and said, “So it is. I hadn’t seen that detail yet, but that’s definitely a structure.”
They knew where to take Shug.
Sean said, “That’s tomorrow’s mission, then.” He raised his voice. “My element!”
They all appeared in short order.
“We know where to take Shug and that’s tomorrow’s op. I’ll write it up.”
Sergeant Spencer looked at the indicated point and said, “It’s on the other side of the river.”
Cryder said, “The vehicle can cross it. The current is slow enough and the depth isn’t great. Means limited rations here when we take the kitchen vehicle. Will precook some stuff.”
Spencer said, “Okay, then.”
Sean took them at their word. Those little Hummer-size vehicles had insane capabilities by his standards.
He referred to his screen. “I’m sending Sergeant Spencer in command. Oyo to translate. Oglesby as escort for Shug and cross-check on translations. Caswell for cultural input as well. Dr. Raven for science stuff.”
“‘Science stuff,’” she repeated with a giggle.
“And anthropological stuff,” he added. “Take Shug home, take gifts, be as diplomatic as possible and hopefully there’s no action. Make nice, say goodbye from all of us, come back. Oyo will not be armed.”
“It seems like a tidy element,” Spencer agreed.
“Hopefully. We’ll be here prepping to recover the abandoned gear. After that, we move to extraction point. We should be there for a few days, just getting it to look neat when we slag it.”
Martin noted, “Aircraft would make this a lot easier.”
“They would,” Cryder agreed. “Two people can’t support an aircraft and ground. Need at least five.”
Spencer grinned. Sean remembered he’d been a flight engineer. “That’s better than we’d do.”
“Also, landing facilities will be a problem. We use these as support for ground, as you may notice.” Cryder indicated the trucks and awnings.
“I have, and they’re excellent for it.”
“It does shorten the hike.”
Spencer said, “We couldn’t move our vehicles. Fuel was too limited. Had we been forced to stay, I could eventually have made alcohol fuel, but I have no idea how well it would have worked, or how long it would have lasted.”
It was nice to hear the guy from the far future say, “You did impressively well with what you had.”
Sean noted, “If I’d had an entire company, or at least a good-sized platoon, it would have been ten times easier. Anyway, rations, gear, weapons, and move out early so you’ve got the whole day for travel. Ideally you’re back in three days or less. I’ve allotted a week, just in case.”
Spencer replied, “Good planning, but if it takes more than four days, the festivities have gone from diplomatic to party, or from diplomatic to bad.”
“Yes, but you can call for backup if you need to.”
Raising his eyebrows, “I will do my best to avoid that necessity. Also, sir, that leaves you with four here, including Cryder and Dr. Sheridan.”
“Yes, but there’s more facilities here. I want you to have enough muscle if you need it, and good translation options. It also shows that Shug is well regarded.”
Sheridan said, “That is important. I may not be along, but I concur with the idea. Though of course, I’m a technical specialist, I can’t judge the operational aspects.”
Sean asked, “Cryder?”
“With Arnet driving and operating, you’ve an excellent setup for support. Leaves us a bit light, but external threats should be well controlled and your element here is in better emotional state.”
Spencer seemed comfortable. He said, “Hooah. Oglesby, tell Shug this is it, and he can say goodbye to everyone in the morning.”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
Daniel Oglesby was up early, crawled out of his tent to drain and shower, and Shug was already awake.
“I greet you, Shug.”
“I greet you, Dan.”
“What would you like to eat?”
“The warm rice and bacon.” The boy grinned. “I will miss those.”
“Yeah, those are good.” Dan dialed for rice pudding with a side of bacon for Shug, and then got bacon, eggs, and hash browns for himself. Hot sauce for the eggs, ketchup for the hash browns, and a cup of coffee with another of orange juice.
Others woke up and wandered over, got food and went to sit. It was gray dusk, cool, the air still and barely damp. The birds were active and loud.
Sergeant Spencer came over, squinty-eyed and looking frazzled. He dispensed two cups of coffee, chugging the first as the second poured, then keyed for ham with biscuits and gravy.
“God,” he groused as he sat near them. “Slept like crap. It’s theoretically reveille in ten minutes, but I think everyone is up.” He started shoveling in the SOS with the ham in reserve.
Lieutenant Cole came over right then and said, “Just about. Sergeant Burnham is going to wake anyone left at oh six hundred.”
“Thanks, sir. Saves me the trouble.”
“Not a problem, Sergeant Spencer. You’ve done right by us. Thank you.”
All three of the primary element’s women came over together.
Dr. Sheridan said, “Shug, we made this for you.” She held up one item as Caswell and Dr. Raven held the others.
It was a buckskin shirt, breechcloth, and leggings, with fringes and some beads, and a pair of sturdy moccasins.
He looked wide-eyed. He put down his plate and spoon, and stood up.
“Tank you!”
“You can shower and change before we go.”
It took him a moment to parse that, but he nodded.
“Doctr Raben, please will you shape hair?” He indicated his head.
Dan asked him, “Do you want her to style it?” just as Raven asked the same in English.
He got the details and relayed, “He wants it pulled up with a hawk feather and some beads.”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, I can do that.”
Everyone else got on with early morning routine, as Shug showered and changed, grabbed his spirit bag, spear, and knife, and came back to the CQ area.
He sat in a chair while Raven pulled his hair back, ran a comb through it, clipped it up with a stick tied with what looked like horsehair, and stuck in the feather and beads.
“How is that?” she asked, holding up a phone shot from behind.
The boy grinned.
“I look good!” he said.
The sun was up and burning off the early haze. The entire contingent lined up ready to see Shug off.
He hadn’t been with them long, nor able to interact fully, but he was certainly part of the element. It was clear he was attached to them, too.
LT Cole shook his hand and said in English, “Your support has been helpful. For my people and my nation, thank you very much.” He then translated into the native language to get the details correct.
Cryder echoed that with, “We have learned from you. We wish you well.”
It went down the line. Dr. Sheridan hugged him.
“We’ll miss you, but your people need you. Be well.”
Then she handed him a bundle and said, “Shug, we’d like you to have this coat as a gift from our people.” She shook it out.
It was coarse linen, quilted with what Dan assumed was fur or wool, trimmed with fur and embroidered with minimalist landscapes in line of thread. She’d done that by hand. Three rows of hills at the top led to fields in the middle, with boulders and a couple of happy little trees. To the bottom and foreground were visible stalks.
Shug teared up.
“Is vera beautful,” he said in workable English. “Thank you much.”
“Thank you for being a most interesting, honorable, and worthy guest,” she replied.
With his coat, gifts, and small personal effects, they loaded into the vehicle and prepared to roll out.