CHAPTER 4
Armand Devereaux sighed and tried to keep positive. It wasn’t that he had trouble with the work. Making rounds in post-op was easy enough. He could handle the odd hours; the Army had taught him that. The pay was decent.
What he hated was the snide condescension from civilian medical personnel, that he was somehow inexperienced as a mere resident. He’d saved sixty-three lives in combat, and saved several butchered limbs on top of that. He’d done some of it with duct tape, and some of it with sticks, rags, sinew, and leather thong, in a time and place he couldn’t even mention to these people.
But he was the new guy, so obviously he needed help.
And a couple of them seemed to think it was impossible for a black man to grasp science.
The current attending, Dr. Berilley, was quizzing him yet again on a relatively routine procedure they’d done four times in the last two months.
“What would you do about sudden bleeding from the porta hepatis?”
It was almost rote as he rattled off, “I’d immediately apply direct pressure to allow adequate exposure. If needed I’d call for assistance. If bleeding persists, a Pringle maneuver might be necessary. Suture ligation of bleeding porta hepatis structures should be careful and precise using five-oh polydioxanone horizontal mattress sutures.”
“Very good.”
Berilley at least assumed he was competent and was just drilling him for practice. Olmsted, on the other hand, tried to explain everything to him, without giving him a chance to either perform the task or explain it from his end. If they wanted to make him wish to be back in the field under fire, they were doing a damned fine job. No one explained to him while he was sealing bullet holes and chest wounds.
Sean wasn’t looking forward to the rest of these calls. Half the element was already accounted for. The others…
He punched the number. The phone rang, a woman answered, and he recognized her voice.
“Hello?”
“Gina, it’s Sean Elliott. Your former commander.”
“Oh…hello, sir.”
“Hello. How’s your health these days?”
“Not as good. It’s slipping again. Though I’m still better than before, but that’s a low bar.”
“Well, that’s mixed. Good on the latter, sorry about the first.”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t discuss much, but there’s one of those consulting gigs we talked about. They need us overseas, going back where we were for a short stint. I’m trying to reach everyone and let them know.”
“I see…hold on.”
“Sure.”
There were mumbles and sharper comment he couldn’t hear, that had urgency in it.
A male voice came back on the phone.
“Captain Elliott?”
“I am. Is this Blake Alexander?”
“It is.”
“Is Gina okay?”
The man spoke very bluntly. “Let me give this to you straight, sir. I’m an investigator. I puzzled out exactly where you guys went, and I know about these Cogi. She spends every night clinging to me. Despite their medical care, her metabolism is slipping again. By military standards—hell, anyone’s—she’s old, broken, and fragile. She held up admirably, but you used up her durability. She’s not going back.”
That was direct and fair, but he needed to know. “Is that from you or from her?”
“It’s from me, for her, by way of my power of attorney. She told me you called, she asked me to talk. She’s in the bedroom crying.”
Really, it wasn’t unexpected. Gina was older, damaged, sick, and had put out a lot of effort. She was closing in on fifty. There were limits to human endurance.
“I understand, sir. Please give her my very best wishes, thank her for considering the offer, and let her know she will not be pressured in any fashion. She can contact us if she likes. We won’t call back about this matter again.”
The man’s voice softened slightly. “I’ll let her know. Thank you for understanding, Captain.”
That was two. Caswell facing charges for fighting, Alexander old and broken. Oglesby seemed fit enough. Between Barker and Spencer he’d rather have Spencer, and did, but he was old by Army standards, too, retired, and probably wasn’t going to be super enthused.
As for Armand Devereaux, he was working his residency.
He took a drink of water to keep hydrated, and checked the file.
He tapped the number, and it was answered almost at once.
“Dr. Devereaux.”
“Doc, this is Captain Sean Elliott.”
At least the medic sounded cheerful. “Hey! How are you doing, sir?”
“Excellent. I heard you’re pending a commission?”
“I am. The paperwork should be done next week. Just have to wait for drill.”
“Good luck. How’s your residency?”
“It is what it is. Ball busting, but medical work. Easier than the field, which seems to confuse some people.”
Oh? Civilian-military divide?
Sean said, “Ah, well, that’s part of why I called. Our allies from the last rotation are here, now.”
He could hear Devereaux’s attention prickle. “As in…the tall blond guys?”
“One of them. They’re asking for help. They have much better navigation and transport this time.”
“I see.”
“There’s another group lost.”
“They can’t get them?”
“They need us to work out the details. Imagine you trying to deal with Chaucer. Totally different cultures.”
“Got it. For how long?”
“The trip itself should only be a few days, as far as anyone here is concerned.”
“Oh. That’s doable. I’ll be glad to take a short break, actually.”
That was interesting.
“Okay. You’re getting orders emailed ASAP, with travel itinerary and allowance.”
“Thank you, sir. It’ll be good to see you again.”
“Consider your commission approved, Lieutenant. They can have a ceremony later.” He was sure General McClare would agree.
“That’s a nice gesture, sir. Thank you very much.”
That was two.
Okay, down in South Texas, literally on the border, Ramon Ortiz had finished his service and gone back to work on the ranch.
“Hello.”
Sean asked, “Is Ramon Ortiz available, please?” It sounded like Ortiz, but he wanted to be sure.
“This is Ramon.”
“Ramon, it’s Captain Sean Elliott.”
“Ah, yes, sir.”
“We have one of those consulting gigs we talked about.”
“Ah. Where?”
“Back in A-stan.”
“Impossible.”
“They’re offering a bonus.”
“No, sir. I’ve got four hundred head to move pasture as the weather changes. Then God knows how many chickens to keep up with. We’ve just started rabbits for a local restaurant. They want fifty a week. I can consult by phone if I can juggle things a bit.”
Impressive. Well, he was a skilled vet tech, raised on a ranch. It made sense he’d expand into that.
“It’s more of an on-site thing.”
“Then I’ve got to decline, sir. Sorry.”
“I understand. Good luck with the rabbits.”
“Thanks, sir. They’re very tender. If you get down here, we’ll beer-braise one for you.”
“Sounds good.” Sean actually wasn’t a huge fan of rabbit. He’d eaten enough in the Paleolithic. But if Ramon cooked it, he’d eat it as a courtesy at least.
He wasn’t having much luck here.
It was probably a good time to catch Dalton.
Then-Corporal Richard Dalton had been promoted to sergeant, and then to civilian. It was interesting how almost everyone had gotten out after that. Not surprising, but interesting.
Dalton answered his phone. “Richard Dalton. I’m at work, this better be important.”
“Rich, it’s Captain Elliott.”
“Oh, hello, sir! What’s up?” Dalton sounded cheerful.
“That depends on how important your work is. We could use you for a consult back here in A-stan, and then on-site at our previous location.”
“Wait, go back? How?”
He phrased it as “Our allies have improved the method.”
“So why go back?”
“To recover another element.”
“I’m in,” the man said at once.
“I haven’t given you the details yet.”
Dalton said, “Sir, if other troops need us, I’m in. Email the details?”
“We’ll email orders. Details when you get here.”
“Hooah, sir.”
Dalton had been an exemplary troop. A tad too religious for everyone else, but his faith got him through it. It sounded as if he still was very religious, and very charitable.
Later that night he called Felix Trinidad in the Philippines.
Trinidad replied, “Sir, I’ve got a family here. You realize this isn’t the safest place in the world, right?”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to get a visa for my wife, so we can both be in the US, and then work on her citizenship. I can’t leave her alone.”
“It should only be a few days.”
“Without a guarantee, and backup in the area, I dare not.”
“I understand. It’s tough enough with a girlfriend. A wife is a bigger deal. Good woman?”
“Spectacular. She can take a chicken from the yard to hanging in about ten minutes. Very pretty. Always cheerful.”
“Sounds as if you lucked out.”
“I really did.”
“Good luck with it.”
“Thanks, Captain.”
Well, he had about half, which was probably better than he should have expected. Though most of the older, steadier troops were out. Still, he had Spencer as a solid NCO. Doc certainly held up his end. Oglesby seemed to have matured. Dalton was very reliable if a bit annoying at times. And Caswell…she did have a lot of relevant skills. He didn’t want to judge the fight without details, but part of him suspected she’d gotten sensitive to some comment and gone to town.
Shug wasn’t sure what to make of all the happenings. Dan Speaker said these were just people, only a long way from his own. There was some sort of magic involved that no one really understood, but the tall pale man, Cry-der, was a traveler for those shamans. The two women who just arrived were…not quite shamans, but wise women of some kind. They were very learned and carried special names.
He was still fastened into the room every night, but during the day Dan took him around several places. They had an exercise place that let you do exercise for any single limb, or all. It had ropes and sticks attached to perfectly cut stones you could pull and push and lift. People ran around outside, wearing clothing that was perfectly fitted and only for exercise.
They kept the indoors very comfortable, though outside was quite hot, and they all insisted on wearing two layers of dress from neck to foot, and these heavy boots that were so hard to feel the ground through. Nothing like footskins. The food, though…the food was that of the spirit world, no matter what Dan said. Salt, fat, sweet, savory, with tasty spices and leaves. The fruits and plants were cool, fresh, and completely clean. The meat was tender. The sweets were very rich and so varied. The water was always cold and perfectly clear. There were juices and odd bubbly things to drink, and a hot infusion that was black and bitter and had magic energy, not unlike the sacred black drink at home, but less harsh, and could also be sweetened.
He got used to the dress, with one tunic inside and another outside, in the mottled colors they wore. He asked, and Dan said it was to blend in and hide. That didn’t make sense. One hid through careful movement, shadow, and proper thoughts of emptiness and oneness with the earth.
He was dressed and ready when the cover opened, and Dan was there for him.
“Shug, we will try to start our journey in two days.”
“Back to home go?” he asked.
“It will take time, but we will start in two days, yes.”
He cheered politely, which seemed to amuse the hunter-warrior standing in the tunnel.
Dan continued, “We have prepare to do. Come.”
Martin Spencer was tall enough to hate long flights, and goddamn, this one was torture every time. He couldn’t sleep well aboard a plane and would get almost nauseous. He actually preferred the C-130 leg, since he could stretch out and lean on his ruck.
They knew who he was on arrival. A USAF E-6, cute and professional and clean, had him sign in, and stand by.
“Right over there, Sergeant, at the bench. Your transport should be here momentarily.”
In fact, it was less than five minutes when a van pulled up. He climbed in with his bags, and the driver rolled at once.
They pulled up at an operations building that looked like most of the others, but there was a staff car outside, and two guards at the door. A specialist and a private first class.
He had his ID ready in his neck wallet, pulled it out as he approached, and offered it.
“Thank you very much, Sergeant.” The specialist nodded. “They’re expecting you.” He opened the door for Spencer and stepped aside, to let him drag his bags in.
Inside was a classroom of sorts, with a desk beyond it.
There was Caswell. She turned, saw him, and came forward. She was sprinting. She leapt into the air and tackle-hugged him.
“Sergeant Spencer!” she said. “I missed you.”
He wasn’t sure how to take that. Their interactions had been generally very distant, formal, and not very friendly, though she had lightened up a bit at the end.
“How are you, Caswell?” he asked, as he gently put her back on the ground.
She actually smiled. “Much better than when we were there, thank you. How’s your family?”
“Um…my kids are good.”
“That’s a very careful choice of phrasing,” she replied, and yes, she guessed. “So let’s discuss something else. What do you know?”
She was definitely doing better. That had actually been diplomatic.
“About what’s going on?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing, other than they want us to consult, and possibly meet with our former hosts.”
“Yeah, they didn’t say here or there.”
“That bothers me, too,” he said.
Rich Dalton walked in from the hallway, came over and offered a firm handshake. He looked a little different, but it was mostly just being slightly older and less stressed.
“How are you doing, Sergeant Spencer?”
“Work is very good, kids are grown up and making their way.”
“Excellent. And your wife?”
“Not coming to the Stone Age,” he joked to try to divert the question.
“Hah. Yeah.”
There was Captain Elliott.
“Sergeant Spencer,” he greeted, also extending a hand. “Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you. Nothing but conferences here, to improve efficiency.”
Martin chuckled. “It’s the Army way, sir.”
Elliott said, “Welcome. We’re all sort of accumulating, and we’ll be briefed shortly.”
“Looking forward to it.” He was. At least as far as finding out what the hell was going on.
Oglesby showed up with…a native boy. The uniform with CONTRACTOR tapes didn’t hide what he was.
He said, “Soldiers, this is Shug. We’re trying to take him home, and recover our missing unit.”
Martin said, “Hello, Shug.”
“Hel-lo.”
Fair enough. The boy was about sixteen to eighteen, maybe, and very out of his depth.
His eyes widened at something, and Martin looked behind him.
He followed everyone else’s gaze. Colonel Findlay had apparently flown in, too. Martin remembered him from their last recovery. He was arriving with two women.
“Soldiers, these are biologists Amalie Raven and Katherine Sheridan.”
Two fat chicks. That was his first thought.
They presented well. Minimal makeup, functional clothes, tailored enough to fit and slim their figures, but it was going to take more than that to actually slim them.
Raven looked serious but in a good way. She shook hands firmly. “Captain, Sergeant.” She was short, stocky, and muscular under the fat, with a massive rib cage behind her breasts. She had high cheeks, dark bronze skin and dark hair tied back. Hispanic with some Native American, maybe?
Sheridan was more cheerful, but had a gentler handshake. She had a warmer smile and looked typically Euro-American, with a bobbed haircut. She was just fat. She didn’t look weak, but she didn’t come across as able to handle a ruck march.
“So you’ll be researching…?”
Sheridan said, “Genetic lines and potential disease contamination. The Cogi agreed that’s acceptable and won’t cause temporal trouble. He doesn’t like it, though.”
Findlay said, “With the holes in your element, it was possible to add others. Mr. Cryder agreed that could be done, said it would help balance mass, but everything else would be off due to auras, or biometrics, something.”
Sheridan said, “It’s entirely possible they have readings for bioelectricity, mass balance, and other fine points we’re aware of, and others we don’t. But if he’s agreeable to sending us, we’ll go.”
The captain said, “Glad to have you aboard, then. I hope it’s been covered, but I need to ask for my own confidence. You’re aware this will involve field conditions with an Army unit and there may be little or no privacy?”
Raven said, “Yup. I’m more concerned about my data than me. I grew up on an Indian reservation and a ranch. I’ve done field exhumations and excavations. It’s not like anyone wants to see me naked.”
Martin didn’t want to agree with her, but it was not inaccurate from his point of view.
So he said, “I’ll remind the troops about the data, then.”
Sheridan said, “I’ve also worked in the field, and I’m an Army brat. Don’t sweat it.”
Elliott said, “Okay. I’ll trust you’ve got everything you need off the checklist, and all your stuff. We can’t run back for it.”
“Obviously.” Raven looked irritated.
Okay, he’d assume they got it, and it was their own problem if they didn’t.
“We may be hiking several miles a day.”
“I’m good,” Sheridan said. “I walk daily.”
Raven said, “I try to, but I blew an ankle out years ago. It slows me down.”
“Noted,” Elliott said. At least she was honest up front.
Findlay said, “And you deploy in about eleven hours. You need to gear up fast.”
Wow, they really weren’t kidding.
Elliott said, “Sir, I’d like them all to get some rest in there. We’ll be hard at it as soon as we move.”
“Yes, that should be first. We’ve got empty offices down this hall, with cots and air mattresses. Not first class, but better than the ground.”
“Much appreciated, Colonel.”
Martin wondered how this was going to turn out. Women often had trouble keeping up, simply due to stature and muscle mass. How were these women going to manage?