CHAPTER 13
Sean Elliott was woken by his alarm sharp at 0500, crawled out, dragging a jacket because it was damned chilly in this clean, crisp, clear air, with fog wafting down the hill, and cleaned up. Leak, wash hands, shave, brush teeth, skip shower for now. It was too cold to bother unless necessary, and he’d be fine for today.
A herd of antelope surrounded them, moving slowly west. Mixed in were bactrians, some horses, and a family group of the hairy goats. The animals didn’t seem really aware of them, and just moved around the wards.
Caswell and Spencer were getting breakfast ready at the vehicle kitchen, heating sausage, bacon, and what smelled like eggs and pancakes. Meanwhile, Cryder and Arnet worked on the foam plane drone again. Shortly, Cryder held it up and tossed it, and it flew off. That was it.
They finished breakfast and stowed the dishes in the washer as the sun rose and burned off the fog and the dew. The troops were in good morale.
The science chicks were already testing something. He guessed it was like taking photos. You could always toss what you didn’t need. On the other hand, if they had room, they’d take everything they could to analyze the environment.
It was a nice day, relatively. It was still jacket weather. Few civilians worked outside enough to grasp that 70° F could be cold, after hours standing around in a breeze. It wasn’t more than 55° out here. However, the breeze was low, the sky was clear, and the sun bright and unhindered.
The continuing problem was there was literally almost nothing to do as far as chores with the Byko vehicles handling it all. He directed Caswell and Oglesby to assist in erecting an awning, almost a tent, that acted as a weather shield for some of the equipment and the dining area. After that they set chairs of thin wire that was as strong as a steel bar. With a vehicle on each side, an outcropping uphill to the south, and fabric sides, it was quite good shelter. It even had a small climate unit if they needed it, and the sides could be polarized in sections for all clear, windows, or blacked out.
The Guardians had a table set up with chairs and two tablets that looked almost like current tech, only he knew they had generations more processing power and ability. Frankly, they scared him. There was nothing he could enter into his phone they couldn’t read if they chose, and he knew their tech base was capable of tiny mics and recorders that might even be cast into the buttons in his uniform, to listen in. Their civil society worked similar to the Japanese, in that one politely didn’t notice the private matters of others. This, though, was a military deployment, with civil government support. Their leadership had every reason to monitor literally every breath of the participants.
He wanted to keep some things private, and he knew the scientists would want as much discretion as possible for any data they might bring back.
This was probably what it would have felt like operating alongside Eastern Bloc observers during the Cold War.
At one of the terminals, Cryder viewed the drone’s cameras. He didn’t even swipe the screen, but just pointed his finger in the air and the image shimmered and changed. He touch-wrote notes in a window on one side.
Sean watched the process. The drone was quick, and had impressive resolution. Periodically, it zoomed in on features. That did look like a footpath along the river.
“Are those fish traps?” he asked, seeing a familiar pattern of stakes.
“Appear so,” Cryder agreed. He moved the drone and Sean saw what were definite habitations.
A few minutes later he said, “I have more detail now. We’re about six kilometers from the village. It seems to be about one hundred fifty inhabitants. I have an aerial view of habitations, working areas including leather, meat processing, and what may be primitive cord making.”
“Okay. Is it the village we need?”
“Unclear, but it’s a local contact, may have further information.”
“Right. Shall we see about a patrol?”
Just then, Sergeant Spencer came sprinting up, boots thumping. He stuck his head between the awning sides, drew a quick breath, and spoke.
“Sir, we have a contact.” He pointed.
Sean looked where the NCO indicated, as Cryder handed him binoculars. He raised them, and found they had tremendous magnification. It took him a moment to dial them down and get them aligned.
There was the subject, outside the wards, downslope, near a thicket. The movement resolved as a human figure. The subject was a male, tan, wiry muscle and scars, a thick beard and chopped hair with dreads in back. He wore bits of a uniform—MultiCam Gore-Tex over a leather breechcloth, above ratty-looking US-issue boots.
“Let’s go. Carefully. Cryder?”
“Coming.”
As they strode, Sean pointed and said, “Doc, you are in charge.”
“Hooah, sir.”
Sean, Spencer, and Cryder slung weapons over their armored jackets and started down the hill. Spencer had his rifle, which might be primitive but was certainly reliable. Sean watched the ripple as they exited the screen, and led slightly, the others spreading out behind him.
“Ho!” Spencer called down, and the man turned, spear ready. He didn’t seem spooked, just cautious.
Sean waved high overhead as they passed brush and rose over a lip in the terrain.
“Ho!” he called.
The man stared, eyes wide and confused.
“Do you speak English?” Sean called down.
The response was a slow nod.
They stopped about thirty feet away.
Elliott said, “Sir, I’m Captain Sean Elliott, US Army. We’re here to help.”
The guy kept staring at him in complete shock. Finally he spoke up. His words sounded like a second language speaker, chosen carefully.
“You have a way home?” the man asked.
“We do, soldier. It’s not direct, and there’s a lot of debriefing, but we’re here to take you all home.”
The man’s lip trembled and he burst into tears. He planted his spear like a staff and sagged against it, sinking slowly to the ground.
Martin eyed the captain, got a nod, and approached slowly.
“Can you tell us who you are?”
The man kept crying.
“That’s fine, take your time.” He squatted down and took a load off.
Finally, the guy said, “You’re US Army really? This isn’t some nash dream?”
“I’m real,” Martin said. “SFC Martin Spencer. Want to shake hands?”
He extended his right hand, and the man slowly reached forward, took it and shook it. Then he leapt up and Martin did, too, and then the guy threw himself against Martin’s shoulder, still gripping his hand. Goddamn, did he stink. Breath, sweat, musty clothes, natural tanned leather. Ugh.
“Thank you. Oh, thank you. Goddamn, it’s been five years. Five fucking years. Thank you.”
Martin understood the feeling. He’d spent two years dreading being away from anyone, in case they went home and he got left behind. This guy had adapted, now saw rescue, and wasn’t going to get away from that rescue until it happened. But, five years? Shit, they’d planned to be a lot quicker on the uptake. It had only been two last time.
Had changing the personnel done that? That was something the Bykos had mentioned.
The captain’s expression said he was just as bothered by that. But he asked, “How many are you?”
The man adjusted his spear and counted off his fingers. “Ten. There are ten. Of us. Brycol, Lieutenant Brian Cole. Anburum, um…Andrew Burnham. Staff Sergeant. Crizano. Sergeant Christopher Lozano. Jaziara…I don’t know what his name is back home.”
Behind him, Elliott asked, “Jachike Uhiara?”
“Yeah. Corporal. Hosemando. Jose Maldono—”
“Maldonado?”
“I guess. Moldy Nachos. Yeah, that’s right sounds. For’d obsevr. Frenchy. Denise Noirot? And Tisho. Tish Oyo. Two females. Florimose. Florian Munoz. PFC. And KKsuke. Kevin Keisuke. PFC.”
“That’s all of them,” Sean said as he read them from his phone. “Wait, where’s Akhtar Malik? What happened to him?”
The man shrugged and said, “He died. Here. Three years ago. Hunting.”
Martin offered, “Damn, sorry to hear that.”
The man shrugged it off again, almost casually.
Elliott said, “Well, we’re here to take the rest of you home.”
The man nodded vigorously and grinned, while dancing lightly.
“Can we come to your village? Will we be welcome?”
He nodded vigorously. “Yeah! Should be. Argarak likes us.”
“Is that the chief?”
“The umma, yes.”
“We haven’t yet asked who you are.” Spencer knew, but it was procedure to make them identify themselves.
“Oh, sorry. Tavsto. That is, Travis. Travis Steven Hamilton. Specialist.”
Elliott said, “Okay, Specialist, we’ll have you lead the way. Hold on.” He turned and spoke to Cryder. “I think we should go dismounted.”
“Yes. Packs on, weapons for predators.” He spoke silently into his mic, updating Arnet in camp.
Hamilton said, “There shouldn’t be none predators over this way. I was along a hunting party. Let a shit, catch up need.”
Martin parsed that, and how the man’s English had slipped in five years.
“Thanks. We’ll bring them in case. Show us the way.”
Hamilton nodded, and headed off at a brisk walk, then stopped and looked behind. His expression suggested he didn’t want the hallucination to go away.
Elliott said, “Wait just a moment, we’ll bring our element.” Already, most of the team was coming over the lip. Hamilton might not actually see the barricade from his location, which was good. One less thing to explain.
Taking charge for point, Martin called, “Dalton, you and me up front.”
Dalton replied, “Hooah, Sergeant Spencer,” and jogged forward. He had the Guardian weapon. Martin had the big AR variant in .338. That should be plenty for anything.
Elliott asked Arnet, “Do you have the rear?”
“Yup, got it.”
Cryder was just coming back, carrying a large ruck.
“Diplomatic and trade goods,” he commented. “Including fabs and wine.”
“Great. Caswell, please watch left. Oglesby, we’ll watch right.”
The scientists took the middle, and didn’t fuss about the ruck weight, though it was only a light patrol load.
With Martin and Dalton along, Hamilton moved briskly, looking side to side and talking about something. Dalton seemed engaged with him, and Martin kept an eye on the route.
The terrain undulated, with a projection from the woods along some damp drainage hollow, then drier, hummocky grass, then another finger of woods. It was only a few meters across, the low area slightly damp but not muddy. As they cleared that, the village became visible, down a slight bluff, near the river.
Closer inspection showed it was on a raised flood plain, below the terrace they were on now. It was likely safe enough most years.
“I expect they flood out from time to time,” he commented to no one in particular.
Raven said, “That’s—” as Caswell cut in with, “That’s not uncommon, and they’ll just shrug and rebuild in the same spot.”
Raven sounded barely annoyed as she said, “It’s a fatalistic acceptance. The river floods when the gods say, so there’s no reason to worry. If they were higher, it would be harder to get to water, and that doesn’t please the gods, either.”
Martin chuckled. “Yeah, sounds like a lot of people in our era, too.”
They worked their way down a worn path on the bluff, which could only charitably be called such. It had been worn by years of foot traffic, the bare ground eroded by runoff, and had exposed roots, rocks, and slippery slopes.
The dogs detected them first. So these people had domesticated dogs. He recalled the Neolithic element during their displacement had those. No one knew the exact start date, but evidence showed up sporadically for a long time, and yes, was well established by now. Good to have confirmation.
Right then, Dr. Sheridan said, “Confirmed domestication of canines. Useful.”
“Yes,” Raven agreed. “Definitely not wolves, but much closer than modern breeds.”
The animals looked a lot like huskies or malamutes and seemed a bit less domestic. One man slapped them down and they complied.
Martin commented, “Finally a breed I’d consider.”
“Are they for hunting?” Dalton asked.
“Sometimes,” Hamilton agreed, nodding. “Alert to predors also. And scares them off.”
The locals saw the party coming and started to gather. Martin remembered their displacement, and how they’d been swarmed when they first arrived at a local village.
As they reached the flat terrace, the crowd got excited and rushed toward them. The first half dozen seemed to be the rest of the hunting party, armed with spears. They’d been carrying two young goats. They wore breechcloths with leggings, tunics, and wrapped moccasins. Their hair was styled as Hamilton’s—cropped with dreads.
Oglesby shouted, “Moqe teh!” Shug called, “Muqa!” and they stayed at a reasonable distance, but still formed a ring.
It was actually hard to pick the soldiers out. They wore what was left of their uniforms, but they acted a lot like the Paleos. Most were paler-skinned, but they’d tanned and weathered.
That was one of the females, and a girl about three peeked around from behind her leg. Cute kid. And shit, that was a fucked-up complication they didn’t need.
The village wasn’t dissimilar from that of the Urushu village Martin’s element had visited when displaced. The huts had similar form, but were in a neater, more semicircular arrangement around what was apparently an important hut—for the leader or shaman or meetings, he assumed—near the river.
The locals were Central Asian dark, with faintly epicanthic eyes and thick black hair, some of it in dreads, some in braids and wraps, especially on the females, and some cut short with shaven styles. They had coarse fabric and leather clothing and a few wore moccasins.
There was the other female. She looked a bit better. Tall, black, fit, and carrying a spear.
Then they were crushing in, chattering in fractured English. They smelled, they had shaggy beards, and they were excited beyond anything he’d seen before.
“Are you real?”
“God, MultiCam. Clean, too.”
“This can’t happen.”
“Did you get lost, too?”
Dalton replied, “Yes.” Then as the man’s face sunk, he added, “But we got home. Now we’re here for you.”
The man’s beard split around a grin of disbelief. “You came for us?”
Spencer spoke clearly, “We’re here to take you home.”
“You’re really real.”
Dalton nodded and assured him, “We are. Mixed element—Army, Air Force, Contractor, allies. We’re here to recover you.”
They started shouting and whooping, though a couple shied back, probably unsure.
Sean Elliott caught up to Spencer, and confirmed Cryder was still alongside. He whispered, “I’m assuming that’s a lodge for single hunters nearest the river. It means they can be defensive, and are separated from that lodge over there, for females.”
Further inspection showed the huts to be mostly thatched and only partially hide. They were lower and, while more sophisticated than the previous encounters, looked less weatherproof.
Caswell said, “Oh! I see some signs of agriculture. Notice over in the woods, you can just make out a clearing. I bet those are tended berry bushes. Those stalks in the water are definitely rice, and it looks like they dug a shallow bay on purpose.”
Raven said, “I’m loving the chairs.”
He looked where she pointed, near the community fire, and there they were. Tripods lashed together, with leather seats hung from them and strapped to the back pole. You sat down between two and they were almost hammock chairs. Nice!
The displaced soldiers were very excited, and forced their way in to tug at the uniforms. Sean kept an eye out. Caswell looked very, very wary, but not ready to kill anyone yet. Raven wore a scowl. Sheridan seemed cheerful. The male troops seemed mostly concerned about weapon safety. Cryder and Arnet were tall and built enough that no one got too close, and they weren’t in US uniform. Their neutral tan-gray was surprisingly indistinct.
As before, the locals crowded in to be friendly. He watched until Caswell twitched, with Raven right behind her.
“That’s close enough, please,” he announced firmly, pushing his hands away and indicating a circle. “Back off. Oglesby?”
Oglesby looked at Hamilton and said, “Can you tell them we need space?”
Hamilton said, “Oh, yeah…um…Sergeant?” while staring at Oglesby’s chest insignia. It was half covered by gear.
“I am, that’s not important. Get them to back off, please.”
“Ooah.” Hamilton raised his voice and rapid fired something with a gesture like the arms in jumping jacks. There was hesitation, but the crowd did retreat slightly, leaving breathing room at least.
Shouts from farther away indicated a party approaching. It appeared to be the chief with two retainers flanking him. He had a headdress of feathers and antlers, a cape woven of fibers in geometric patterns, and a necklace of stone beads. He had dreadlocks above shaven sides.
Hamilton stepped forward, and started talking. The chief spoke back, pointing and gesturing.
Hamilton faced them and said, “Argarak is umma, chief of this village and…relative of others where else. ‘Relative’ isn’t the right word. People who went from here to there, he still is of them.”
“I am Captain Sean Elliott, US Army, commanding this element and, by instruction, commanding our lost soldiers.”
Hamilton translated for Argarak, who looked very suspicious, then enthused.
Facing Elliott again, Hamilton said, “I unthink he got it. He thinks you’ve come to join the village like we did.”
“Ah, well, we need to explain that we’re visiting only, and will leave soon, but have some gifts for him and his village for their hospitality.”
“You should really first trade and be nice.”
Caswell, Raven, and Spencer all simultaneously said, “Yes.” They looked back and forth, shrugged, and Caswell elaborated.
“We definitely want to make him happy before we make off with people he regards as his.”
Sean realized everyone local was quiet. They were waiting for their chief to judge.
“Come here and we’ll discuss that. Sergeant Spencer, invoke the gods for cover, please.”
“As you wish,” Spencer agreed, folded his arms, and high-stepped as he’d done when they’d met locals before. He pointed at the sun, then the river.
“The Sun Lemur wishes we talk with Argarak and offer gifts. It is a goodness thing. It beats a ham sandwich. Speaking of which, that would be good for dinner. Along with…”
As Spencer made a loud, visible presence, Caswell got close to Sean.
“Sir,” she said, “they’re going to be pissed when we make off with the troops. We need to offer gifts fast, then try to get out fast. The longer it takes, the more trade and interaction they’re going to want. And they may get pushy.”
Raven said, “I concur. It’s a tribal band society with proto-agriculture, meaning they need all the hands on they can get. They’ll have adapted to this group and not want to lose population.”
Sean nodded. “Got it.” Crap, that was going to make it awkward. “Cryder, can you help if we need to be pushy back?”
“Certainly. I’ll follow your lead. Nonlethal means are available.”
“Excellent.”
He looked up to see Spencer making one more pass and intoning, “…it is a sign from his most excellency!”
“Spencer, we’re good, come here.”
Spencer strutted over, and Sean made a show of nodding to him.
“Right, now they think we’re religious nuts. Hamilton, please tell Argarak we have many gifts to share, by instruction from our spirits.”
The man nodded vigorously. “Yeah, okay, sir.” He still seemed nervous, tense, excited, but agreeable to helping.
The man gestured to the chief, pointed at Elliott, and back. He rattled off something, with a couple of pauses for words.
Argarak grinned and made a “come here” or “welcome” gesture with both hands.
Oglesby tugged at Sean’s sleeve and said, “Sir, Shug says he thinks he recognizes some of these people, but they’ve gotten older.”
“That they have. Five years. It’s good to know we’re in the right place, though.”
Indeed, Shug was bouncy and cheerful. He was no longer the only one of his people in the universe.
Cryder unlashed the rolled package he carried. He handed it to Sean, Sean made a show of bowing with it, then handed it to Spencer, who likewise acted reverently, and carried it forward. He motioned for Argarak to squat down with him.
Spencer put down the bundle carefully, then unrolled it. Once open, he started lifting items and presenting them. Sean generally knew what they had, but only from a summary. The Byko had done very well with this haul.
The four dozen arrow and spear points he produced were beautifully finished, ground to a polish like the late Neolithic. Argarak held his hand out for each one in turn, examined their symmetry and color from all angles, and handed them around to others to appreciate. They really were nice, having been made to look like polished agate, with stripes and layers winding through them. Within a year, all of them were programmed to crack and become useless, then decay and disappear entirely. It was dishonest on one level, but they would serve well in that time, being more resilient than actual stone, so it wasn’t a complete cheat.
Next was a bag of bone beads. Those were real, made from bleached bird bone, and if not quite accurate for this culture—though they weren’t sure—not inappropriate as trade goods. If any survived, they shouldn’t be too remarkable.
Then there was a ceramic jug full of a very sweet and potent Byko wine. Spencer popped the stopper, which made an appropriately musical thunk. He poured some into a broad wooden cup, took a sip, and handed it to Argarak.
Argarak nodded his thanks, raised and likewise drank. He looked puzzled, drank again, then licked his lips.
A few moments later the alcohol made its first incursions into his bloodstream.
Grinning broadly, he exclaimed something to all, who cheered in response.
Hamilton translated. “He says it’s very sweet and making him high.”
Sean replied, “Oh, excellent.” That was, in fact, the intended purpose of bringing booze.
There was a vividly decorated poncho, of woven, dyed grass and bone and quill tubes. That was followed with a pair of leather leggings, also beaded. They didn’t look American, probably based on some European find.
Since pot was pretty well established as being common in Central Asia, both from archeological finds and their own trip, they had a package of what was supposed to be very high-quality stuff, or as it was technically known, “good shit.” Argarak looked at the buds, sniffed the aroma with wide eyes, tested the texture by touch, and seemed very satisfied with the quality.
Then Spencer produced a long-stemmed pipe.
That was unknown to them. Sean understood they probably burned or roasted pot in a small tent and inhaled while communing with their spirits, or else just rolled it up loose.
Spencer demonstrated by loading some into the pipe’s bowl, lighting it with a lighter, which again impressed them, and taking a careful puff. He handed the pipe over with a gesture so it seemed ritualistic, coaxed the chief into repeating the gesture, and then to take a huge hit.
That did it. Argarak inhaled until his chest swelled, coughed, wheezed, coughed again, grinned a yard wide, and said something that absolutely translated as “This is some goooood shit!”
There was some more back-and-forth, then Hamilton asked, “What to him I say, Captain?”
“Tell him we’re from your tribe and want to share words with all of you.”
There was some back-and-forth while Argarak took a few more hits and seemed really mellow. After some proper prostrations, he agreed, nodding.
Hamilton excused himself by stepping politely back. Spencer followed, leaving the hide roll of goodies.
Finally, they were able to gather around a hearth with the lost contingent.
“Greetings, soldiers. I’m Captain Sean Elliott. My element was also lost. We were recovered by Guardians Cryder and Arnet”—he indicated them—“who were lost from their future time. Once it was determined where you were, we were sent to find you. We’re here.”
“You can take us home?” the black woman asked. Letitia Oyo, Specialist, Military Police, he knew from the list.
“We can and are,” he said.
The chattering rose and there were actual cheers. They’d obviously hoped for that, but just as with his displacement, or any deployment, until you actually were feet-dry on US soil, you didn’t assume so.
He held up a hand for quiet.
“First we have to go to Cryder’s time. They have the time travel equipment. They need to debrief everyone, do health checks, all that kind of stuff. Then we go back to our time, as accurately as we can. Then the Army will need to debrief everyone all over again. This is complicated, and officially secret.”
“It won’t be secret.” That was Florian Munoz.
“Probably not, but we have to try.”
“Why? I plan to sue the government for putting me in this mess.”
Sean tried to defer that. “Soldier, now is really not the time or place for those discussions. You need to save that for later. There will be legal counsel for you to talk to, as well as technical specialists. We even have two with us for some of that.” He indicated Sheridan and Raven.
He made a note. He wasn’t sure what could be done, but that soldier was going to need counseling and possibly legal advice, and possibly very stern orders amounting to threats to keep his mouth shut.
But hell, he was surprised it hadn’t leaked out already from their encounter.
One of them asked, “So, how long?”
“Our pickup here is another forty-four days. The jumps are scheduled, and there’s no way to communicate early. We have a location to move to before that.”
The news was obviously mixed. They wanted to go home, they were afraid to go home, they wanted to go home now, they were afraid it might not be real. It was just like getting your end of rotation DEROS date.
He continued, “The good news is we can start some of the debriefing and reacclimating now. We even have American food.”
Sergeant Noirot said, “Oh, God, don’t tell me you have chocolate.”
He nodded and smiled. “And coffee, and other stuff. Take it from personal experience, you want to move into it slowly or you’ll be in a lot of pain. We’ll start this evening.”
It was fascinating to see those guarded expressions from the other side. They were absolutely thrilled, but not convinced it was real.
“You have it here?”
“No. We’re bivouacked a few kilometers away. We should move there ASAP, as soon as you can grab your gear.”
There was shuffling and shifting.
“It’s not as simple as that,” one said. “Sorry, I’m Lieutenant Cole.”
“Good to meet you, Lieutenant. Shuff Cryder and I are in command. What can you tell me?”
Cole hesitated fractionally. “Well, we’re established members of the klup—the tribe. Then, most of them have family here now.”
Sean said, “As to the second, we’ll relocate you, but we’re not leaving at once, and there’s time to address the family issues. They won’t need debriefing, or any kind of processing at this time.”
“They should come along, though.”
“It’s best they don’t. Make appropriate farewells for the time being, and we’ll get things done much faster and more efficiently.”
Sergeant Spencer put in, “You have to remember, they’d be familiar with nothing we have—”
Cole interjected, “Actually, they know what some of our—”
Spencer raised his voice just slightly and continued, “—and certainly nothing the Bykos brought from the future. You’ll have enough trouble acclimating to that. We really shouldn’t have anyone else. It will slow things down, and there are processes that must be done here before we can transit.”
Sean took up again and noted, “And that time frame is not subject to change.” The man’s attitude was really pissing him off.
“What exactly needs done that takes that long? Sir?”
Obviously Cole felt he was being stalled, but did he want to go home or not? Upon further reflection, once acclimated, they might have reservations about either the time jump or going back.
Cryder saved him by stating, “That’s our scheduled and locked departure. B’fore then, must have very spific measurements of body and metabolics for the transfer. Even with our gear, takes time. Also, various possible medical issues must clear quarantine.”
“Ah.”
Doc put in, “I’ll be handling medical exams. There’s admin debrief. You remember how it works.”
Sean said, “Army first, family later. It sucks, but it’s always like that.”
He became aware a couple of the element had wandered off. He saw one of them loading gear in a hide roll. Good.
He kept going to keep command presence. “As far as the umma, we’ll clear that. We’re quite serious that we don’t have a lot of spare time in the schedule. You need to pack and get ready at once.”
Cole nodded. “The Army way it is. We do need to get home, as long as it’s been. And thank you. A lot.” The man seemed haggard beyond his years.
“We’re glad we could find you, and sorry it was so long.”
Cole turned and quietly but firmly ordered, “Grab your rost and we ready to walk. Kiss the families, and tell them we’ll see them in a few days. It’s a hunting wander with our people.”
Spencer muttered, “This is going to be a massive Mongolian clusterfuck.”
Cryder, next to him, replied, “Not quite in Mongolia, but I interpret your idiom.”
Argarak came over with his escort and appeared very agitated and put upon. With all the displaced soldiers busy, it fell to Oglesby and Shug to sort it out. Shug seemed very reluctant to argue with a chief, and acted as intermediary when Oglesby got caught up in language difficulties, which was often.
Argarak was very firm in whatever he was saying, pointing, stating, demanding something. Shug made occasional comments. Oglesby referred to his notes, cocked his head for his earbuds, and spoke slowly. Eventually, he held up a placating hand and turned.
He said, “The chief isn’t happy. Basically, he says our spirits sent them here, they’ve joined his tribe, he wants to know what we’re doing here.”
“Do the troops have a say in it?”
“Maybe.”
“Why aren’t they translating for us?”
A couple stood nearby, and shuffled awkwardly.
Hamilton said, “Sir, Sergeant Oglesby is right. But if we ask Argarak, he’s going to want us to stay. We’ll seem ungrateful, since he took us in and gave us food, lodging, mates.”
“Okay. Then we can deal with that as a separate issue. You do want to leave, right?”
There were vigorous nods from three, less vigorous from two, and noncommital shrugs from four.
Staff Sergeant Lozano said, “I mean, we’ve settled in here. The first few weeks were terrifying, and then it was depressing and nasty, but we’ve learned to adapt, and we have families, most of us.”
“You have a family back home.”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t great—with my then wife, I mean. I expect she’s moved on after five years.”
Spencer made an angry sound in his throat. Yeah, he was trying to save his marriage, and this guy wanted to throw his own away.
“It’s only been four months for her.”
The man looked confused. “Uh…how? Is time running differently?”
“Time spent here doesn’t affect time there. As far as she knows, you’re MIA in remote A-stan. Also, the Army really doesn’t want MIAs unaccounted for.”
That got a blurt of “Oh, fuck the Army.”
PFC Keisuke muttered, “I want to go back. I…want to go back.”
Sergeant Spencer told them, “Either way, have some chocolate and hot coffee.” He held up a broken chocolate bar and walked around, handing each of them a piece. A couple hesitated, but all except Lozano took one. Then from his ruck he pulled a thermos and a cup.
“Oh my God. And coffee. I missed coffee.”
Hamilton said, “I’d kill for a cigarette.”
“Sorry, we didn’t bring any.”
“Dip?”
Spencer shook his head and said, “No, no tobacco. Sorry. I quit while I was lost. No one else here smoked.”
The man sighed. “I can wait until we get home.”
Cryder offered, “I may be able to duplicate some.”
“What, like an e-Cig?”
“I don’t know that term. I can probably make tobacco in a smokeable form.”
“No shit!”
Sean never understood smokers who quit during training or deployment from necessity, were long out of the habit, insisting on restarting. Still, that was their problem, and if it gave them a reason to come home, good.
“Either way, we need to get you all to our camp to be photographed and IDed. We’re not leaving for six weeks, but you know how the Army is. There’s a lot of paperwork.”
It was believable, not inaccurate, and he wanted to get them under control, all at once, not have to chase them all over creation.
“Should we finish packing stuff, then?”
He advised, “All your issue gear, at least. Anything you can’t live without for a few days. Definitely bring your daughter, Sergeant Noirot. Does anyone else have offspring?”
“I have a wife,” Munoz said. A couple of others offered the same.
Even if it would have been only six months, that could be a problem. They really should have planned for it.
“Say goodbye for the time being. We’re limited to Army only at present.”
“But Frenchy brings her kid?”
Sean said, “Offspring are different from local spouses.” This was getting awkward fast.
Keisuke pleaded, “Look, let’s not argue, I want to get going.”
Cole suddenly asked, “Where’s Lozano?”
Keikuke indicated with a toss of his head. “In his lodge.”
Sean muttered, “Crap. Spencer, take over here, and Cryder. Troops, Shuff Cryder is my counterpart from our future. He’s co-lead of this operation and will get us home. Arnet, can you come with me to persuade Lozano?”
The tall man nodded. “I can.”
“Thanks. Dalton, come help?”
“Hooah, sir.”
“Doc?”
“Yes, sir.”
Why did I assume they’d all beg to come home and just follow us? It made sense that they’d acclimated, and that the locals liked new members. Now he was going to be the bad guy who broke it all up.
The three of them walked to the hut in question. Lozano was actually sitting outside on a roll of hide, looking comfortable, inhaling pot smoke from a censer. A very young girl sat next to him, working on scraping a hide.
“Hey, Sergeant Lozano,” Sean started, trying to sound casual. “You probably didn’t hear the discussion. We’re moving up to our camp. We’ve got uniforms, boots, and can get you kitted back up.”
The man already looked defiant, even through the mellowing of pot. “I’m pretty comfortable, actually.”
Sean tried again. “Good, but you really need to be back in uniform.”
“I’m fine, really.” He didn’t sound challenging specifically. More like dismissive.
That couldn’t stand.
He suggested, “We need you. Your teammates need you.”
“They’ll be fine.”
It was obvious the man understood and was just being resistant. Diplomacy wasn’t going to work. When diplomacy fails…
Sean changed his tone fractionally, and said, “Soldier, it’s not a request.”
Behind him, Dalton mumbled, “Darn right it’s not.”
With a smug grin, Lozano asked, “Do you know what date it is, Captain? Because I do believe it’s long before my enlistment date and doesn’t apply.”
“To come home, we have a process,” he reminded. The man had to know all this.
Arching back, hands behind his head, Lozano said, “Well, I have decided to sit this one out.”
He offered one last chance. “Really? Here? No coffee? No sugar? No spices? No well-cut steaks on the grill? No movies?”
Lozano shrugged.
“Honestly, I’m healthier than I’ve ever been. I have a woman. I was willing to be persuaded, but I don’t see a need, actually. Mark me as dead or MIA and move on.”
“I will have to consider that,” Sean said carefully. “You can remain for now. We’ll discuss it again.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Have a good day, Captain.” The man feigned closing his eyes, but Sean could see them slitted. Lozano didn’t trust them.
This was a turning point. If he let this slide, there was question as to his command ability. If he forced it, he was going to have to have the man restrained even in camp.
He figured he’d try his attempt at the Byko dialect.
“Poss rstrain biv til part?”
Arnet replied, “Ya, can.” He’d grasped well enough, apparently.
Sean nodded fractionally.
“Arnet, Dalton, Doc, bring him. Minimum force but as needed.”
Arnet fairly bounded into movement. Lozano had just grasped the discussion and stood when the Guardian reached him in a tackle, threw him as they rolled, and came up with the man bent into a shape that didn’t look comfortable and definitely looked painful. He picked Lozano up as if he was a bundle of gear, shouldered him, and started walking, as if he carried 175-pound men around every day.
Hell, in training, maybe he did.
Lozano was lying over Arnet’s shoulder bent on his back, head to the rear, in a position that made struggling nearly impossible. He started with something in the local language, then switched to, “Motherfucker, put me down or—”
Dalton cut in firmly. “Sergeant Lozano, Arnet outranks you, is a lot stronger than you, is a friendly allied troop, and you’ve got orders from the captain. You’re already under restraint. It can get worse if you don’t wise up.”
There were shouts and stern voices behind them, as the locals realized it was a forced relocation. This wasn’t going to go easily. That young one…she couldn’t be his daughter, but wasn’t old enough to be his wife. Orphan he’d picked up with his mate?
Not turning back, trusting his unit to cover him, Sean led the way through the gathered soldiers and toward the trail. He made to leave, Shug quickly falling in between Oglesby and Dalton, obviously not wanting to be left behind.
Shouts resolved as Argarak’s voice, with a couple of his henchmen. A glance revealed them to be armed, and moving fast, but they were carrying, not preparing to throw.
The chief and his flankers sprinted past and got in front of the group.
Argarak made it quite clear he opposed the departure. He even waved his spear.
Sean sighed. “I really don’t want a fight, but we’ve got to establish the position of our own people.”
Right then, Cryder raised his sidearm device, which melted, stopped, zapped a blue flash. Argarak fell down and twitched.
Looking over, Cryder said, “He’ll be awake in under a minute. Let’s walk.”
Caswell muttered, “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. “Much as we’d like to avoid trouble, there comes a point where you make your case and get on with the mission.”
Suddenly there were dogs, teeth bared, slobbering and growling. Cryder pointed his weapon, zapped, zapped, zapped, and most of the dogs were napping, but bent in positions he’d only seen cats get into. Two retreated, still barking, but obviously intimidated.
Sean spoke with the best command voice he could. “Soldiers, that way. Move.”
The locals shouted and milled about. Several ran to Argarak. Five others ran forward with spears. Cryder zapped two of them cold, and the rest stood back at once, though a single warrior took it upon himself to heave his spear.
Dalton calmly stepped into the line. The spear hit his Byko-issued clothing and bounced off. The soldier twitched at the impact dispersed across the chest, as if he’d been hit by a ball. He retrieved the spear from the ground, made a half salute with it, and resumed walking. He had a souvenir.
Damn, that was impressive gear. It was also courageous. The man had taken the Byko at their word about the armor value. It was good to know it was proof.
The locals shrieked and shouted, made gestures and jumped around, but didn’t follow further.
The troops moved at a route march, some of them cautiously excited, a couple obviously pissed, and Noirot had her daughter along. Sean knew she’d have to go to the future. He expected she couldn’t go back to their own time. Or possibly she could. It depended on what the Bykostani thought. Though the Army cover story would have to be hellacious.
He realized that was going to be his decision. There was no way to ask up the chain.
And why didn’t we anticipate kids, or at least pregnancies, even if it was only a few months? he wondered.
Obviously, because the Army rarely addressed such things and tried to pretend they didn’t happen.
Lozano shouted a few more unimaginative profanities.
Spencer caught up and barked, “Son, ‘fuck’ loses any power after the fifth iteration. You will be at ease.”
“Or what? As soon as I’m down I’ll—”
Cryder applied his sidearm directly and ZAP.
The man hung limp.
Noirot’s daughter hurried along, short legs pumping quickly, quiet but obviously nervous. She chattered something, and Noirot replied. Then they were both silent.
Most of the others marched along without any real comment or expression. They’d spent five years walking everywhere. This was just more of it.