A Long Time Until Now (16 page)

CHAPTER 8

Armand Devereaux was feeling twitchy. He wanted to be useful, but that wouldn’t happen unless people got hurt, which he didn’t want. He was constantly worrying about hygiene at the moment. He scratched three days of beard and could smell his sweat-soaked uniform again. They just didn’t have the immunity for most of the local bacteria, and they had field conditions at best. It would get cruder before it got better.

He waited while Barker trimmed his beard off, leaving a Fu Manchu mustache, then took the shaver.

He yanked the cord, felt it spin up like a gyroscope and buzz, and started applying it to his chin.

It wasn’t great, and left him with bristles, but that was safer for his skin than being smooth, since he was prone to pseudofolliculitis, and it was more comfortable than spiky curls.

He was still sweaty, but felt fresher trimmed. He’d need a haircut soon, too.

At least they were all done with diarrhea for now. But he had to stay on everyone to cook meat well done. Dalton and Oglesby liked it rare, and that wasn’t safe here.

Food had other issues. They needed variety, and salt. Then, some of the squad would have medication. He’d heard Spencer mention GERD. There wasn’t much he could do on a field expedient basis for that.

And the women would need sanitary supplies. How did you improvise that in the field? He had a couple of boxes of tampons to plug into bullet wounds in an emergency. Those wouldn’t last long. Then what?

He’d determined what day of the year it was, approximately, by timing dawn to dusk and calculating against the latitude. He’d set clocks at local noon. On the one hand, he was glad to help. On the other hand, knowing the day with no idea what century had pissed most of the troops off.

There really wasn’t anything he could do except identify problems. He’d need to talk to Spencer and Alexander, since they had some experience in primitive skills, and Barker did. Otherwise, he and Oglesby would have to ask the locals to explain their superstitions. They probably had some herbal remedies that were better than nothing.

His worrying was interrupted when Spencer shouted, “Dalton, Devereaux, Barker, Ortiz, come with me. We’re going to clear some brush.”

He climbed to his feet and dusted off. That would at least keep him busy.

Spencer talked as they walked.

“Weapons loaded, no goddamn discharges, okay? Everyone keep an eye out for wolves. We have two axes, two machetes. So that’s two people chopping, two trimming. Though we may drag some back and trim in camp, since it’s only fifty meters or so. Stay in buddy pairs, and make sure you don’t leave me alone.”

The terrain was all hummocks and dips with stalks and weeds. The ditch was a shallow contour with an occasional deep eroded section in the bottom, and cattails and grass sprouting lush from those.

Spencer continued, “The fifth person is going to be starting a fire around the base of a tree and knocking it down that way. That’s how we’ll rest from chopping. Eventually, we’re going to need about eight hundred small trees for the palisade, a hundred more for reinforcements, and another few hundred for lodging and other buildings. I plan to rotate the smaller troops through, but I want a good start today so I can gauge the probable time involved. Got gloves?”

“I do,” Barker said.

“Yeah, and me,” Ortiz said.

Devereaux said, “Sergeant Spencer, I volunteer to start with the fire.”

“Ah, pyro, are you?”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant. I am a huge pyro.” He grinned. Burning a tree sounded like fun.

“Why haven’t I seen you at the club meetings, then? Sounds good. Burn the base of that one.”

“Sure. Sergeant Barker, can I borrow your lighter?”

“Damn, what kind of second rate pyro doesn’t have his own lighter?” Barker grinned and tossed over his Zippo.

“We may as well use that one first,” Barker said. “Since the fuel evaporates. And we can always bring something from the fire in camp.”

Spencer said, “Also, Devereaux, is there anything like poison ivy here we need to know about?”

He thought for a second. “Assuming it’s like modern A-stan, some nuts, like pistachio. I’d say if it’s a fuzzy vine, don’t touch it. Watch for berries. Stick to actual wood or woody vines.”

“Okay. Why don’t you have a fire going yet?”

“Working on it.”

“And the commander suggested we use using personal names. I’m not sure about that. I like being friendly, but we need discipline. So I’m likely to stick to using formal address, but I don’t mind if we’re a bit casual and laid back about it.”

Dalton said, “What about this one, Sergeant?” He was next to a straight tree about six inches in diameter.

“Yup, good size. Get to chopping. Keep an eye out for drop angle.” Spencer chose one himself and started swinging.

Armand stuffed a pile of dead leaves and twigs around the base of the tree in question. It was about six inches diameter at the base, reasonably straight, and looked like a tree. That was good enough for now.

The Zippo was hot before he had reliable flames, but once lit, the piled burned smoothly enough. He walked back and forth, clenching handfuls of small twigs and leaves, then stuffing them into the embers at the base. The flames licked up a bit, scorching the bark. Filthy yellow smoke rose. It stung his eyes when the wind shifted, and made him sneeze. He backed away, in case that was something toxic.

The growth here wasn’t like anything he’d seen back home. This was a mad nest of everything growing, tangled around itself and the trees. Ortiz and Barker slashed away with their machetes, clearing paths while waiting for a tree.

It was slightly cooler under the trees, but damper, and the fire quickly made him hot again. Behind him, he heard the hollow chunk of axes hitting bark.

He found some deadwood nearby, snapped it into chunks and piled it in close. He suspected it would take several hours to burn a tree down. In the meantime, he could do others. There were four other trees of similar size. He stuffed them with a mess of leaves and debris, added twigs, and dragged fire over to get them lit.

The ditch was probably seasonally wet. Some of the debris looked to have washed along with water. There was a lot of low scrub. He wondered if they were going to leave that or chop it out. It also might not fare well after the trees were down.

“I lit four more, Sergeant Spencer,” he said as the NCO came back from the chopping.

“Yes, however many you can get going, then I’ll have you swap out with Ortiz.”

“Roger that.”

Setting fires was fun, but it was work to keep them where they should be. He moved around, kicking embers and fuel in close, making sure he didn’t actually burn the tree, just the base.

He had to slow down. It was tempting to build bigger fires. That wouldn’t work. Slow and steady was the key. That, and not getting acrid smoke in his eyes.

“Timber!” Dalton had one down. Three minutes later, so did Spencer. Then Ortiz had one down from machete chops, without an axe.

Spencer said, “Okay, Devereaux, Armand, right? Cool. Swap with Ortiz. Ramon. Just realized the two of you are our medical element.”

“Such as it is, yes.” He took the axe from Ortiz, who was sweating and panting.

He paused a moment, doffed his shirt and redonned his Camelbak. He made sure his medical kit was nearby.

With a nod to Ortiz, he found a tree and started chopping.

He didn’t have much experience chopping. He realized that in a hurry, and everyone else did, too.

Barker came over and said, “Here, slide your hand up, then down, bend so you come into the tree like that. You’re going to notch it. Don’t worry how neat it is, just take this half of it out—on the side it leans toward. Then you come around back and you’re going to chop there until it falls.”

“Thanks. Not many trees to chop in Queens.”

“Come to Missouri. We got a crapton.”

He was glad for the borrowed gloves. He could tell from the exertion and movement he’d have blisters without. It took five minutes to erupt enough sweat to soak his shirt.

They stayed busy. In twenty minutes, he had the tree cracking, and shouted, “Timber!” It seemed silly, but it was a fair warning. It crashed down through the limbs of other trees, and bounced onto the ground.

He swapped off with Ortiz for a machete and trimmed branches, starting with the smallest. They’d have a lot of decent sized firewood when this was done. He tossed the limbs into a pile, which Alexander retrieved an armful at a time, and stacked closer to camp as a fence.

Spencer said, “We’ll drag all the trimmings down to make a barricade. It’s better than nothing, will at least slow animals and potential intruders.”

“And then we burn it.” He found an angle that worked, and chips flew as he hacked into the limb.

“Yes, but slowly. That’s cooking fuel, and we’re going to need heat in winter.”

“How does an engineer unit do this in the field?”

Spencer said, “With several aircraft loads of gear. We’re going to be busting ass every day.”

He kept at it for a bit, then Ortiz said, “Swap off, go to the fire.”

He nodded, and drank more water. Damn, he was thirsty. He gulped several swallows and felt it pool in his stomach. He wiped sweat from his eyebrows.

Spencer called “Chow break,” and he realized it was near noon.

They had a dozen trees down, each about a foot diameter, and a dozen smaller ones. Barker leaned into the first one he’d lit the fire under, and it cracked, threw sparks at the base, and fell.

That became a game, with Dalton doing a flying kick that knocked down a tree, and had him drop to the base and roll through the embers. He skittered out of the sparking coals.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted.

Armand said, “Yeah, don’t do that.”

The man lay down, and Armand took a quick look. He probably had some soft tissue abrasion even through his pants, and the impact likely hurt, but there was no sign of major trauma.

Spencer said, “So don’t do that again, anyone.”

Dalton limped toward camp, chagrined. Armand sighed in concern, then grabbed one of the downed trees by a lower limb and started dragging. The others each took a section or the end, and hauled it across the landscape.

He was glad it was only fifty yards or so. And he was glad he’d be able to sit down and eat.

Martin Spencer looked at the down timber and considered. Twenty-five small trees in a morning. If they could do that twice every day, it would take two weeks to chop the trees, then a month or so to trim and align them, and another month to set them. It wasn’t going to be fast. But some of the bigger trees would make main supports, and their top halves were still enough for a palisade spike as well.

All that chopping would denude the ditch, and take quite a few of the trees along the stream, too. On the other hand, that gave a clearer field of fire.

Elliott said, “I agree the loose stuff can be piled around the perimeter. It means moving it twice, but we need some sort of delineation. And damn, I wish I had a full company of engineers. Or a full company of anything.”

“It’ll take longer as we clear the area, sir,” he reminded.

“I know. And we’ll need to start planning on firewood, too, for both cooking and later for warmth.”

“What about interim shelter?”

Elliott said, “Barker suggested a tepee. We can use ponchos and tarps to cover it.” And dammit, he wanted a tent fast, but they did need some kind of screening.

“Yeah, that’s likely quickest. We’ll want one really serious log cabin as HQ and redoubt. Shake or slate roof, not thatch.”

“Yes, that was my plan. The vehicles work meantime. Nothing animal or native can get into them. What about other log cabins? They’re warm.”

He said, “I like them, but they do take a lot of work. I’d call that a long-term project. We can make hooches from saplings lashed together and covered with hides.”

“Do you really think we need one each?”

He’d expected that question. Young officers for some reason often didn’t grasp why. Did he have no idea why young men would want privacy? Hell, he wanted some himself.

“Sir, buddying up is great for a few weeks, or even a couple of months. After that, people are going to go bugnuts. And you can expect the younger guys to want native women after a while.”