A Long Time Until Now (32 page)

Gina Alexander was elated at finally getting to do her real job. Tempering that was the long walk on her damaged legs, the separation, knowing they were going to be dealing with injured refugees, and Caswell trying to cram her full of feminist dialectic and anthropology.

She finally shut that off with, “I may have studied some of this myself, and I understand the mechanism of sexual assault. Thank you.” Yes, she understood it very well, and didn’t need a twenty-something to explain it to her. Bad, old memory.

Dalton took point, she took the middle, Oglesby brought up the rear. They kept spacing at ten meters, so they were close enough to offer support, far enough not to get mauled. Those lions might still be around. In fact, since they were walking on the slope above the river, they were about where she’d seen them before.

Her ankles always hurt. This didn’t help, though she was surprised they didn’t worsen. Her knees, however, did. Add in the usual ache of backpack straps on the shoulders and it wasn’t a comfortable walk. And how did she keep winding up on these? Oh, yes. She’d asked for this one.

It was sweaty, dusty, with bugs flying around and one in her teeth. She spat, rinsed and drank. Her head ached numbly from the helmet.

Rough terrain and heavy brush meant it was midafternoon, sun ahead of them, before they sighted the Urushu camp, now the Neolithic camp. It had several more huts, like low tepees or wigwams. The wall was banked and lightly staked, almost like their own palisade but smaller.

Dalton said, “Let’s close up. We stay together inside.”

She said, “You’ll need to follow me to the latrine.”

“I’ll politely turn my back, but yes, I will. I don’t trust these savages. They’re proof that monotheism is a positive thing.”

“I disagree with that, and it’s not the time to argue,” she said. And yes, she wanted someone standing guard when she had to squat.

A party came to meet them. It was five men, all armed. They were only her height, but they were muscled.

Dalton said, “Alexander, I want you to chamber a round, please. Don’t shoot unless we’re attacked.”

“Hooah.” She cycled her rifle with a push while gripping the charging handle. That aftermarket Gunfighter handle was tough, and easier to use that way, with a bigger latch than the issue one. She was surprised at how few of the element had any accessories for their weapons. She wasn’t the gun nut—her husband was—but this was an easy upgrade and made it a lot easier to load.

The armed party didn’t start trouble, just escorted them in. She did notice their spears were held across, not up, though. No doubt the plates would stop spears. Would the soft armor? And her arms and legs were certainly unprotected.

“I need to use my camera. Have Oglesby charge his weapon.”

“Noted. Oglesby.”

There was a metallic sliding and clack behind her.

“Ready,” Oglesby said.

She started pointing and shooting. The gateway was just that. There was flat ground into the camp, with a wall on each side creating a channel. There were piles of bush they could throw up as a gate. There was an open common area, with their huts around it. They’d saved the long lodges of the Urushu, which in her opinion were better. She took photos to both sides.

A spit over a bed of coals held a haunch of something, and they had broad leather bowls of spices and herbs. They were obviously well organized to have this much stuff built this quickly, unless their village had come through with all contents. That fire setup was sophisticated and interesting, however. Click. Though on silent mode there
was
no click.

This is why they needed her, not some amateur with a phone cam who wouldn’t know what he was shooting, nor what it was afterward, nor how to describe it. She raised her phone and whispered into the record mode, “Fifteen hundred local approximate, gateway, village placement shots north and south. Fire hearth with complex tools and foodstuffs.” She’d caption it in print once she was back to her laptop.

“They’ve come a long way,” she said.

Dalton said, “Lots of labor and no time wasters. Much more labor than we have.”

There was a sort-of paddock to the south. It had a low mound and wall and a rude rail fence. It contained antelope and goats, and they all limped.

She said, “Interesting. It looks as if they lamed a bunch of females. I gather the males show up freelance to reproduce.”

Dalton said, “That also means they’re bait for hunting.”

“Disturbingly clever.”

“Yeah. Effective, though.”

“As a female, I’m not thrilled.” She was half sarcastic, but some cultures placed women on par with animals.

“Oh. I can see that. But I’m not going to let anyone touch you.”

I wasn’t just thinking of them
, she thought. She grabbed a few images of that.

Some of the Urushu women recognized them, or at least their Multicam uniforms. They came over and seemed cheerful enough, not significantly different from before.

One of them shouted and smiled. It was Ai!ee moving well and seeming fit. Was there an undercurrent of something? She couldn’t tell.

Dalton said, “Oglesby, you talk, I’ll reply. Let me know if anything comes out to you. And Alexander, let me know whatever you see. These are some building mofos. That wall’s actually useful.”

“Will do,” she said. It was a halfway decent defensive work. She got photos of that.

Oglesby said, “Haylaa!” and went into noises that almost sounded like words, just with more throaty sounds.

She didn’t like the crowd gathering around them. They all had spears, and looked interested, but not the casual interest in a traveler. They wanted loot. They had no idea about the weapons, or her camera, but they knew the soldiers thought they were valuable.

“They’re getting too close to suit me,” she said. “And I think they want another dominance game.”

Oglesby said, “I don’t see the guy we dealt with. Either he wasn’t the chief, or he’s off doing something else.”

“Well, who’s
this
guy?” Dalton asked, pointing at their opposite.

“His name is Qalaka, close enough.”

Qalaka pointed and said something. It sounded like an order or demand.

“They’re getting closer,” she said, quite scared now. She dropped the camera on its sling and hefted her rifle.

One of them grabbed at her. She raised her leg and kicked, shoving him back hard against his buddies, then she backed up against Oglesby.

“Yeah, they’re on this side, too,” he said.

Dalton shouted, “Back off!” and jabbed one with his muzzle. He said, “Wish I’d fixed bayonet.”

“I’ve got my knives,” she said. “Are we avoiding shooting?”

“If we can.”

She caught movement and turned. One of them had brought up a short spear, about the size of a Zulu stabbing spear, and jammed it into Dalton, or tried to. It skittered off his SAPI plate and the tip shattered.

Dalton said, “Motherfucker, you did not just” BANG!

At that range, Dalton caught him right through center mass, and hit someone else behind. The man screamed loudly, rattled and collapsed, dead. The one behind him howled and clutched his arm, then thrashed and rolled in agony.

Firefight.

The others retreated in a hurry, but they gave Dalton more room, because that’s where the noise had been. The ones on her side were within ten feet.

One of them cocked his arm back, with a large, sharp rock. She saw him hop to adjust his point of aim, and as his arm started to move, she raised her rifle, placed the dot and snapped the trigger. His face hollowed like a kicked ball and the back of his head erupted. She’d shot him just under the eye.

Oglesby fired at something or someone, but the rest were in full flight. They sprinted to the wall where the latrine was, hopped over and cowered down.

“That’s
not
what I wanted to happen,” Dalton said. “LT is gonna be pissed.”

Gina’s head rushed, and her eyes got fuzzy. She’d just blown a man’s brains out. She could see them splashed on the ground around his shattered head. He writhed and kicked like a dead cat she’d run over once.

Dalton shook his head and said, “Well, fuck it, we’ve come this far. Let’s take any of the women we recognize.”

“If they want to,” she said. She sounded very distant to herself.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“We don’t know what they want or like.”

“We don’t have time for that.”

“Ask them if they want to,” she insisted. “Oglesby?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

He twisted his brow, moved his lips, then called out something musical and syncopated.

Several women poked heads out of huts, or from behind cover.

He repeated it.

Three stood out and hesitantly stepped forward.

Several men behind the wall stood and shouted.

She started walking that way, very slowly, very deliberately, weapon raised. If they wanted a fight, she’d give it to them.

They looked at the three bleeding, broken bodies on the ground near the troops, and the two others screaming and clutching at wounds.

They didn’t want a fight.

Oglesby repeated himself in a more moderate voice.

“What are you telling them?”

“‘Females, we will take you to your mates,’ as best I can manage. The grammar is slippery. I’ll try another variation.”

He said something similar, and more came out. Shortly, about forty women gathered in a huddle.

“Hold my helmet,” she said, and handed it back to Dalton. Without it, her face looked more feminine, and she had long enough hair to make it obvious she was a woman. It worked with Afghans. It might work here.

She slung her rifle but left the safety off, and spoke with a calm voice, feeling very exposed.

“Come with me,” she said, making slow “come here” gestures.

Dalton said, “Great, you lead, I’ll back out with them in sight.”

She coaxed until they did follow her, in a group.

“Oglesby, take the north,” she said.

“Okay. Any particular reason?”

“I dunno. Animals maybe. I want you somewhere.”

“Got it.”

She was fully in charge now, she realized. It made sense. The women were more willing to listen to her, even if she didn’t know their language.

Another round cracked off. Dalton shouted, “winged one. They’ve decided not to follow.”

“Pity,” she muttered, and “Good!” she shouted. Respect for other cultures be damned, these Neolithics were brutal savages.

There were probably all kinds of complications from this. She’d worry about that when they got back, which needed to be soon. The sun was well behind them, dipping toward the trees and hills far to the west.

Just like that, her vision came back in color. She realized she’d seen everything since it started in black and white, and missed most of the details after the shot.

She thought about a mind cleansing ritual. It was that or booze, and there was no booze.

Through Oglesby, she reassured the women once again that they were going to see the other Urushu. Though she wasn’t sure how many survived beyond the three who’d come to camp.

The women walked without protest or bother. What was four miles to them? But even here, she’d been largely sedentary in comparison. Her feet stabbed in pain before another mile.

It was near dark when they trudged into view of COB Bedrock. The name was amusing, and it was good to have a specific referent, but it would be nice to have more than one. Maybe that was possible, if they wound up adopting some of the Urushu. Ironic that the Urushu’s offer to adopt them would have ended very badly.

Caswell and Spencer came out in gear, while Elliott watched and Ortiz manned the gun.

Spencer called, “Talk to me.”

“The Neos started a fight. We won. These are the Urushu who wanted to come with us.”

“Where the hell are we going to put them?”

Caswell said, “We need more brush anyway. We’ll put them on the far side of the creek and they can build some lean-tos for now.”

“Fair enough. Guide them around the outside.”

“Can you, please, Sergeant?” she asked. “My legs are killing me.”

He thumbed over his shoulder at the gate.

“Go.”

She staggered forward with a nod.

Rich Dalton wasn’t sure how the LT was going to react. Still, he couldn’t actually be court-martialed, and he hadn’t started the fight.

It felt good to be inside the gate, and not have a platoon of civilian women to worry about.

He went straight toward the LT, who was standing behind Number Nine.

“Sir, I need to give you the debrief.”

“Yeah. I hear fighting was involved?” Elliott came over at a walk.

“Gunfire was involved.”

“Dude . . . shit.” Elliott didn’t look pissed, but he did look bothered.

He’d rehearsed the story the whole way back, but forgot all that and said, “They got close. Whoever it was we spoke to wasn’t there. They didn’t respond well, got pushy, and someone tried to stab me with a spear.” He indicated the rip on his ITV, and the scratch on the plate under it. “He was that close. I reacted and shot him.”

Elliott tilted his head and said, “Better than dying and losing both you, and some of our stuff.”

“They didn’t take the hint. My round peppered the guy behind him. Oglesby shot one in the guts. Died quick. Alexander blew the brains out of one. She may be a bit shook up. I don’t think she’s been up close before.”

“Have you?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve done house to house.” And it was a rush, like this. He tingled all over, and felt good, which was perfectly normal, and scared civilians.

“Okay. I’ll check on her. Thanks. You’re sure you didn’t provoke it?”

“There wasn’t any way to. They didn’t communicate much. They gathered around, demanded stuff, then pulled out spears.”

“So either gross miscommunication, or bad signals, or they’re just violent SOBs.”

“Yes, sir. I am sorry. I was trying hard to avoid violence.” He really had been.

“I believe you. We’ll need to be prepared for them to try to counterattack. That sucks.”

“Sir, I’d expected you’d be more upset.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say.