A Long Time Until Now (4 page)
Read A Long Time Until Now Online
Authors: Michael Z Williamson
Tags: #fiction, #science fiction, #time travel, #General, #Action & Adventure
The LT stared off to the west at the falling sun. Another day had gone by, of combat naps, panic, and pulling twigs from the grass for firewood.
“Anything you need, sir?”
“No.”
He wasn’t going to push the issue, but he understood he might have to remove Elliott and take over. That was one of those things they mentioned in BNCOC, but you hoped never happened. That didn’t make this any easier.
“I was going to put people on shifts tonight, if they can,” he hinted.
“I have it. Thank you.”
“Understood, sir.”
He backed away cautiously.
He hoped the man did have it. Though if he did assume command, he had no idea what he could do differently.
He noted the available water was depleting.
“Okay, listen up! Save your water bottles, we may need to refill them. Don’t crunch them up, and don’t throw them away. And get the pop cans, too.”
“What’s it matter?” Oglesby asked. “Either we get back or we don’t.”
He’d known that kid was going to be a problem. He was a specialist, and a mouthy one.
“Secure the crap. It matters because we may need water storage, and because leaving trash here is an OPSEC violation.”
Then Oglesby was in his face.
“Newsflash, asshole! There aren’t any Taliban around here. We’re in some fucked up sci fi world, and either we find water or we fucking die! Didn’t you—”
He punched the kid.
Oglesby fell backward and sprawled, a welt already showing on his cheek.
“Put your helmet on, too.”
The kid came up fast, looking angry, but Barker and Dalton grabbed him.
Dalton said, “Dude, it’s cool. Save the bottles, okay?”
They eased him away, as Spencer burned. The young kids always thought they knew better, and for whatever reason, he was frequently ignored, even as an SFC. It had to be his presence. Whatever it was, he couldn’t command people properly.
It was obvious to him that tossing bottles off a convoy was different from leaving them in a hasty bivouac. He grabbed two, and a Monster can, and tossed them into the back of Charlie Nine.
He saw the LT, whose jaw was clenched, but said nothing.
He turned back to Oglesby and said, “Are you finished? We do the best we can. Keep track of everything. If you fire a weapon, find the brass. Keep the MRE pouches, we may need them to hold water, or as dressings. Keep cardboard, we can write on it or use it as tinder. Burn cigarette butts and all other small trash. Everything must be kept neat. It may be all we have for a long time.”
Devereaux said, “Everyone should have had about six bottles or a full Camelbak by now. And change your socks. Hygiene.”
Martin really didn’t want to go to the effort of taking his boots off, but he’d just made a stink about keeping cans, so he led by example and took his boots off. Then he put them back on to climb into the truck and dig through the pile of bags until he found his, and dig through that for socks. Under the gore-tex, under the towel, into the other boots, where the clean socks were.
He changed them, noticed his feet were black and lint covered, with creases from the socks and whatever sandy grit had gotten into the boots. He put the dirty ones in his laundry bag, and resecured everything, then tied his boots.
That did feel a bit better. And how did a very simple task become such a labor?
Fatigue, stress, everything.
The others were changing socks, and there were creases and stains on their feet, too.
Then he realized he actually was hungry. He’d have to go get an MRE.
He hadn’t mentioned that once the food ran out, they’d either be hunting or eating grubs. There wasn’t much else around here.
The chicken fajita MRE was adequately edible. But it made him thirsty. Another bottle of water went down.
The LT was still standing, staring at nothing. But he had changed his socks.
“Sir, water is going to become an issue shortly. We’ll need to find some.”
The LT replied, “What do you suggest?” without any emotion at all. That was creepy.
“Downhill, sir, north, to where there’s likely a watershed.”
“Denied. We will wait in this location for recovery.”
They could wait a bit longer. He’d give the LT another day before taking action.
“Understood, sir.”
The man was completely gone.
Oglesby was violent. Caswell seemed to just sit against a rock ignoring everything around her. He wasn’t sure about the others. Both Trinidad and Ortiz sat chattering in Spanish, cursing occasionally and throwing pebbles. Alexander kept looking at things through her camera. He couldn’t tell if she was taking photos. Dalton bowed his head and prayed a lot. Barker seemed reasonably together; he’d dug the latrine and neatened his gear. Devereaux kept sorting through his med pack, laying stuff out and putting it back.
“I’m going to suggest everyone neaten your gear up, and find cold- and wet-weather gear. It was a bit cool last night, and we don’t want to get rained on.”
It took a while, but everyone did comply. He didn’t blame them for being slow. He saw that all the time in the field. This was worse than any bivouac he’d ever done.
Alexander had some kind of flat panel laid out. Battery charger. Good. He used rechargeables in his flashlights, so that would help them if this turned out long-term.
He didn’t see any way it wasn’t long-term, and another mild panic attack rushed through him. They couldn’t get home. Whatever sent them here appeared random and unplanned.
He tried thinking about that. No aliens or future people showed up demanding or requesting information or help. They weren’t facing any particular threat. There were no real resources. Sticking them here wasn’t accomplishing anything for anyone. They were just here.
He could think of no way to get home.
CHAPTER 3
Armand Devereaux watched with trepidation and interest as the sun set and the stars came out. There was the Dipper. He saw Hercules but not Cassiopeia. Damn. He sighed deeply.
Barker had the fire built up again. He’d scavenged a lot of small twigs and sticks in the area, from various scrub. It might be enough to last all night. Otherwise, they were going to be dark and scared. And knowing what he’d seen, the stars weren’t friendly at all.
It was bright enough. God, it was clear, with no pollution or city lights at all.
They all gathered around, for the little heat, and the more comfort.
Barker said, “Sure is bright and clear. You know if it gets cloudy, it’ll be darker than a bag of coal.”
Ortiz asked, “But how long until now? Our now?”
He said, “A long time.”
Oglesby asked, “When did wooly rhinos become extinct?”
Spencer said, “I’m guessing about twenty thousand years ago, though other types of rhinos survived later. I may not be exact.”
Dalton looked irritated, and muttered a barely heard, “Ten thousand.”
Elliott said, “What was that, Dalton?”
Dalton looked around nervously and said, “The Earth is no more than ten thousand years old. All that other stuff was disproven in the nineteen fifties.”
Yes, it figured a Creationist would have some specific troubles. Armand had no idea how anyone could take Genesis literally. No one took every verse literally, even the most literal. It just wasn’t possible. So why obsess over that part?
Elliott said, “Well, with respect to your faith, I have to use what information fits my training and viewpoint to make the best decisions I can. It’s how I think. You’re welcome to your opinions for your own calculations.”
Dalton shrugged. He looked annoyed, but he wasn’t going to fight.
Armand nodded slowly. The LT was a bit tighter now, and obviously had dealt with Creationists before.
Elliott said, “So, ten thousand years or more. But less than a million, because the stars would look very different. Probably less than a hundred thousand. I recognize the Big Dipper at least.”
Good. The man was tracking a bit. Armand had been worried he was completely gone.
He spoke up, “I do some astronomy in school, and it’s a hobby. The Earth’s axis wobbles like a spinning top. Polaris is a bit off, but Vega is still well over there, and Deneb there, bracketing the axis. Precession of the Earth’s axis would put Vega as the pole star in about fifty thousand years, so assuming the same is true in reverse, we’re looking at fifteen or thirty, more or less.”
“Then let’s go with twenty to twenty-five.”
Alexander broke down in outright weeping at that point. He couldn’t think of anything to offer to her, so he didn’t.
He said, “It would be one or the other. It doesn’t average.”
Elliott said, “Yeah. Well, it’s not now. Our now.”
Trinidad asked, “How do we get home?”
“We wait for whatever brought us here.”
“What if it never comes? How do we get home?”
“That’s all there is.”
Trinidad shouted, “Don’t you tell me that!”
Armand ran over fast, was alongside, and suddenly it was a man on man hug with bawling tears.
He saw nothing funny or unmanly about it. He was barely keeping it together himself.
Sean Elliott felt ill. He realized he’d neither eaten nor drunk all day, and forced himself to swallow a few mouthfuls from his Camelbak. Then he chewed some jerky. He didn’t feel better, but his stomach eased off a bit, and his headache faded.
Had he spent all day just staring into space? He was supposed to be in command.
Spencer came over as soon as he moved.
“Sir, can I consult with you?”
“Yes, what is it?” He tried to make eye contact and failed. He masked his shame by glancing around.
Spencer indicated with his thumb and head. They moved away from the group and around the back of Charlie Eight.
Spencer looked rough. He hadn’t slept either, and might even be in shock.
“Sir, with respect, you are not handling this well.”
“I . . .” he was about to erupt in an ass chewing, because no one could handle this shit well, but he needed help, and Spencer was trying to offer it.
“I’m open to suggestions,” he said.
“Sir, it’s been almost three days. We haven’t secured food, water, shelter. Whatever dropped us here is gone. It may or may not come back, but we have to make the call to take care of ourselves here, now.”
“I’m afraid of leaving. We don’t know when it will come back.” It had to come back. If it happened once, it would happen again.
“We don’t know
if
it will come back. And we’re running out of resources. Water. Food,” Spencer repeated. “Fuel. We have limited ammo. We need to relocate while we have fuel, then settle in. If there’s some kind of time portal, and someone is looking for us, they’ll do what SAR does and find us. We can leave signals.”
“What if they don’t know we’re here?”
“Then, sir,” the man said, with a very deep breath, “they won’t be looking for us, will they?”
Every time Elliott was sure he was all adrenalined out, something came along and kicked him again.
“Yes. I agree. But I really don’t know what to do. And Spencer . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“Between you and me, I’m fucking scared.”
“Well, that means you’re like the rest of us, sir. But we have what we have.”
“I’m sorry I weirded out.” He burned in embarrassment. He was the officer, and he’d sat here doing nothing.
“It can happen to anyone, sir. Glad to have you back.”
“Thanks. You don’t mean that, though.”
Spencer stuck out a hand and he took it and shook.
“Yes, I do. I’ll run things myself if I have to, but you can see the kids don’t respect me. They never have. You, they actually listen to.”
He nodded. “So you tell me what to do and I’ll tell them.”
“No, sir. You’re the officer, you need to command. I’ll implement.”
He had a moment of cold clarity.
“There’s no way I could resign anyway. Not here,” he realized.
“No, there isn’t, and I wouldn’t let you. They need you.”
He noticed the man didn’t say “I need you.”
He breathed again, and took in the impossibly fresh air. He could smell the truck, and otherwise, the clearest air anywhere. It was refreshing, but frightening.
“Downhill, to the river, and dig in there. They can find us. But what after that?”
Spencer said, “We try to find somewhere we can build long-term camping, like an overhead between the vehicles, and windbreaks. Hooches if we can. If there’s saplings—”
“I can advise on building hooches, Sergeant. I’m an engineer.”
“Yes, sir. See? You can get us comfortable and healthy. Fresh water, too.”
“Yeah. And we have a box of soap, asswipe and toothpaste. That’ll last a while.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We might be better walking down. These bitches are overbalanced even on a road.” He pointed at the MRAPs. They were crap off road, but here they were.
Spencer said, “We’ll need to be careful. But they’re transport, they’re shelter, and we can rip parts out of them for survival. Hoses, metal.”
“We could come back for parts. It’s not like anyone is going to steal them.”
“We could. Your call, sir. But I’d like to get them as far as we can before we abandon them. It means less of a march later.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.” Yeah. That would help. If the damned MRAPs didn’t roll and injure someone on the way. They weren’t meant for military patrol other than convoy or urban. Even dirt roads were problematic.
First, he needed food and hydration. It was late afternoon, too. Actual sleep was called for, if he could. They’d travel in daylight only.
Every young officer wanted a combat command and to show his mettle. Well, the good ones wanted to show it. If they managed, they held onto the title of “good.”
This was not what he’d had in mind, but he didn’t have a choice. He’d make it work.
Sean Elliott did sleep, restlessly but well enough. The nightmares were probably a good sign, he told himself. His brain was sorting out conflict.
Spencer had kept things running overnight. Whatever the man said, he really didn’t need Sean Elliott. But there were few enough of them they needed everyone.
He took another look at the terrain, and the map. The two were close enough generally. Downhill would lead to whatever watercourse there was. Assuming they were when and where they thought they were, and at least approximately in the area.
All the troops were gathered around the protruding rock, and he could tell which side the latrine was, when the wind shifted. That was rank.
Spencer caught his eye. He nodded.
Spencer said, “Listen up. Informal formation. Keep eating, but pay attention. The LT and I have been talking, and he has a plan.”
They looked at him. Some seemed curious, others hopeful, some annoyed. Well, that was his own fault. But, they did look to him.
“Okay, what should be the Amu Darya river is twenty miles north. It’s rough terrain, but we’re going to try for it. It’s a major watercourse; that means water, power, transport, whatever resources there are. Whatever there is here is likely in that area.”
No one said anything, but there were a couple of nods.
He continued. “The movement will commence at once. We will thoroughly police the area of all trash or identifying material, including filling in the latrine. Do not mark it. We will stow all gear securely. We will leave a blaze in the turf indicating our direction.Charlie Eight will be the lead vehicle, and I will be aboard. Charlie Nine will follow, with SFC Spencer as vehicle commander. We will have three personnel on the ground as reconnaissance ahead. They will stay within one hundred meters of each other, and of the vehicle. We will follow at a walking pace, because these beasts have shitty balance. This movement may take up to a week, though it is possible we can accomplish it in two days. Exercise light and noise discipline.
“The advance party will look for a clear route, paying attention to near and distant terrain. They must also be alert for dangerous animals, which is anything large or carnivorous or both. We will try to avoid interacting with animals, and retreat to the vehicle if necessary. We’ll shoot if we have to. I want both guns manned and alert. Any shooting will be by my order only, but anyone may shoot if there is an imminent threat of being attacked. ACH and armor will be worn.
“We will rest briefly every two hours to swap out advance parties, and for latrines and food.
“With all that covered, anyone with experience in rough terrain or ground guiding in the field should volunteer to be the lead in each shift, and I’ll assign two others to support and observe.”
There were glances back and forth, then Barker, Spencer and Trinidad raised their hands.
That was a relief. “Okay, Spencer first, Barker second, Trinidad third. That covers six hours, which is likely most of today. We’ll rotate again if needed. Caswell and Dalton, you’re up first. I’ll take second with Alexander. Ortiz and Devereaux third. Oglesby is backup. Police everything, double check with your buddy and someone else, and let’s roll. Dalton and Trinidad, do you know how to make a direction blaze?”
"Yes, sir," Dalton replied.
"Please do that while we load."
"Got it.
He decided to drive lead himself. It was effectively combat, and the lives of these nine depended on him doing everything right.
Inside he felt utterly cold and terrified.
What if? What if? What if?
He couldn’t answer, so he was trying not to think of the questions. But he felt insecure even starting the vehicle. What if it stalled? Got stuck? What if three minutes after they left the area, whatever had caused the jump came back and they weren’t there for it? But they couldn’t sit on the side of a hill forever, hoping.
After ten seconds of cranking, the engine responded, and troops started climbing aboard. He should probably double check the cleanup, but he didn’t want to get out of the vehicle now. Every bad emotion was hitting him at once—laziness, hopelessness, anger, despair. Nausea hit him again as his guts clenched.