A Long Time Until Now (45 page)

“Hooah.”

Elliott said, “There won’t be time for any orders, so follow Sergeant Spencer’s lead. But I was hoping for a peaceful meeting of minds.”

“Yeah, I doubt this guy’s met anyone he couldn’t intimidate or kill.”

The Roman seemed to recognize armor for what it was, but kept squinting. He knew there was cloth outside, and he couldn’t know what was inside. Did he suspect leather? Metal? Horn or hide?

After a bit more gesturing, with Elliott making an honest attempt to communicate, the Roman gave an almost Gallic shrug, turned and said something.

The Romans shifted formation, and there was some kind of order given. Three of the Indian musketeers stood to. There was obvious tinder and lighting of matches, waving for embers, charging pans on long, beautifully wrought and stocked matchlocks.

Martin muttered, “Fucking seriously?”

Caswell giggled, then the others found the mirth. It was entirely amusing to watch those men work so hard at impressing their neighbors.

Within a couple of minutes, the three stood abreast, chose a goat fifty yards to the south as a target, and fired.

The volley sounded with a dull boom, and smoke spurted into blowing clouds. The goat fell over and thrashed, squealing.

Martin said, “Challenge accepted.”

Everyone stifled laughs.

Elliot spoke softly.

“Caswell,” he said.

“Yes, sir?”

“I want you to respond because you’re female. Put that poor beast out of its misery, pick two others and give them your best. Double their range at least. Then give us a burst.”

“Yes, sir. Three rounds?”

“That’s a burst, isn’t it?”

“Air Force weapon, sir,” she said, jiggling it. “We have a happy switch.”

“Oh. Then by all means make it six.”

“Got it. You’re not worried about them finding bullets?”

Elliott said, “No. Cases yes, bullets no.”

“Roger that, sir. Stand by.” She slid the leather brass catcher into place.

Martin softly said, “Challenge engaged.”

She raised her carbine, pointed and shot.
Her
weapon cracked loudly, as did the supersonic bullet. That smashed through the head of the mostly-dead goat, giving it a humane finish.

Her second bullet was two seconds later. It took another goat at a hundred yards, headshot. It simply dropped where it stood. The third shot rang out, and at about two hundred yards, another animal erupted blood from its skull, then thrashed around in convulsions for a moment.

Then she picked an outcropping and fired a burst. He counted eight rounds. Fair enough. They chipped the stone and ricocheted.

She lowered the weapon, and stared over it at the Roman officer.

The Roman looked thoroughly shocked. His ace had just been trumped. That it was a female who’d done it seemed just to add to the effect.

There was an immediate huddle with him and two Indians who appeared to be officers. They had flashier dress and fancier swords.
Tulwar
if he recalled correctly.

Martin said, “Challenge concluded.”

Now the Roman was willing to negotiate. He smiled and spread arms.

“I’m not trusting his sword, sir.”

“Yeah,” Elliott agreed. He pointed, “Gladius remove.”

The centurion chewed his lip, but nodded, drew his sword and handed it to a subordinate.

Elliott stepped back and handed his carbine to Spencer.

“If he tries to kill me or capture me, shoot him dead and we’ll deal with the second in command.”

“Yes, sir. Caswell, Dalton, keep the LT under watch.”

“Hooah, Sergeant.” “Got you covered, sir.”

“Oglesby, can you assist?”

“Possibly. I know some grammatical and tense stuff. Ortiz would have been better, I think.”

Spencer said, “Sir, I’ll listen in. I may have some input, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, thank you.”

The Roman really did slow his words down, and Martin could overhear quite a bit. “
Loci,
” “
Tempus
,” “
Deites
,” and other words. So, the Romans had some idea how they’d wound up among “
ferus saeva barbare
.”

Elliott had good body language. He was a commander dealing with a foreign element who was less well equipped, and smaller by several inches. He looked down at the Roman and spoke.

“As I said,
Roma futura duo millennia.
” He indicated himself and the others. “
Roma conquista
. . . Spencer, who did they conquer?”

Martin spoke clearly. “
Roma conquista Galli, Belgi, Germani, Allemani, Helveti, Brittania, Caledonia, Hibernia, Drurotriges, Iceni, et terra trans mare Atlantia
.”

Elliott nodded, and indicated himself. “
Futura Roma trans mare Atlantia. Milites Tribunus.
Sean Elliott.”

The Centurion appeared to be a mix of surprised, pleased, and disgruntled. He’d been in charge. Now he was back to being an NCO, though for a greater Rome than he’d left.

Elliott did a good job, Martin thought. The Roman got told, not asked, what Elliott expected. He expected the Romans to depart, they could send a team of quinto to negotiate, arms would be checked at the gate, and he expected them to behave among all the groups. He was a tribune and the centurion would do well to abide by him. The Rome Elliott came from was much more advanced, and respected the great contributions of its earlier men, but had new and improved ways of doing things.

Phrased like that, the centurion nodded in acquiescence, saluted with an open hand, turned and gave orders to his men.

They watched the Romans tromp away, then walked back to the gate and through, and goddamn did it feel good to have a palisade.

“You heard that?” Elliott asked, sagging from restrained stress.

“Well done, sir,” he said.

“Yeah. But I’d really like to trail those bastards and find out where they’re living. I assume they have camp followers, likely slaves, and I assume they’ve been tracking us. But I’d need two volunteers, unarmed, nothing we care about losing, and even if I had volunteers,” he looked at Dalton’s half-raised hand, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We’ll gather intel other ways.”

“And they think we’re Romans?” Dalton asked. “I can see it.”

Spencer said, “There are historians who argue that we are, by way of Britain, since that was the last stronghold of the Empire, and we still use Latin for science, medicine and law.”

Elliott said, “I want to find out where all these groups are coming from. We know
when
.
Where
might help with
why
or
how
.”

Caswell asked, “Did Rome ever get this far east? I know the Macedonians did.”

Martin said, “I don’t think Rome made it past the Red Sea. Possibly into Persia. Definitely not here.”

“And those were Indians, correct?” she asked.

“Dot not feather. Yes. Matchlocks place them before seventeen hundred, after fifteen hundred, as best I recall.”

Oglesby said, “They speak Hindi. I know a few phrases.”

“Good. We’re going to need to have discussions on all this.”

Doc asked, “They came from the west. What did they do to the Neoliths?”

“Probably already claimed their town and slaughtered anyone who gave them lip.”

Devereaux flared his eyes and said, “The Neoliths needed taking down a peg, but that’s not cool.”

“No, it isn’t. And any women are probably Roman slave girls now.”

He realized he was hyperventilating and choked down on it. Was it PTSD again? Or fear? He really didn’t want to die here, much as he didn’t like living here. The Romans were creative about it.

His eyes blurred and sweat burst out, then he got it under control, mostly, but started shaking. He wondered about some medicinal wine. Or some of the weed. That wouldn’t upset his stomach the way wine would.

It shouldn’t be affecting him this hard. He hoped no one would look at him for the next few minutes.

Sean Elliott tried to calm his nerves. He’d just told a Roman military unit he was their superior officer, and made it stick. He breathed a deep sigh, and felt a hell of a rush.

He motioned Spencer to follow him behind the trucks. They needed to crop weeds under and around the trucks again. The stuff had grown fast. Ortiz had said something about tethering goats and letting them crop areas down.

The weeds were fine for now. He stood among some flowering things that looked like flowering things anywhere.

He said, “At this point, if there are four groups displaced, there could be dozens or more.”

“Yes, sir. No reason not.”

Spencer was flushed and twitchy. Fear? Could be. The man kept his feelings down, mostly, but obviously had them.

“But you said there was a documentable gap.”

Spencer breathed deep and said, “Possibly. Five hundred years, two thousand years, eight thousand years. Each four times the previous.”

“I think I see distance, too.”

“Yeah, distance seems to be about the same. But that makes no sense.”

“Why not?”

Spencer said, “Because we didn’t all use the same measurements. Our mile isn’t a Roman mile.”

“That doesn’t affect the ratio of the distance.”

“Oh. True.” Spencer shook his head as if clearing it.

“I think we really need to send a recon element out.”

Spencer said, “I agree we need to. I’m still not sure we can risk it.”

He was a really dedicated worker and craftsman, but very timid when it came to doing military patrols.

“I’m going to say we do. I’ll need you to lead it.”

Spencer said, “Yes, sir,” and nothing else. He stood very still.

“You really don’t like the idea, do you?”

“Sir, it’s a valid idea, but honestly, I’m afraid. I don’t like leaving the group.”

“I figured you liked getting away.”

“Personally away, behind a barrier, yes. Not leaving the presence of other people. I’ve been twitchy since we got here.”

He suspected Spencer was a lot more than twitchy. He was probably shaking in fear, which Elliott understood.

“I feel that, too,” he admitted. He did, though he thought he could handle the trip. “If you prefer, I’ll go, you stay here.”

Spencer bit his lip.

“Sir, they respond much better to you than me, especially the younger ones. You’re the leader. It should be me.”

“Can you do it? I’m not going to force you.” Who could he send if not? Trinidad?

“I’m interested, and I know what to look for, but I am scared. I’ll try. Who else?”

“Oglesby, and someone for backup. Dalton or Caswell.”

“Dalton, definitely.”

“You don’t have to leave right now.”

“Yeah, but it better be within a day or two.”

“I’ll write up a frag order. Can you manage ten miles west along the river? And visit anywhere else that presents itself?”

“Romans, Neoliths, Urushu if they’re still around. Yes. Any message I’m sending?”

“I hadn’t thought about that.” That was a good point.

“I guess that we’re here. We’re not going away. We’re peaceful. We have no interest in repressing others and want good relations, but refuse to be subjects. Try not to waste ammo, but if dropping an animal provides food from the gods and makes them respectful, do it.”

“Okay,” Spencer nodded. “Give me a while to get used to the idea. A couple of days.”