Read A Long Time Until Now Online
Authors: Michael Z Williamson
Tags: #fiction, #science fiction, #time travel, #General, #Action & Adventure
A Long Time Until Now (68 page)
They were about five hundred meters out when Alexander’s voice came through the phones. “Fire in the hole!”
The Cogi vehicle spat something in a shallow trajectory, that arced back behind them. He looked in the side mirror to see it slam into the pile of timber. Dark smoke erupted, and in moments there were flames as well.
“Was that planned, sir?” he asked Elliott.
“Not by me.” The man shook his head. “I don’t have reason to object, but I wish they’d asked.”
“I guess that’s why they said there was no need to spread the debris out.”
“Yeah, but I would have liked to have been informed, if not consulted.” Elliott gripped the window handle, pushed on the dash, then said, “Fuck it. Drive on.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
He drove. Over the furrows and gullies, up and along them where the terrain dictated. Since they had to go high enough to clear the forest anyway, that wasn’t a problem so far.
“How’s Caius doing back there, sir?”
Elliott looked over his shoulder. The Roman rode the turret like a pro. It would make a great WTF photo, with the American flag billowing behind him.
“Having a blast.”
“Well, it is a nice day, and we’re moving again.”
“Hooah.”
They paused after two hours, and swapped ground guides. Marius insisted on swapping with Caius, who argued, but not too hard, and changed places.
“Are you up to driving more?” Elliott asked.
“I’m good all day, sir.”
Actually, he was half wired already, but he figured he’d get into it, and he didn’t trust most people to drive these unstable beasts. He rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gripped the wheel again.
Cal came back after the noise and shaking stopped. He sniffed around the area. All the musty logs had been shoved down. Some had been burned and the ground was rough. The humans were gone. He didn’t smell any death. There was a very strong smell of their big rock things. Those were gone, too.
They were probably all hunting. He hoped they’d bring the salty liver.
In the meantime he should probably hunt for himself, and have some meat ready for them. They liked pheasant, and there were some not far from here.
He went east, burrowed into the weeds, waited. Shortly, he smelled a bird, stalked low under the grass, sprang and felt its neck snap. He carried it jauntily across the stream and placed it near the females’ fallen cover tree. Then he took a nap.
He awoke, but the humans weren’t there yet. So he ate some of the pheasant. It would be better with more salt, but it was okay.
They would probably be back later.
The tall shelter was gone, and the females had taken their beds. He sniffed around further.
They’d gone that way. That nasty smell was the big rock things. Perhaps he should follow.
He didn’t even need his nose. The rock things had flattened the grass like a large beast. He trotted along easily, watching for large animals that might crush him or other predators that might eat him. He missed the logs that blocked things. Those were a fine thing the humans did. It made rodents much easier to catch.
Ramon Ortiz was twitchy. It had been two years since they’d moved these beasts. The drivers were rusty, the terrain terrible. They were nervous, irritable, excited, and he expected someone to roll one from being overeager and under practiced.
This was going to be the longest convoy op he’d ever done, timewise. The planned route was ten days, all of it very rough field.
Walking out in front, he at least had his phone for some quiet music, and contact with the vehicles. Modern commo was a lifesaver.
The terrain was convoluted, and he took the task very seriously. Rushing now could fuck them all up right before they got home.
“I don’t like this ridge,” he reported. “I think we should go straight uphill.”
“Do it,” Elliott agreed. “We need to go that way anyway.”
An hour later, Dalton replaced him. Two Gadorth with dogs took each flank to keep threats away. He climbed in the back of Number Nine and stretched out to rest.
“Shit, everyone out,” he heard from Spencer at the wheel. He stood, and waited while Oglesby dropped the tail.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Steep grade. Need to be as bottom heavy as possible.”
“Hooah.”
The ramp lowered. They all climbed out and spread to a safe distance. From the outside box, Oglesby cranked the ramp far enough from the ground not to drag, low enough to help center of mass.
Spencer started rolling up the slope and the MRAP leaned drunkenly.
“Goddam, these beasts are top heavy,” Oglesby said.
Ramon replied, “Yeah. Great on paved roads. Who could ever have predicted the Army would wind up in places without them?”
Ahead of the vehicle was a steep, chaotic landscape heading up onto the hills. MRAPs could handle a twenty degree lateral incline . . . usually.
Ramon’s phone said, “Okay, Ortiz rear, Trinidad front right, Caswell front left. Guide me.”
Spencer eased into the throttle, running up the slope and turning into the incline. The vehicle swayed, then the tires slipped.
Spencer let it ease back down, revved up a little faster, and rolled again.
The tires caught, the truck bounded over a bump, then slid while teetering sideways. Ramon clenched up. If they lost it here . . .
Spencer slammed the transmission and revved, and the vehicle crashed back to the ground, bottoming out and sending sparks off a boulder.
“Okay, that’s not going to work. What about if we use the available labor to fill in the slope?”
Elliott said, “Okay, that sounds safer. Oglesby, get them digging.”
Oglesby talked, and the Gadorth looked at the terrain, but without real interest. He said something else, and most of them shrugged or waved their noses.
Then he said something else, and they fell to digging as if there were diamonds in the ground.
“What did you tell them?” Ramon asked.
“They weren’t interested in helping much. They said we can walk easily, what do we need the noisy thing for? I suggested they weren’t fit enough to dig. So they’re proving me wrong. But I don’t know how often I can do that and make it work.”
In only ten minutes, the slope looked flattened enough, from shovels and sticks, to let the truck pass.
Spencer said, “Okay, trying again.”
This time, the tires threw dirt and rock, but climbed jolting over the hump and onto the ridge above it.
After some minor refreshing of the slope, Number Nine followed. Barker clashed gears and twisted the wheel to keep traction, and bounded up the obstacle.
Elliott said, “It’s getting toward sunset. I want to laager here. Our guests are welcome to stay in the area, but I want to dissuade them from approaching. Suggestions?”
Ramon said, “Use the M Two Forty to kill dinner. Is that a herd of aurochs I see? Food for everyone in a few seconds of thunder. That should do it.”
“I like it. Dalton, do you want to do the honors?”
“I’d love to, but Ortiz suggested it. He should do it if he wants.”
Did he want to machine gun a few cows? No, not really. But he would make sure it was done cleanly, and it would be nice to shoot something to let off tension.
“Sure,” he said.
He climbed in the back, up into the turret, checked the feed tray, and leaned back. There were three close together there. He could sweep from there to there, and . . .
He squeezed the trigger, the gun hammered, and brass clattered. Through the muzzle flash he saw hide and blood splash, and three cattle convulsed, staggered and fell down.
The Gadorth shouted and howled, some of them lying prone, then cautiously getting up. They looked around in fear and confusion. The Roman contingent had freaked out, too.
Oglesby pointed and said something that included “os,” which seemed to be their word, almost recognizable. They nodded and trotted over, looking cautiously around and back at the turret and Ortiz. They reached the carcasses and started butchering.
Goddamn they were fast. It took minutes only for the men to completely skin, gut and section the animals, and bring the chunks back. Barker used his torch to get a fire lit, a good hundred meters from the vehicles, and the Gadorth took the hint and gathered around it. They plucked sticks from the scrub, skewered fresh meat, and started roasting.
God, he was tense. Those scrambles up the bluffs had been terrifying. It wouldn’t do to lose a vehicle or take any casualties now, that they were so close. Hopefully. He wished there was wine left. He didn’t like smoking and no one wanted to risk it now.
He threw his poncho over his bag as he had two years ago, and hoped this was it. He listened to the crackling of their fire, the calls of the Gadorth, animals making noises and the Roman contingent joking, and felt very, very alone. He was a long time getting to sleep.
CHAPTER 43
Gina Alexander was wiped after a week of trekking. Jerky was too boring to eat, but the drain on reserves required it. She tried to drink extra water, but was still shitting out what felt like rocks. Add in being one of two females, apart from a small handful with the Gadorth who were not disposed to friendship, and she felt exposed and uncomfortable. Even riding in the back was tough on the knees.
“Break!” Elliott called. She sighed. Next rotation would have her out as ground guide again. Her knees and ankles couldn’t take much more.
Martin clomped up the back and sat down across from her.
“Still tired?” he asked.
“Exhausted, but my knees and ankles are giving out.”
“Stay here. I’ll have Caswell cover for you.”
“I need to do my share,” she protested, without really feeling it.
“You’ve done it and then some. You’re injured. Stay in the vehicle. Should I make it an order?”
She was grateful, but embarrassed. She really wanted to pull her shifts, but she was in rough shape. Ortiz started rolling again, jarring her knee and sending spikes through it.
Yes, she’d stay here.
Above her, Doc shouted, “Contact right!” and she perked up. Was it?
“It’s the Cogi!” he added.
That was a huge relief.
“I have them on phone,” Elliott said. “Wish they’d done that earlier.”
Yes, why hadn’t they called ahead? Or kept in touch? They were so distant, unless approached. Though Caswell got along well enough with Arnet. Very well enough.
At once, they stopped and debriefed. She observed from the back.
Arnet was the intermediary, as before.
“Three more days,” he said from the open passenger side. They had the panels off like a HMMWV.
“Good to know,” Elliott replied. “We can’t go faster on this terrain with these vehicles.”
“Yah, grubby,” Arnet said with a sweep of his hand.
“If you mean something like crappy or crummy, yes. They’re for roads.”
“Wooz.” He shrugged. “Well, follow us. Terrain map in roller should help.”
“That’s much appreciated. Thanks. How are the others doing?”
“Romans marching. Cautioned to minimize footprint.”
His English was getting pretty good. Of course, he basically spoke English.
Elliott sighed and looked disgusted as he leaned against the fender.
“I’m sure they’ll listen to that instruction.”
Arnet shrugged. “Mebbe. Is what. They know where to go and look for sig.”
“Can they navigate that well without at least a compass?”
“Good map. Vis point. We left marker.”
“Ah, you’ve already been there?”
“Send drone, obv.”
A drone. Of course. Elliott said, “Oh, right. Thanks all around. We’ll follow.”
She hoped it all went smoothly. She was running out of energy.
“Up there,” Cryder said and pointed. Bob Barker followed his finger.
Yes, that was a very distinctive outcropping, and was even on the Army terrain map. It hadn’t changed, wouldn’t change, much. It was a little larger and craggier, but definitely the same feature.
The pillar of smoke made it easier to spot.
“Someone there?” he asked.
“Drone left marker.”
“Ah.”
“Up the back,” Elliott said. That was obvious, but Bob didn’t mind. It was good to communicate.
Four sweaty, breath-wearing hours later they crept up on top. Romans and their Gadorth serfs appeared, already set in a camp supervised by Romans, of course. He was relieved to have Arnet and Cryder along. The Romans were perpetually stubborn. On the other hand, they were some building motherfuckers. They had a basic picket set already.
Dalton led the way into the laager, hand raised. He stopped, clenched his fist in both signal and triumph, and pointed. Bob rolled up to the spot, and at a nod from both Elliott and Dalton, he killed the engine. Spencer pulled up and angled in behind. That gave them two sides of cover.
Cryder seemed to anticipate, and the Cogi vehicle rolled through the scrub and past bystanders who hopped aside, until it filled in another side, giving the modern and future people a three-sided camp within a camp. And they still had concertina wire and whatever the Cogi brought.
There wasn’t a lot of trust for the earlier peoples.
Elliott said, “Bob, we’re expecting to go home, so use whatever tools you need to get comfy. Impress the yokels.”
“Hooah, sir,” he said. Hey, he’d gotten it right, though “Aye aye” still sounded better.
He took the propane torch and got ready to do more fire magic.
Gina Alexander really hoped they were going home. She hurt, had no energy, and needed a nap. Every joint ached and creaked, her ankles stabbed. Her foot cramped around the damage that spear had caused.
“Fire,” Bob said, and indicated a dead, scrubby tree. She limped over and broke off a few small limbs.
Spencer said, “It’s bivvy bags and ponchos, but should be just a couple of days. Oglesby, dig us a hasty latrine over toward the edge, and feel free to piss over if the height doesn’t scare you. We’ll use the front of Number Nine as one side, and cord up a poncho as a privacy screen from the other groups.”
“Hooah.”
Arnet came over.
“I have input.”
Spencer said, “Speak, freak.”
It took the Cogi a moment to track that.
“We marked primter. Vital to stay inside. Best guess as to radius.”
“Roger that.” Spencer turned and shouted. “Did everyone hear that? Radius is marked. Stay inside on penalty of abandonment.”
She would have no problem at all with that order. Bivvy bag, poncho, latrine and the jerky. She’d sit right there if need be.
“How long?” she asked.
Cryder turned and said, “One point nine days.”
Yes, she could starve for that long if necessary.
Bob came out and clicked his blowtorch. The fire lay flared up in seconds.
Arnet said, “Got tub of wood in truck,” and waved his hand. Dalton and Ortiz ran over to unload it. That was gracious of the Cogi, she thought.
By evening, they had a watch atop Number Nine, a firepit, coolers to sit on and shade and windbreaks to bivvy in. It was good enough. Though she knew she’d wake in pain even after sleeping on the litter, even with a geek pad. The sun sank into the west, down past the forest below as the east turned indigo then black.
She stared at the bright and gleaming stars and drifted off.
She woke late in the night, stared up, and noted how beautiful the stars were. With luck, she’d never see them like that again.
Something shifted against her. She reached out and felt Cal’s fur, then realized: Cal was here.
“Cal!” she exclaimed, and hugged him close.
From a few feet away, Dalton said, “He crawled under the MRAP about an hour ago.”
“Good cat, Cal.” Could she take him along? He was as much family as the other soldiers at this point.
“Yeah, I hope he doesn’t decide to go hunting just before we head for home.”
She had an idea.
“Can you hold him? I’ll crochet another harness and we’ll keep him at hand.”
“Sure. How long does that take you? Three minutes?” In the bare glow from the embers, he was smiling.
“Hah. Closer to ten.” She still had her bone net needles, dug out the #8, and searched for a hank of 550 cord.
Dalton sat up and held Cal firmly. The cat didn’t seem to mind so far.
“Damn, he’s big.”
“Yes, about three times the size of a housecat.” She started looping and pulling. She would have to actually tie him into it.
He looked concerned as she fastened it around his neck, probably remembering the surgery last time he was restrained. She tied the second strap around his chest, then ran out a length of cord and tied it to a log.
Cal wasn’t convinced. He tugged at the cord and darted around, snarling, though in frustration more than anger.
“No, that won’t work, he might drag it through the fire. I guess I need to move to that side—”
“I’ll swap with you.”
“Thanks. Then I’ll make sure he can’t reach the edge of the circle.”
It was dusky in the east by the time she moved her stuff, sat down, caught the cat, calmed him, and fed him a sliver of jerky. He seemed to accept the humans knew what they were doing, and mostly settled down.
Spencer staggered over, wincing himself from sleeping on the ground. Yes, being Army-old sucked.
“Well, I’m up,” she said. “Are we going to have any assigned chores?”
Spencer said, “If not, I’ll find some. I don’t want anyone getting bored and starting fights with the Romans or Gadorth.”
Dalton asked, “What about an actual wrestling tournament?”
“And lose their respect?”
“The LT and Caswell clobbered those Gadorth. The Romans are even smaller. I’m not worried.”
“Hmm . . . if we do brackets, we can set them up with each other first, and not have to worry about us until the end.”
She said, “I would rather watch them clobber each other than any of us. That would be more satisfying.”
“I like that better,” Spencer said.
Richard Dalton stuck to his routine. He prayed, brushed his teeth, ate some jerky, checked with Spencer for chores, and made sure his gear was good to go.
The day passed with wrestling. The Romans had brought the rest of their wine, and were well-lubricated by midday. The centurion kept them mostly in line, and everyone else gathered to watch.