A Long Time Until Now (20 page)

CHAPTER 9

The next morning, Bob Barker unbanked the fire. There were still coals despite the rain, and he used his Ka-Bar to peel shavings from a stick to get smoky flames going, then added bigger fuel. Breakfast was going to be late. His hands were raw, dirty and numb by the time he was done, and he warmed them over the growing flames. His eyes were used to the acrid smoke by now. It would blow, he’d squint, and that was it. He could even smell it in his moustache.

It was overcast, with deep, heavy clouds that predicted more rain. He really wanted to put up another overhead to protect the food and fire. For now, there was a spare fire in the tepee, but they’d have to build up a platform for it. It was half puddle. That fire still burned too, but barely.

It had been cramped in the tent, with the four Paleos. They slept quietly, but took up a lot of room, and smelled. They probably didn’t smell worse than the soldiers, although Bob was still using deodorant every two to three days. But they did smell different. It was noticeable. They were musky, earthy, sharp and pungent.

Devereaux examined Oglan and pronounced him fit to travel. He gave instructions to walk steadily, not flex his right arm, and not hunt for a month. He should do light exercise in the meantime, and he demonstrated some isotonic techniques.

“And tell him to rest and eat well. He could use some fat and starch, as much as they have.”

Bob was sorry to see them go. He’d learned quite a bit about their skillsets and tools. But if they liked his archaic points made from a beer bottle, they’d be back. Of course, his supply of glass was very limited. Though he could do the same with good quality chert or flint, and teach them archery.

The others gathered around the fire one by one. They didn’t really bother with reveille. Everyone was up shortly after the sun anyway. Most of them wore gore-tex and sat on the rocks and logs. Elliott stayed standing.

“So how much information do we want to give them, sir?” he asked while chewing on some steak cooked until it was almost jerky, that tasted almost like leather. It would have to do.

Elliott said, “Well, they can’t understand where we came from. I don’t want to show them anything modern in use, meaning weapons, electronics or vehicles. Axes and knives are okay. They don’t need to know about night vision. As far as primitive skills, I really don’t see how upgrading their weapons is a problem, done slowly. They can’t do much to us. When did bows come about?”

Spencer had joined them, and the two men swapped glances.

Spencer said, “If I recall, there is some possible indication of fletched arrows thirty K years before our time. But we’re not seeing that here.”

The LT nodded. “Right. Make bows for us, so we can save ammo. Keep them out of sight as long as possible, then teach that, too. A little bit at a time will minimize the shock to them, and give us trade advantage. They’ll want to be friendly to see what we do next.”

“I would like permission to use a roll of the dental floss for bowstrings. Dacron is a lot stronger than sinew or rawhide, and a lot easier than gut.”

Elliott screwed up his face. “I hate to waste it.”

“It really is better. Once we can replace it, it’s still usable as floss, barring a little fraying.”

“Okay,” Elliott agreed. “Do it.”

“Roger.” Yeah. He had no idea how gut string would work. Only theory. As in, he knew it could be done.

“You really are good with that stuff, Bob,” Spencer said. “You knock out points faster than they do. I’m glad you’re here. Well, actually, I wish you were home, but if
you
are here . . .”

He said, “I gotcha. Thanks.”

“Do you have a native name?”

He grinned. He loved this part.

“My Indian name is Bob.”

There were laughs all around.

Spencer said, “Bob is our man. As to the bows, sounds good, sir. And now it’s time to chop more trees.”

Chopping was hell on his back, but Spencer was right. The ditch was almost denuded, having only scrub left. Even all the deadwood and crud had been removed and stacked as fuel, doubling as a low wall along the north. The east had the creek, gradually losing trees along this bank along the frontage. The palisade was about long enough on the west, and they’d hopefully start along the south today. But until they had a solid wall, he wouldn’t be entirely relaxed.

It was also bath day. Hopefully it would get into the low 70s midday, and he could splash in the creek and get clean. Trying to sponge bathe with a washcloth and an ammo can of water was not as effective, though it was much more comfortable.

Sean Elliott felt better. Good relations with the neighbors and some diplomacy meant potential resources for them. They’d already agreed to bring more salt, and knew a place to get it. Eventually, they’d want to seek out other groups, too. As soon as they had a solid camp. And better food sources and enough fuel.

He understood why even in the nineteenth century some people never made it outside their own county.

He was going to do some chopping today, and he felt guilty about not doing it earlier when it had been hotter. It was quite mild today, with a soft breeze and just enough haze to cut the glare.

He was pondering that when Alexander came up.

“Sir, are you busy?”

“Always, but I need a break and I’m here for you. What do you need?”

“Operations proposal, sir.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m not as physical as the others, but I hope to do a bit more with the solar power, and with the laptops.”

“Long-term, yes. Is everyone keeping their phones charged?”

She said, “Now they are. I had to institute a schedule.”

“Okay. Well, I do want lots of photos for documentation. If we ever do get back, that proves our legitimacy, and I’m sure the scientists will be all over it.”

She lifted her camera bag. “Twenty-four, seven, sir. But I’m talking about regular old Forty-Two Alpha administration, orderly room style.”

“I’ve got enough of that already. It’s burying me.” God. PowerPoint in the Stone Age. He still couldn’t get over that.

She was trying to sound confident but not managing, as she said, “But that’s why you need me, sir. You need to know what we have, a charging schedule for phones, maps, lists of edible foods, a calendar and almanac, journals of what we find and learn to manufacture. We need reliable, regular schedules for duty, long term, because the seasons are going to matter. Farming will definitely require documentation.”

He hadn’t really thought of it, and it still sounded secondary. But she was right, they did need records of weather and farming at least.

“I can have everyone write a log in the evening,” he said. “It’s a good idea.”

“Yes, sir, but then it needs collated so you can find it. No, the search function isn’t enough. You remember college texts. They have a bibliography and index. That’s my civilian job. Companies call me in on contract to sort their files, define their positions and create databases and SOPs.”

“Well, what do you think we need?”

“All the things I said, and whatever else I can come up with. I have to see what people log and build the database as I go.”

That made sense. Admin was necessary to run a unit, though it was hard to think of something the size of a squad needing that much support. And they did need muscle power. But . . .

“You do have a training in this, I assume?” Her job description suggested it.

“Three degrees.”

“. . . three?”

“Bachelor’s in IT and financial management, and a master’s in forensic accounting.” Before he could ask, she explained, “I go into their files and find the missing figures. IRS auditors hate me.”

And she held three MOSes, or two and an Air Force AFSC. Regardless of her physical condition, she sounded like a formidable mental asset.

“Then go ahead, define what we need and do it.”

“Thank you, sir.” She gave a professional nod.

“May I ask a personal question?”

“You can always ask.”

“Why aren’t you an officer?”

She said, “I was too old when I came back in.”

“Understood. Though you should be a senior NCO at least.”

She looked mildy annoyed as she said, “Well, that depends on a Guard unit having its shit together. If they lose files enough, no one’s promotion paperwork gets to Brigade. I can’t find what hasn’t been entered into GFEBS, iPERMS or AKO.”

“I see. Well, have at it, though I’ll still call you if we need backup labor, and your other technical knowledge.”

“Yes, sir. I’d like to brief everyone this evening.”

“Agreed.”

“And I can still do physical stuff, including guard duty and hauling or chopping. This just makes me more useful in ways I can be, rather than pretending I’m as strong as Dalton or Ortiz.”

She climbed up into Number Nine and started moving stuff around.

“Is that going to be the Orderly Room?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

It would have been nice of her to ask, he thought.

On construction, Spencer was a decent manager. The logs came over steadily, carried by troops and locals. When a few feet worth were ready, the ditch and rampart were dug, the bases burned, ash dumped in, and the logs erected. The fill was tamped down with the shovel and a ball bat from the Hajji-Be-Good box in Number Nine. The brush pile grew. Visibility got better as the trees came down.

It was muddy in the morning, but better by afternoon, though cooler, probably 60s.

He took a turn chopping, enjoying the feel of his biceps and core flexing and straining. He panted for breath, sweated and felt invigorated, as his hands went numb from the impacts, and chips flew past his legs. He took down three uprights and pruned them smooth.

“You’re pretty good with an axe, sir,” Dalton said.

“Thanks,” he replied as he swung and sheared a limb, twisting as the axe descended to throw its velocity at an angle. That was a physics trick, though he’d learned it long before at his uncle’s cabin. Uncle Walt was long dead, but he missed him even more now.

“How do you do that twist?”

“Like this,” he said, raised the axe, lowered his body, twisted and raised his elbow as if batting. He did it slowly and just nicked the next limb. “Let gravity bring it down, twist it like batting, and follow through the same way.” He took another swing and severed the limb.

“Damn. Good stuff, sir. Let me try.”

He let the axe drop, bit down, and passed it over handle first.

Dalton got it within a couple of swings, and turned his brawny shoulders into it. He fairly walked along the down timber, cutting limbs every couple of steps.

“Damn, I came out here to help,” Elliott said. “Not to be outclassed.”

“Ah, hell, sorry, sir.” Dalton seemed embarrassed.

“No problem. Use it tomorrow,” he replied. It wasn’t as if they were going to run out of wood to cut.

He went back to pruning.

Food was improving. Barker and Caswell really knew this stuff. That evening, there were several edible grasses chopped up in the small cooler lid, and more greens. It was a sort-of salad. The stalky things were probably cattails. He bit into one. It tasted a bit like cress. At least it was juicy and not meat. The variety helped.

“What’s this?” he asked about something green and leafy.

“Sorrel,” she said. “The long stalk is wild plantain, and is a bit like asparagus.”

Barker said, “The meat is deer of some kind, roasted in herbs with wild onions. But I really need to find a salt lick, sir.”

Yes, that would help. “We’ll need to make a recon patrol.”

Spencer said, “I’m going to need ground bone meal. My stomach meds are running out, and that’s the closest I’m going to find, unless I eat actual chalk daily.”

Barker said, “Damn, that sucks, dude.” Others made comments of support.

Spencer shrugged. “I can last a couple more months. I always knew it was an issue. Are we going to tan the deer hide?”

Barker said, “Yeah, hair on. It’ll make a nice rug or wall hanging, but that’s going to take some work. You can chew the bones for calcium.”

“I was thinking of the bones for tool handles and eating utensils. We may be able to trade for a few, too. It’s not like the Paleos lack them.”