Just getting away from everyone, though, while being near enough for emotional support, was a good thing. That first night, tension just melted out of him. He stared at the almost complete black of the ceiling, heard the occasional shuffle of people in the compound, and zoned to sleep, the most relaxed he’d been since they got here.
He had morning watch as the sun came up, and let the light soak into him. It was still cool and damp at night, and sunlight was welcome. Ortiz replaced Trinidad, and they watched the Urushu wake up, clean up, and help with the cooking fire and breakfast. It did go faster with more hands, to a point. They had to be reminded of the soldiers’ “ritual” of hand washing, too.
There was always movement—the flocks of goats, occasional family groups of deer, wandering herds of aurochs, wild horses and the occasional rhinos. As far as one could see, there were food animals. Birds circled and landed or took off. Occasional predators padded through to the water, mostly silent but with occasional growls or howls. It was a full-time task to keep an eye out. Every shift was a nature documentary.
But he saw something to the south, up beyond the ditch. Movement, and he recognized upright human movement from its pattern.
“Sighting movement,” he said.
“I see it,” Ortiz agreed. “Small group.”
Elliott was brushing his teeth behind Number Eight. He spat and asked, “What do we have?”
“Small number, under ten, not Romans. Should I page them?”
Elliott said, “If you think it’s safe, yes.”
He called, “Hello!”
There was some shuffling in the treeline, and he waved.
Slowly, one man stood up. He wore leggings and a tunic.
“Neolithics,” he said. “Whatever they’re called.”
“Gadorth,” Oglesby said.
“Well, there appear to be four of them.”
“That’s all?” Elliott asked.
“That’s all I see. Ortiz?”
“Four,” the man confirmed with binox.
“Okay, call them in.”
Oglesby climbed up the back, cupped his hands, and carefully shouted some words. He pointed at the front gate.
The men waved back and started walking. He followed them, as they slipped in and out of sight through the brush and behind the wall.
Shortly, they were inside, and by the fire.
“Offer them some food,” he said. “Protected guests.”
Caswell said, “I believe I said that a long time ago.”
Oglesby and the LT sat down to talk to them.
Elliott called, “Spencer, it’s daytime, come on down, please.”
“Roger that.” It was light enough to go to a single watch. Well past light enough.
He slid and contorted down out of the turret, and ducked out the back. He could still bend like that, but it wasn’t fun, the way it would have been at age twenty.
He joined the fire circle and asked, “Caswell, can we get ham here, please?”
She brought some over, and seemed pleased he’d asked. Minor power play. There was a lot of that going on.
He chewed the meat and wished for oatmeal. He wasn’t a huge oatmeal fan, but . . . goddamnit, he’d never been big on carbs, until they were gone.
Stupid shit like that shouldn’t cause stress reactions. But he remembered having cinnamon cereal or toast for breakfast. And he’d love some eggs without bird shreds.
The ham was good. He no longer noticed the gristle or other bits. He chewed, he spat, he moved on. Cal would come in tonight and clean out all the scraps in the area, plus whatever bits of liver Barker cooked for him.
The Gadorth were wiry, short, and had interesting blueish eyes with Mediterranean skin tones and brown hair. They smelled of buckskin and sweat. They had stained and large but healthy teeth. Their clothing was simple, unadorned for the most part, with a small square and line marked on the front. It seemed to be a tribal mark.
They showed great appreciation for the ham, and relaxed in their status as guests.
Martin hoped they could come to terms with them as well.
Dan Oglesby didn’t know much of the Gadorth language. It was still fairly simple in construction. Tenses and cases were apparently a later invention. It had basic SOV grammar. Some of the words were almost recognizable, which supported the theories about PIE. It was a shame he’d never be able to share this information.
Rohss, the leader of this element, was balding, shaggy elsewhere, with gray shooting through the brown. He was well-wrinkled and tanned with age.
“We Shiny Spirit settlement depart. Hunting tell of. Here arrive.”
He translated, “Yeah, they ran from the Romans.”
Elliott asked, “Okay, but why? I don’t want to guess.”
“Magic thunderspear Shiny Spirit Kill.”
“Past or here?”
“Here-guch.”
“Guch means not-past?” He pointed at the rising Sun, then to the west. “Guch?”
Assent. Guch meant “now.”
“Sir, they want us to kill the Romans.”
“Right, I figured. Tell them our spirits don’t allow that, but if they want to move to the east here, or even onto the river bank, they can associate with us and we’ll try to keep the Romans away.”
“I’ll try. I haven’t learned much of this language.” He looked at his notes, and said, “You move there,” and pointed over the wall, “or by water. Help-help us you. Shiny Spirits stay there,” he pointed again.
After some back and forth, that deal seemed acceptable. But there was more.
“Sir, they want us to help them go get the women.”
“Urushu women, yes?”
“Correct.”
“If we do, they’re free as soon as they leave. They don’t get to keep them without permission.”
He figured they wouldn’t like that, and he was right. From their perspective, they’d conquered a weaker group and owned whatever they had. The Romans were a problem, and since the soldiers didn’t seem aggressive, they were useful. The inherent illogicality didn’t bother them. They hadn’t grasped the hierarchy, only their own decline.
He explained the exchange.
Spencer said, “I don’t want them too close. They’ll either scare off the Urushu, or try to take the other village. I’d say they go down by the water.”
Elliott said, “I agree. I also don’t want to send anyone to help them bail out. That’s between them and the Romans. If they can create a place, they can keep it, and we’ll interdict as we can. Take it or leave it. They can camp a hundred yards downhill for the time being. Be as diplomatic as you see fit.”
“Hooah, sir.”
“To water Gadorth move. Selves move. Thunder Spirits Shiny Spirits send away.”
After some back and forth, they accepted it was the best deal they’d get, shrugged and agreed.
“Now ask the Urushu where they should go. They have a say in this.”
Caswell said, “Sir, if we’re fishing down there, I don’t want them in the area.”
“A mile upstream?”
She said, “What about they cross the river and set up there? It’ll be harder for the Romans to get them there, too.”
Spencer said, “Shit, why didn’t I think of that?”
Ortiz said, “Because we’re thinking of it as an obstacle, because we’re thinking about herding. They likely are, too.”
“I like that better,” Elliott agreed. “They can set up rafts or such to arrange a crossing.”
He relayed it, then translated back.
“Sir, they want to be sure you can stop the Romans from here.”
Elliott said, “Tell them our big guns can reach the river easily.”
He pointed up at the M240B on Number Nine. At least one of them looked familiar from the previous battle, and that man spoke intensely to the others.
They all agreed, and rose slowly, with open-armed gestures.
“Sir, do we want to bow or shake h
ands? Or just do as they do?”
“Hell if I’m bowing to anyone here.” He opened his arms the same way and nodded his head.
That done, Barker escorted them toward the gate. The Gadorth understood they were being evicted fast, and their status in kind.
“I’m going to update my notes now,” he said. “Alexander, can I upload it when done?”
“Just bring it to me.”
“Hooah. And, sir, one point.”
“Go ahead?”
“Other people either need to start learning their languages, or they need to start learning rudimentary English. I recommend the former for security. I like being the lead on the project, but if I’m the only one I’m a risk. I’ve been in two firefights already.”
“Yeah. Make time here and there, talk to people, get it done. Everyone understand?”
There were hooahs and yeses.
Caswell asked, “Is there a risk of them learning our language?”
“Not as much,” he said. “It’s very complicated by comparison. They tend to single nouns and adjectives with emphatic gestures or repetition for emphasis.” English was a hard language even in the modern era, if you didn’t grow up with it.
Elliott said, “Still, I’d rather we could communicate with them, and not the reverse. We’ll work on learning their words. As to the rest, figure on putting them to work when they’re here. Don’t be shy. Anything grunt labor, they can do. If they start getting disgruntled . . . okay, that wasn’t intentional—let me know and we’ll see about contracting it.”
Dalton said, “Hey, who’s gonna wind up on TCN escort?”
They all laughed, even Caswell.
Two weeks later, Jenny Caswell was nervous about the Neolithics being even that close. The scents of their campfires rolled across the river through the trees, and she could hear faint sounds now and then. It was useful for trade, though. They’d even helped improve the fish traps the Americans used now.
The trap was made of stakes pounded into the water about an inch apart, with an angled entrance to funnel the fish in. The tops were lashed with cord from the anti-RPG mesh from Number Eight to keep them in place. Small fry got out. Large fish got stuck and rarely found the escape. All one had to do was wade into chilled glacial runoff and scoop them up. She was thigh deep and fighting muscle cramps as her feet tried to curl into balls. She caught a large one, probably five pounds, and reached over her shoulder to her ruck.
Worse was the smell of fish in her ruck. She’d have to soap and rinse it again soon. However, it seemed some of the Stone Age people of both groups knew what plants to render for oil, so they’d be able to make more soap, with refined lye, not just ash.
She understood, and agreed, with Elliott’s caution. It would be too easy to join one of these groups, but then get subsumed, and in the process, they might wind up destroying that culture as well.
Oglesby was twenty feet farther out, pulling out fish. There were two ways to kill them. Either crush their skulls with a hammer, or let them suffocate. She tried not to think about that as she stuffed another in back, and waved off some bugs. They were tiny little gnatlike things. They didn’t bite, but swarmed in clouds and were annoying. One brushed an eyelid and she flailed to chase them away.
The fish were some form of trout, and tasty. They had enough between them for a good meal and some smoked leftovers. They needed more of this. Fish was a great source of protein, readily available, and less ethically troublesome to her than a mammal.
As she thought about that, the gnats returned.
The Neolithics seemed to be behaving themselves and weren’t disposed to trouble. They had their own trap across the river, which was almost a quarter mile wide at this point. Apparently, fear of the Romans was also keeping them in line. They rafted over once a week or so and engaged in light interaction with whoever was gathering fish.
She hopped out, feet almost completely numb, then burning cold, and rubbed her legs down. You dried off for warmth, to keep the clothes dry, and to avoid getting grit into the boots, which would cause blisters and wear out socks. She was down to five pairs now, though Alexander promised to darn a couple of the least damaged.
She sat on a down log near the pebbly bank, cautious of damaging her underwear, and worked on drying her feet. They’d all be wearing leather in a few years.
Oglesby plunked down next to her, doing the same thing.
“Ow,” she said as a muscle started spasming.
“Did you step on something?”
“No. Cramp. Calf.” She started massaging it and flexing her foot.
He reached over and pulled her leg over his.
“I can help,” he said.
She picked up a tremor in his voice, and really didn’t want “help.”
“I’ll be okay in a moment,” she said.
“I don’t mind,” he replied. “I learned how while swimming. My calves took a beating.”
Oglesby had never seemed like the type. She expected Dalton, with his “traditional” values, or Spencer, who was tough, mean and gave her those looks. Possibly the LT, playing the power card as leader. Oglesby was a kid.
His flesh was cold against hers, but his breath quickened and she knew that tension in his leg meant a pending erection.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, coldly. She drew her leg back, but he resisted.
She wished Alexander was around. They weren’t friends, but at least another woman would catch the signals, and might offer backup. But they were alone down here.
“Okay. At least let me warm it up,” he offered, pulling his coat over her leg. “And lie back to take the tension off.” His hand was on her shoulder, and he probably thought it was friendly, and it was so much less than that.
She’d rehearsed a lot of strategies. If she fought him, at least one of them got hurt. He’d be resentful. If she ran screaming, he was going to deny everything, and she’d be the crazy feminist bitch.
She couldn’t cry wolf.
This was going to get violent.
He’d slipped his arm around her, so it was going to be jiu jitsu. She shifted her weight slightly, and—
“I think she’s fine, Oglesby,” Spencer said, behind her.
OhShitOhShitOhShit.
“Ah, yeah. Sorry.”
She heard him say, “I figured you might need a hand hauling fish. I’m at a stopping point on the clay, so I came down.”
Oglesby said, “Nah, the trap wasn’t that full.” And didn’t he sound casual now?
“Well, they’re going to be tasty, but we’ll need to smoke and dry the hell out of them to keep them, and we’re going to be sick of the damned things come next spring.”
“Yeah.”
Spencer gave her one quick glance that seemed wistful and sad, and said, “Get dressed before you chill. I’ll head back up.”
Oglesby was shaken, and dressed in a hurry, not saying anything. She pulled on pants and decided she could dust them out later. A quick flick with a towel cleared her feet, and she pulled on socks and boots.
Oglesby looked at her general area as they returned, but never actually made eye contact. She’d become a thing.
At the camp, she let him stay ahead into the gate, then split around to the left and went in the back. She stepped across the creek on the stones, and went in the back gate, then across the bridge to the kitchen area. She handed the ruck to Barker.
“Here. I need a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Homesick. Give me a few minutes.”
“Yes, take as long as you need,” he said.
She headed toward the hooch and the CP, and tried to reengage her brain. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to wash off. She needed to tell Alexander and the LT, but she didn’t trust any of the men, and Alexander was increasingly spacy since her drugs ran out.
She’d better.
She climbed in the back of Number Nine, said, “Gina, I need to talk for a moment,” and tried to m
ake it professional and nonchalant.
“Sure, go ahead.”
“I’d rather be in private,” she said, since she could see Ortiz’s legs on the gun turret platform.
Alexander flared her eyes and looked quizzical, but followed her out in a crouch.
Once under the roof of their cabin, in the dim light, she felt slightly better.
And she hated herself for wrapping her arms around Alexander and sobbing.
The older woman hugged her back, warm and human. She didn’t say anything.
It took several minutes, with her face on Alexander’s worn uniform, before she could talk.
“Oglesby just tried to molest me.”
“What? How?”
“We were gathering fish. I got a cramp. He tried to ‘help’ with his fingers and a warm coat, and wouldn’t I like to lie down?”
Alexander turned her head slightly and said, “That isn’t necessarily threatening.”
“When we’re both without pants, and he spoke in those hushed tones.”
“Okay, so it was a come on. That doesn’t mean it was ill-intended.”
“Gina, you don’t get it. Sooner or later, they’re going to rape us. Possibly as a gang.”
Alexander sat down on her bed and said, “Well, if they do, there’s not much we can do. We might also be eaten by wolves, or die of cold or disease, or live long lives without seeing home again. I’m not going to burn myself up over every risk we face. But he stopped?”
“Spencer came down, and that old fuck was staring at my legs the whole time.”
“That ‘old fuck’ is four years younger than me.”
It frightened her that Alexander didn’t see it.
“They watch us every moment, especially in the tent or the latrine. They’re getting grabby, and trying grooming behavior. Soon one of them’s going to get violent.”
Gina said, “They’re looking at the native chicks, too. Just encourage that.”
“It won’t be enough. How can you be so relaxed about it?”
“Because there’s nothing I can do about it. I can stay here a bit more if you like. Do you want me to talk to anyone?”
“No, they’ll just call me a crazy feminist chick. Or worse.”