“‘Going to’?”
CHAPTER 10
“Formation,” Spencer called. It was already a tradition, and important. Though he was calling it before dinner.
Barker and Ortiz were up in the turret, the rest around the fire.
“Smells good. What is it?”
Caswell said, “One of the Urushu knocked over a pheasant with a thrown stick. Pheasant, mushrooms, ground cattail tortilla and a little salt from the locals. I’ve got some evergreen needles chopped in with some wild onion.”
“Almost a stew.”
“Well it’s stewed, but I wouldn’t call it a stew. But I like how it smells. Should I serve?”
“Yes, please do,” he said. “I’m doing formation early, because I had an idea. And being a wise lieutenant and all . . . ”
He let them chuckle, and stepped aside for the commander.
Elliott said, “Alexander gave us her background. I really think everyone should do that. We need to know who we are, since at this point we’re basically brothers and sisters as well as a close unit. We need to know about each other.
“So I’ll go first. I’ve been a One LT for four months now. I was ROTC out of Purdue. I’m a mechanical engineer, but I don’t know what good that will do me here. I’m out of Fort Sam. I’m single, and I guess it’s lucky my girlfriend left me a couple months before I deployed. But I miss my parents and my brother. They’re going to miss me. As to stuff to share, I have my computer and phone, I have some extra ammo stashed, and plenty of socks and undies if you’re my size. I don’t mind sharing movies, in fact, we should have Sergeant Alexander swap everyone’s movies so we have backups, and have entertainment.”
“I can cross-load all your porn, too,” she said with a faint smile. “You’ll know all about each other then.”
There were shouts of “Woah!” that turned into laughs, even from Caswell.
Spencer laughed himself. He was glad they could make jokes. Morale was important.
“Yeah, that may be a bit too much sharing,” he said.
Elliott said, “I’ve got that gyroscopic shaver that doesn’t need batteries.”
Spencer said, “I love you for that in a chaste, manly way.”
“Yes, and we’ve been sharing it. I don’t expect anyone to maintain full grooming standards, but do your best to keep the beards trimmed and close. I have scissors, too, and as long as we have power, I have a pair of plug-in clippers. I have a lot of note paper, but I expect to use it all eventually.”
“Spencer, you’re next.”
“Right,” Spencer said. How much did he want to say? He decided to keep it short. “I’m a fair mechanic, Ninety-One Bravo out of Knox, but I’m lacking tools here. I can do blacksmithing and have, but building a forge and finding a rock to sub for an anvil is going to take time, then we have to find a source of ore. I know how to reduce it, but I’ve never done so. I’ve done a variety of other low tech skills, including wood carving and such. I have a dumb phone, laptop, no tablet, a few movies, lots of music, headphones and spares. The LT has one of my lights, I have the other. They’re rechargeable as long as we have the solar panel. I may be able to convert a vehicle alternator to wind power, and I may be able to work out a vegetable or animal oil for fuel. It won’t be much, though. We’ll be able to use them for power, not for travel. I have a box of a dozen small sheath knives we can use. I brought them to trade with Afghans. They’re all ours now.
“Oh, and as mentioned I have reflux, and my medication runs out in about three months. Then I either try to compensate with chalk or bone meal, or I die slowly and painfully. There’s not much Doc can do for me without drugs or modern surgery.” He sat back and poked at the fire with a stick.
“We heard from Alexander, who drills where?” Elliott prompted.
She said, “Springfield, Illinois. I live in Rockford.”
“Okay. Ortiz.”
Ortiz actually stood up.
“Ramon Ortiz. My parents moved from Mexico when I was three. They worked ag in south Texas, then started their own farm, then moved up to distribution. So I know a bit more about veterinary stuff than the Army taught me. I’m a vet tech. I’ve been in five years, was going to get out after this and take college. My girlfriend was dumping me anyway. I do miss my brother and sister, but at least we’re all grown. I’ve got assorted stuff for animals in my kit. I can butcher them, castrate, birth them. I can do rough electricity and carpentry, but don’t have much experience chopping wood, or didn’t until now.” He held up calloused hands. “So I can probably castrate food animals and do some basic care. If they get sick, I guess we eat them or get rid of them. I don’t know much about butchering, but I know enough to section them. I’ve been letting Sergeant Barker do the fine work. I know enough about suturing and setting bones and such to help Doc. I’m also pretty good at masonry. It’s in my blood,” he said, holding up his brown arms. There were chuckles. “I’m out of First Cav at Hood. I live near Houston, we’ve been ranchers for three generations. Will be. Whatever. Fuck it. Not going to talk about that. If we can capture some I can pen them and raise them.
“I’ve got all the usual crap, and I do have a couple of spare knives. I don’t mind sharing music and movies. I have the machete and some scissors, so we can trim our beards. iPhone, tablet, laptop and binoculars because I wanted to look around.”
Elliott interrupted, “Binoculars. Can we borrow them? Say yes.”
He flushed and said, “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t trying to hold back. I just forgot. Yes, they’re mine, but you can use them for patrol.”
The man was embarrassed, but picked back up. “I know something about leather and gut and such. I’ve been helping with that. If we do pen any animals, I can do everything from milking to birthing. Otherwise I’m good for manual labor.”
“Once we have domestic animals, we should be able to have milk, butter and cheese. I know a bit about processing hides, and so does Bob. We’ve been stripping guts and sinew for bowstrings and such. You’re also going to see it as sausage casings. We’re stacking the horns and bones for now, letting the ants clean them for us, but those make tools, material for small utensils. I’ll be helping with food preservation and helping Doc with minor stuff that doesn’t require his expertise, just patching.”
Martin said, “We will be ranching,” to reassure the young man, and himself. He wanted real food again. Meat should be aged, and yeah, castration made it a lot better. Not nice, but true.
And damn, the body parts stunk. They were piled to the Southeast, inside of gun range, outside of fly range, but still putrid and nasty. He hoped they could process stuff soon.
“Okay, Caswell, your turn to tell us about you.”
She fidgeted for a few moments, zipped her coat up more, and rocked as she talked. She stood and tried to look firm, but she really only came across as an awkward combination of timid and pushy.
“Jennifer Caswell. I’m female and Air Force and hate getting shit about it, but you folks have done okay so far, mostly. Yes, I identify as vegetarian, even if I can’t be one here. I’ll work on that. I grew up in Wisconsin; I guess my mother’s a hippie. I can find wild stuff to eat or smoke. But a lot of the stuff here is different. Agriculture contaminated even wild plants. Anyway, I enlisted, I’m stationed at McChord, Washington. They grabbed me because I was on base and female, and I was along to deal with female locals for a couple of weeks, and I still sort of am. I’ll advise you what I think I see, and I’d rather you didn’t mansplain to me how I’m wrong. I actually have a background in this. I studied cultural anthropology as a minor while I take criminal justice. I was planning on being a cop. I wanted to work in poor neighborhoods and do resolution rather than just rack up arrests.”
She paused, and let that line drop, and picked up again.
“I’ve been identifying edible fruits, vegetables, seeds, fungus. Even if it looks and smells sweet, don’t touch it. Report it to me, I’ll check it out, and we’ll go from there. Everyone ca
n expect gathering parties in the future. We’ll be drying some for winter, or in case we hit a dry spell or something—”
Or never get home, Martin thought quietly.
“—and we’ll need to look for certain industrial plants, for storing food, cooking, preserving it, tanning leather, other things. Then we’ll try to find things we can cultivate here to save all that walking. I’m rated expert with rifle and pistol. I’m decent with electronics. I did AV in college.”
She took a breath. “I’ve been cooking, but I expect to teach the rest of you. We need cross skills. I need to learn how to sharpen knives properly. Besides the two we use in the kitchen, I have three others.”
“Oh, and once you know how food is found, I’d appreciate getting out more. Not just hunting trips. I don’t like killing animals. I can haul stuff, too. Don’t baby me because I’m female.”
“The local women find you exotic and want mates. I guess I actually agree with Sergeant Spencer on avoiding that, because it’ll basically make us part of their village. So keep it in your pants.”
She stopped. Clearly, she didn’t want to say more.
Martin said, “I’m very glad to have you. Edible plants are making a big difference. I’d hate to be stuck on all meat.”
“The Paleo people could help,” she said with a shrug.
“Yeah, but you’re here and speak English.”
“Thanks, then,” she said, looking flustered. Obviously, she was not a social person.
Elliott pointed and said, “PFC Dalton, your call.”
“Uh . . . Private Dalton. I enlisted out of high school. I’m Infantry, play a lot of online games and Xbox. I was good at shop and electronics in school. I did some cabinetry for my uncle. I shot expert, I’ve done some hunting up through bear and deer. With fishing and spears or bows as well, the ammo should last the rest of our lives, as long as we’re careful. I’m the only Expert here, so I figure I’ll be taking most of the shots. I’ll be working on bows with Barker’s help. We can also work on spear throwers. We want to hunt from a distance, not up close. Then we’ll work on traps. I know how to build fish traps, and Barker knows some others.”
Caswell had her hand up. Elliott recognized her. “Go ahead.”
“As I said, I’m also rated Expert,” she said.
“Really?” Dalton let out.
“Do you think women are unable to shoot?” she replied. Goddam, was it impossible for her to be anything other than snide or sarcastic?
“Army or Air Force expert?”
“Both, since I had to shoot the Army course to come over. It was easy.”
Arrogant bitch. But it was hard to call her on it if she’d done it. If. The only record was her say-so, and he’d known women to lie about credentials just as much as men did. Given she had an axe to grind, he was skeptical. She’d have to prove it.
Elliott said, “We’ll believe her, and use her where we can.”
Dalton continued, “I’ll keep holding services. You can talk to me, though I know a couple of you aren’t comfortable. Hey, it’s a learning experience for me, too, to learn about other faiths. That could be why God put me here, at least. Otherwise, I’ve put on some muscle from all this fresh air and hard work. It’s a small thing, but it’s a positive. I feel good about that.”
Martin couldn’t decide between rolling eyes or snarling. The man didn’t have a wife and kids. Sure, it was good he was adapting. Martin didn’t want to adapt. The nightmare could be over any time and he could go home.
Elliott said, “We’ll cover more tomorrow night. Work is going well, and we’ve got better relations with our neighbors, sitting there patiently. So let’s eat and not scare them.”
The palisade was coming along. Bob Barker looked at it in satisfaction, as he straightened up to prevent a backache. He was pouring sweat. Nothing like exercise and no dessert to run fat off and muscle on. He had a better physique than he’d had in a decade.
Elliott came alongside, with Caswell.
“What do you think?” the LT asked.
“I think it’s going to bust our balls, sir. But it’s going to be strong when done.” He wiped his eyebrows and hair. He should probably get a haircut. He was approaching 70s porn star style.
Dalton, Devereaux and Ortiz were raising a pole, along with two Urushu, whose names were something like “Fen” and “Ka’la.” He couldn’t make those clicks and had trouble with the nasals.
“Down back there, and up there,” he said, pointing and indicating. “Set it. Good. Okay, Dalton, drive it home.”
Dalton walked the log upright and it shifted and dropped. Fen pushed it from the side, and Ortiz ran up with a hide thong to hold it in place while pins could be set.
They had it down to a smooth process, but it was body-bruising labor.
Elliott said, “Going well. I hope we can have it done before winter.”
Bob said, “I’d say we could go with something lighter to fill in the gaps if we don’t. Brush, thorns, firewood.”
“Possibly. But I’d rather do it right first if we can, rather than do it twice.”
“Yeah. Just time is an issue.”
“Well, this is going to make time worse.” He indicated Caswell.
They must want to borrow some labor.
“Ah, hell, go ahead, sir, Jenny.”
Elliott nodded at Caswell, who said, “I want to save ammo by building a goat pen. It might work for small antelope, too.”
“You figure to bait them in and bar the gate?”
“Yes, just that.”
“Posts set in stone, filled with earth, and rails with woven mesh?”
She actually smiled.
“Exactly. I take it you’ve done one before?”
“Nope.”
“Crap.” She frowned.
He clasped his hands in mock excitement and said, “But I always wanted to learn.”
After a few snarky comments between them, Elliott said, “I’m going to survey and stake out with five-fifty cord on the other side of the stream. We’ll use the straight limbs we’ve trimmed. After they’re rocked into holes, we’ll pour mud in until it settles.”
“Ash would help.”
“If we have enough.”
“How big?”
Caswell said, “I figure twenty foot square to start with. We can add a second one later. We may have to rope some goats if we can’t bait them.”
“Ortiz may know something about that.” He turned and shouted to the ditch, “Hey, Ortiz! Break.”
Ortiz was ripped. He’d been muscular to start with. He was a pocket sized monster now.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
They explained the idea. Barker asked, “Can you rope goats?”
“So we’re going to have a genuine goat rope?” he asked. “Possibly, or tangle trap them. I’m sure I can do something, but why so much work on the pen?”
“We want it to last.”
“Why not just zigzag the timbers, and run buttresses at the joints?” He interwove his fingers to demonstrate.
“Will that work without the goats climbing?”
“It does on our ranch.”
“Well, shit. Why didn’t we do this before?”
“I figured we’d do that next year,” he said. “But we can do it now. If you don’t mind losing that potential firewood, although we can always recover it later, we just carry it and stack it. We need a hundred and twenty eight of them.”
Elliott said, “That’s pretty much everything I see in that pile.” He indicated the pile of limbs and large saplings waiting to be pins, stakes, buttresses and firewood.
“Well, if it’s a bit short, we can do some tricks with staked brush, or wait to cut another dozen trees.”
Elliott shrugged. “Yeah. It’s wood. We’re not going to run out.”
Caswell said, “I think it’s awesome that you just said that, sir. Gives me hope.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s what the early American settl
ers said. Have you seen Long Island lately?”
He grinned. “Noted. I want to leave Doc out of it. We need his hands in good shape.”
Bob noticed she wasn’t grinning. It was sarcasm, but not humor.
“I agree on Doc,” he said. “There’s plenty of stuff for him to do.” There’d be plenty of splinters after this, even with gloves. No need to injure the medic, but that reduced labor even more.
Caswell walked back and forth on the timber pile, pointing out the thicker and straighter ones for the bottom of the fence, slimmer ones for the top rails, crooked ones for buttressing. By dinner, they had a pen about thirty feet square.
As they sat down to leftover meat with no veggies, they continued the discussion.
Ortiz said, “It’s easy to expand, too. Just open one side, move the rails, stick more in. It doesn’t even have to be very symmetrical, and it follows the lay of the land.”
Elliott said, “I definitely overthought this.”
“You, sir?” Bob said. “I was all ready to dig the river a foot deeper to get the rocks.”
“Well, the environment is happy a while longer.”
“Not really,” he said. “I’ll need rocks for the sweat lodge, and I’ve thought about damming the stream so we create a plunge pool. That takes rocks and logs.”
“Hmm. Possibly next year. Now, how do we get goats?”
Ortiz said, “Either we bait them with grain and a salt lick, or we rope and carry them.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can probably rope some. Easier would be to lay out the cord in a crisscross, wait for goats, yank it tight, wrestle goats, and toss them over the fence.”
“Is that fence tall enough?”
“Yes for goats. Maybe for some antelope.”
Bob asked, “Are we wrestling tomorrow, then?”
Ortiz wiggled and leered. “Grease me up, big boy.”
“It sounds like fun, actually,” he said.
Ortiz stared at him in mock horror.
“Not greasing you up, you sick fuck. Wrestling the . . . oh, shit, there’s no way I win this one, is there?”
Everyone lost it completely.
A Long Time Until Now - eARC Page 20