“Let’s find that Bluetooth,” Elliott said. “No, wait . . .”
He reached under the collar of his armor.
“Well. That’s lucky. Carry on.”
They all laughed.
She’d boosted her status slightly, and her threat level. For now, being the baddest bitch around was a useful tactic.
Martin Spencer considered the event. For an awkward Air Force chick, that had been a pretty good fight. He’d had no questions about Caswell’s technical competence with the food, and she was definitely an asset, despite her rather annoying personality, but that she could keep her cool and put up a good fight was a big plus.
“Nicely delivered,” he said, as she walked in the gate, offering a high five.
She looked him up and down, up again, and made a token slap.
Well, he’d work on it. He might never like her, but he could probably learn to deal with her.
“Well done, sir,” he offered, as the man headed for the trucks.
Elliott said, “Thanks. Almost lost this,” and pointed at his Bluetooth.
“Yeah, we figured the rumble did that.”
“So it helped marginally, but almost got lost. We’ll need to refigure that.”
“Still useful from OP to any towers and down here.”
“True. Every time we have any kind of problem, I wish we had more people and more gear. But we never will.”
“We can make some,” he said. “Gear, not people.”
“Eventually, yes.”
Conversation resumed around the fire. For now, everyone stayed in camp, especially as it was late in the day, the lowering sun burning streamers through high clouds.
Martin said, “Barker promises we’ll have the sweat lodge within the week. Then we need to see about a hot tub.”
Dalton said, “I remember you talking about that and I can’t recall the problem. What’s wrong with a leather tub? Even if it seeps a bit, it should work for getting clean.”
“Leather shrinks and stiffens with heat. It would be a one time use, no bigger than a bathtub. For a proper hot tub, we need shaped lumber. We’ll need to split boards for a base, split coops, or whatever barrelmakers call the longitudinal pieces, then either carve a wooden frame or bind well with lots of rawhide.”
“Understood. So that part might be next year.”
“Very likely. But steam by itself sounds wonderful.”
Elliott said, “Good. On with dinner, then.”
“Yeah, it’s about that time.”
Barker had skewer-roasted some kind of antelope steak Caswell and Ortiz brought in, and there were a few skinny tubers, roasted and salted. He craved a beer, or a dinner roll, or some goddamned ice cream. Or a cup of cheap-ass coffee. He missed coffee. He had no idea how Barker and Oglesby handled the lack of smokes.
The meat was chewy but it was tasty. Venisony, rich and it had salt and some other seasoning. A green that gave it a sharp taste. “Mustard greens?” he asked.
Caswell said, “Something in the carrot family. Coriander, fennel, cumin, carrot, Queen Anne’s Lace are all related. The roots are edible when young. The greens and flowers are crude herbs. They’re completely undomesticated, but there’s some kind of flavor to them. The tarter ones are turnip and mustard family.”
She tossed a piece of chewed meat down where the cat hung out. They might domesticate him yet. He was still hanging around, came out at night to lurk near the circle without approaching closely, and would accept food. He still limped slightly, but seemed to be fit enough.
Looking back to his food, he said, “It’s weird, but it’s good.” Actually, he wasn’t sure he liked the combo, but it was better than dry meat. He’d deal. She was the best they had at finding stuff other than meat, and he wanted her to be enthusiastic in her task.
Elliott said, “After action review. The apparent Neolithic people have decided we put up too much of a fight. Can you hear me up there, Ortiz?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply.
“I can, too,” said Doc.
“Good. I expect they’ll be back, so night shift stay alert and use NVG from time to time. We’ll keep working on the wall. We’re past halfway, but the last quarter is going to be a pain, with the stream.
“Oglesby recognized a word or two. We may eventually be able to communicate with these people, after they decide we’re not someone to conquer. Until then, we’ll sic Jenny Caswell on them. Well done on her fight.”
“And on yours, sir,” she said.
After chow Martin was really ready to sleep. It had been a long day, with intrusions by people and animals, and lots of manipulation and labor. He wanted sleep. Or at least alone, away from people. Even if all he had was a sleeping bag.
He made eye contact with the LT, got a nod of assent, then headed for the tepee. The round door had seemed awkward when first built, but now he could roll right through it.
His section was marked off with his poncho on one side and Ortiz’ on the other. With a towel and a coat toward the middle of the pie section, it was quiet, dark and he could pretend he was alone.
At that, being comfortable alone meant he was adapting to this place, and accepting they weren’t going back. That pissed him off.
But there was really nothing he could do.
“Fuck, it’s cold out there,” he said, suddenly realizing that with the tent around him and fire in the middle it was still cool. He pulled off his boots and started opening his bag.
“Hey, uh, Sergeant Spencer, did you brush your teeth?”
He sighed in irritation and . . . but no, Doc was right.
“I’ll do it now, Doc.” Then he very consciously said, “Thanks for the reminder.”
He slipped on his boots, stepped outside, and brushed his teeth carefully for a full two minutes, while shivering and counting. He rinsed with water from a small bottle, spat, and went back inside.
The others were still talking.
Doc said, “We need some women to snuggle with.”
Ortiz said, “Caswell would let us freeze even if it was a medical necessity.”
“No problem. Alexander has better tits.” Doc indicated shape with his hands.
She did indeed. He even had a clandestine photo he was never going to admit to.
He said, “I honestly have no idea how she’d respond. In an emergency. For now, I expect she’d tell you to fuck yourself.”
Doc grinned. “If only I had that much meat. Or could bend that far.”
Ortiz cracked, “Going to invent Yoga?”
The difference between the women was striking. Alexander could handle banter as long as it wasn’t directed at her, occasionally rolling eyes or snapping a comment. Caswell locked up tight and sought privacy. In that regard among others, segregated quarters helped.
For Martin, though, porn was one thing. Fantasies about other troops he served with were unprofessional, dangerous, and cheating. Except Allison didn’t exist in this universe and never would.
He cried himself to sleep.
CHAPTER 13
Bob Barker woke up, and it was chilly. Fall was definitely here. Hell, it was a nice, mild fall, since they were well into October. But the trees were yellower, orange and with some tips tinging red. Though the trees now started a good hundred feet from where he stood.
He blew up the fire, and put some leftover goat meat on the slabs to heat for breakfast. After that he approached the LT.
“Sir, I’d like to borrow more help today, and get the sweat lodge finished.”
Elliott fidgeted.
“With hostiles moving in, I really want the wall done. And I haven’t done that inspection.”
“So do I, sir. But we need the sweat lodge. Eventually it’ll have a hot tub. For now, it means we can sponge off warm.”
He could see that tempted Elliott.
He continued, “Hot fire, hot rocks, warm water. And a warm lodge, not just hot water in cold air.”
Elliott grinned. “Yeah, yeah, you make a com
pelling case. What do you need?”
“Anyone who can sew. We’re going to finish putting goat hides over it and stitch them down. We’ll need a few more goats. Also, we can smoke meat and fish in this thing.”
“Okay, can you do it in a day?”
Maybe.
“I can damned well try, sir.”
Barker turned to the group under the ramada. “Alexander, Spencer, Doc, Ortiz, I figure all of you can sew in some fashion.”
They responded in the affirmative.
“Good. Let’s get this thing done.”
What he had was a rough but workable dome of lashed withes. It was taller than traditional, and wider. Eventually they’d dig a pit, line it with concrete or fitted wood, and make a hot tub. If they could figure out concrete and make or fake enough tools.
As the dew burned off, they laid out the skins they had, over the lumpy grass and worn muddy spots.
Alexander was good. She asked him, “Height and diameter?”
“Six feet and fifteen feet.”
“It looks like a chord of a sphere.”
“Approximately, yes.”
She ran to Number Nine, came back with a stick and some 550 cord.
She stuck the stick in the ground, measured off a length of cord by hand, said, “Hold this on the stick,” and started scratching arcs into the grassy dirt, like a compass. There were still a few stalky weeds here, but most had been cut, plucked, chopped in passing by machete-wielding troops, or stomped down during construction. The camp was pretty mucky in the low spots.
That done, she pointed and said, “We stitch until we fill that shape. Trim to the lines. Stitch down the sides. It’ll be a dome. But let me do the trimming. We need to have enough overlap to stitch.”
“Awesome, woman. I was going to hammer holes with a nail and then stitch with sinew.”
Doc Devereaux said, “I can do that. Running stitch or just loops?”
He hadn’t thought of that, and they jawed about it while Alexander started laying out hides.
She said, “You know, the LT is an engineer. He probably could have laid this out, too.”
Bob was embarrassed. “Crap. I didn’t even think of this as engineering.”
She made a face at him and he laughed.
Doc said, “Okay, let’s do it.”
It went faster than he’d expected. By lunchtime, they had large chunks of hide ready to trim and assemble. He was also covered in goat hair, some of the slime from inside them, sweat and dirt. Yeah, he planned on being among the first inside, if he could.
They ran into another problem when they started trying to lay it over the frame. It acted as a sail, just like a little igloo tent. The twigs hadn’t needed any stakes, but it would now. He cut some scrap hide into ropes and used his machete to cut some stakes. Five whacks per stake—tip, end, notch, done. He’d gotten good with it.
Ortiz hammered holes about two inches apart in the hide sections.
“Crap, you need to start over,” he said.
“Why?”
“You need to overlap them and hammer through both edges at once so it lies without wrinkles.”
“Ah. Shit. Okay.”
They resumed. Ortiz pounded holes, Doc and Alexander ran rawhide and tied, and piles of stiff hide shifted over them.
It was near dinner when they got the hides rolled into a bundle.
“Okay, are we ready?” he asked.
“Let’s do it!” Ortiz enthused.
They placed it on the north side, with the door in place, and tied it down. Then they rolled it up the frame.
Creaking warned him not to lean against it. He and Doc had the middle, Ortiz and Alexander the bottom. The flesh side rolled against the frame, and they worked it up.
“Okay, I need a push stick,” he said, and Ortiz ran to grab him a limb.
Carefully, making sure not to punch holes in light goat skin, he lifted and unrolled the cover as the others rolled by hand.
Then it was over the top and easily worked into place. They punched holes at the bottom and tied it to the frame. It had a few inches of slack in it, which would tighten up as the leather aged and dried.
He realized they’d missed lunch entirely. But it was done.
He stood back, stood up, and wiped a greasy arm across his greasy face and crusty beard.
“The first fire goes inside, to smoke the leather. Later it’ll be outside and we’ll use hot rocks inside. Bring me the boiling pan, and we’ll have a hot sponge bath.” He grabbed a handful of twigs and went in to get it started.
He’d wanted it for cleanliness, but the ritual importance was still very present. He had a sweat lodge for meditation.
Sean Elliott was interested in the sweat lodge proceedings. The thought of a hot wash was fantastic. Though the second stage, a tub, would have to wait until they finished defensive works. He wanted to follow up on Alexander’s idea of protective brush, and possibly a second ditchwork. They could button up tightly enough in the vehicles, but that wouldn’t protect their few, valuable possessions unless they were all aboard, and it would be possible to start a fire under the vehicles and cook them.
He wanted the north side finished ASAP. The stream side would take some work. It honestly might be easier to put a solid rampart there and a gate for the latrine and water. Having those inside was very advantageous, but meant gaping holes in the defenses, which they seemed they were going to need.
Well, north wall first. They’d go from there.
Since the troops were so engaged, he took a chunk of yesterday’s meat, dredged it in blood, sprinkled it with a little precious salt, and tossed it onto the grilling rock. He’d been chopping wood, and went back to it, with Spencer watching overhead.
Uphill, he saw Trinidad, Caswell and Oglesby hurrying back.
“Apples!” Caswell called. “We found apples!”
They had armfuls of them, he realized as they approached. Caswell tossed one to him.
“This looks like a real apple,” he said.
“Yes, these haven’t changed much.” Their pockets were full, and they had more in a ruck.
It was small, sap-green fading to orange-red, and mostly round. It had a pockmark from something or other, but the skin was intact.
She prompted him, and he took a careful bite.
It was sour, a little bitter, not very sweet, but refreshingly delicious.
“Damn, that’s good!” he said. It was only about two bites, and he nibbled down the core.
“They also make starch for stew. They’ll fill it up like potato. Then they can be baked or roasted.”
“You are fantastic,” he said, and held out a hand for more apples.
“Thank you, sir.”
Apples had never tasted so good.
“We also found beehives.”
Trinidad said, “I know a bit about building them. You have to space the slats right in a hive or they won’t use it. I don’t recall the exact spacing, and we don’t know if these bees act like the ones I know. But we can try several spaces using split wood.”
“That sounds like a job for Barker or Spencer. Have one of them help you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, you’ve distracted me enough. Show me the kitchen.”
Caswell nodded, walked over, and explained.
“The fire has a deep pit for roasting, or placing cans. It’s got a slate bed here for coals. The rocks are for frying, and the mounded oven is for baking. This is the stew and soup pot,” she indicated an ammo can, without its top. “This one is for boiling water. The wooden dippers are for serving, and are sterilized with the fire and boiling water. We have three knives from Alexander, Barker and Spencer that we use for prep work, and Ortiz provided a skinner. Sergeant Barker’s machete serves as a cleaver. We have dry storage here under the lean-to.”
The oven was a mound of rocks with mud over the outside. He’d seen it used. It worked. The rest he’d seen in books as well, but here it was real.
&nb
sp; “Good. What is next?”
“Wooden walls and a proper hearth, is what Sergeant Barker mentioned,” she said.
“Thank you. Sergeant Barker, can you show me the tepee, even though I’ve slept in it recently.”
“Sure, sir,” Barker said as he led the way and pointed. “Goat hide cover, that’s shrinking as it ages. We’ll need to replace with scraped and cured hides. Slate hearth there, too, and we’re graveling a walkway in, and keep rushes on the ground but I’d like to make planks at some point.”
He toured the camp and looked at everything. The rack of bows, arrows and spears next to the rifle rack, in Number Nine. The leather processing area, the knapping corner of the ramada they ate under, but it was getting too cold for that. The latrine was improving, but he wanted it dug deeper underneath, with better water flow, and more windbreak. He inspected it by using it and paying attention to the drafts and creaks.
The walls were getting there, and he wanted those done fast, except he wanted other stuff done, too. They needed more leather, more wood, more tools, eating utensils, they needed more salt trips. That was another thing for the schedule, or for trade.
“Looking good,” he said at dinner time. It was stewed mystery meat with unknown vegetables, but had enough something in it to be thick and hearty. Apples and something salty. Maybe kidney. He didn’t ask.
“I’ll make at least monthly walk-throughs so I stay up-to-date,” he said. “Always be aware of the next improvement or upgrade. Eventually we’ll have a stone castle with running water and electric lights.”
“Hooah,” came the reply. Everyone was busy eating. It was chill, crisp, and they’d all been busting ass.
“How’s the sweat lodge, Sergeant Barker?”
“It seems to be up, sir. I want to try it after dinner. Just a quick steam to check it.”
“Go ahead. Do you mind spectators?”
“Not particularly, but I will be naked.”
At his sweat lodge, Barker felt the heat from the decayed fire inside through the open door. He checked the outer skins, and they felt well-cooked, and warm to the touch.
He said, “I’m going to risk it. Bring me the hearth rocks. Use the lid to carry them and don’t get burned.”
A Long Time Until Now Page 25