“Please?” Alexander chided.
“Please,” he agreed.
She and Ortiz carried rocks from the cooking fire as he looked the dome over. The fire he’d kindled inside had burned down, but there was still an acrid haze. The leather was quite stiff.
He still hadn’t eaten, which was fine. A sweat lodge was a spirit meeting. It was appropriate for the first use to be like that. Afterward it could be a physical cleansing for everyone, but he wanted the spiritual cleansing first.
With the rocks placed inside, and a pan of water, he stripped down in the cool evening, heedless of spectators. He breathed deeply, and ducked inside.
It was hot, dark, meaty-smelling and musty from the hides. There was the aroma of steaming wood. His lungs constricted, but he felt the wash of heat and steam.
He realized there was nothing to sit on, so he’d have to stand. He turned slowly, feeling the heat in shimmering waves, inhaling the fumes, getting almost dizzy.
He stood still for a moment. It wouldn’t do to fall on the scalding rocks.
He was sweating, with a cold draft around his feet. Beads rose on his eyebrows, beard and chest hair. He felt the heat of the rocks, of the world, and connected through his feet.
But it was cooling fast. There wasn’t enough heat in here. He’d sweated off some muck, but it wasn’t what it should be.
But it worked.
He stepped out and felt the chill suck the heat from him.
“It works,” he said. “Steam baths tomorrow.”
“Want a towel?” Doc asked, handing him his beach towel.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
He suddenly felt silly standing there naked. “We have sweat lodge,” he said as he toweled himself.
Clean sweat felt much better than grimy muck.
CHAPTER 14
Sean Elliott looked around in a mix of satisfaction and frustration.
The north wall was finished. It stood under the cloudy sky, a pointed barrier to the Paleolithic world outside. Inside, the technology was at least Iron Age.
That gave three sides. The south, uphill, had the ditch, now denuded of trees and brush, but still a bit of an obstacle for any attackers. They had clear fields of fire west and south. To the east, they had the stream and its banks, but visibility was still not great. Though the rest of the trees there would be down before this was over, either as construction timbers or firewood. Then, of course, they’d have to find ways to get firewood. Five hundred meters down to the river wasn’t far, and there were trees much closer than that, but they still had to be dragged. They used it for cooking, and increasingly for heat.
The Stone Age peoples likely weren’t going to be a problem. They weren’t trained in unit tactics as far as he knew, and could be bottlenecked. If they had to kill a few, that would likely scare the rest away. After all, no one yet knew they had guns, unless someone had been watching the hunting. Rifle fire would be terrifying to them. If it escalated to machine guns or grenades, the troops would likely be elevated to demonhood and avoided permanently. Which had some negative side effects, but might be unavoidable. On the other hand, the strong structure of the wall might cause any contenders to try diplomacy, and shared technology would let both parties benefit.
So he was still going to finish that wall.
He had to think long term. If they got below seven people, they wouldn’t have enough for tasks and sentry. Also, the men were going to want women, one way or another. Goddamn, he wanted some sex himself. He couldn’t sleep some nights from loneliness and frustration.
They only had two women, which wasn’t enough. He didn’t want their women degrading themselves as whores, they wouldn’t do so, it would lead to fights anyway, and there wasn’t any way to have a discussion about it. So once the anniversary hit, he’d need a plan on securing relations with locals. Possibly, local women brought in would feel themselves to be of status and beholden to their mates. If so, they could continue, with grown children on watch, and the weapons in reserve for the soldiers. Until what? They all aged and died? The ammo ran out from hunting? Without knowledge of ammo, the weapons might still be credible threats, and they had a few grenades.
Once the ammo was gone, the weapons were useless except as raw material. Spencer said he could forge things. The aluminum might be ground up for thermite. The plastic would have to be burned. The vehicle springs might be useful for something. Alternately, bits of metal might work as barter goods, and a rifle barrel was still a solid club, or possibly could be converted to an air gun.
As far as the machine guns, they weren’t much use here. Then how to get rid of the trucks? How did time travel work with those? Was this an alternate timeline where that wouldn’t matter? Did they somehow figure out how to hide them, say in the river, and they wouldn’t be found until after they disappeared in the twenty-first century? Was the discovery of the vehicles a key to getting back, or would it screw things up? Would not hiding them help or hinder?
He’d read some science fiction. Spencer read a lot of it, as did Devereaux. They’d discussed this. They were no closer to an answer.
For now, he figured those banks were tall enough he could place the east wall about thirty feet on the other side. The bridging of the stream he’d figure out afterward, and possibly after any spring floods, since winter was upon them.
They also had apples. He’d have another one. It was a nice day for an apple.
Oglesby up top, called, “Incoming party! It’s the Neolithics.”
“Goddamn it, didn’t they learn?” he muttered around a mouthful of apple.
“They may have, sir. I only count ten, and a dog.”
“Okay. Who are the best two unarmed fighters?”
“Uh, probably Dalton and Trinidad.”
“They’re with me. Oglesby, you too. Caswell, take over for him.”
“Hooah, sir.”
He dove into the tepee and grabbed helmet and armor, shades, weapon and Bluetooth. This was getting tiresome.
Bluetooth in place, he said, “Watch, this is Elliott.”
“Receiving you, sir,” Caswell said. “I can advise based on what I see and hear, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes, and keep the gun handy. Also, watch in case this is a distraction. Spencer’s in charge if that happens, if I can’t respond.”
“Roger that.”
“Do we still have a count of ten?”
“One zero, sir, correct, with two dogs, not one. No others in sight in any direction, but there are aurochs and antelope east and north. Skilled trackers could use them for concealment.”
“You’re aware of that, so watch it for me. Have the others standing by.” He’d want to get the corner ramparts done soon, too. Packed earth and timbers would reinforce the corners, and give firing positions. Then the same thing next to the gate.
Dalton, Trinidad and Oglesby met him at the gate. He nodded, and Barker opened it just enough to let them walk out. Wind eddied through as it was opened, then turned into shifting gusts. He led the way out, Oglesby to his left, Dalton and Trinidad fanning right.
“What do we have?” he asked Caswell.
“They stopped as soon as I waved. They waved back. About one zero zero meters.”
“Understood.”
Even if it was short range, being able to chat rather than shout helped.
Smaller group. They wanted to parley, he hoped.
Three of the party detached and came forward. They didn’t have spears. He watched them approach, loping over the ground. They’d obviously lived their lives on wild terrain.
They slowed at about twenty-five feet. He let them get to twenty and held up a hand.
“That’s close enough,” he said.
“Haylaa.”
“Hello,” he said slowly.
His opposite number was bearded and long-haired, but clean enough. As before, he wore a breechcloth, leggings, moccasins and a small capote that looked like a tunic, belted in with a leather strap. The pou
ches at the belt held what looked like a knife hilt and some other stuff.
The man could see Sean was bearded, and not heavily. He couldn’t see eyes. Sean was also dressed and armored and an enigma who was six inches taller. For bargaining, that helped.
The man started to talk, indicating himself as he did so.
Oglesby said, “I recognize this from last time. It’s his title and name.”
“What is his name?”
“It seems to be ‘Rogga.’”
Rogga nodded, so apparently that was. He rattled off his intro again.
“Well, Rogga, I am”—he pointed to himself—“Sean Randall Elliott, First Lieutenant, U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Chalk Leader of Charlie Eight and Nine, and Commander of Contingency Operating Base Bedrock.” He indicated the palisade behind him, which did look pretty sturdy and intimidating.
Caswell spoke in his ear, “Good, sir. Long titles indicate status, but I figure you guessed that.”
“Hooah,” he said, wanting to acknowledge without confusing their visitors.
Rogga pointed at himself and his cohorts, pointed at the camp, and opened his arms in an understandable gesture.
“What do we think?” he asked quietly to his troops. “Let him in?”
Caswell said, “Spencer recommends three only. I agree. Your call from there, sir.”
Trinidad said, “I can take one any time. Say the word, I can either immobilize or cut his throat before he can respond.”
“You’re that sure?”
“Oh, hell yes, sir. I’ll swarm him.” Trinidad almost sounded eager to do so.
Dalton said, “I’m pretty sure I can throw the other. He’s bulked, but I’m better trained.”
“Okay, then please don’t. We’ll invite them in for now. Caswell, have someone get the gate.”
He gestured for Rogga to come with them, held up three fingers and pointed at him. The man nodded, pointed to two others back in the group, who followed, their spears shouldered with points back. His two unarmed assistants rejoined the others.
Sean led, Dalton and Trinidad filled in the back, with Oglesby to the left again.
At the gate, he let them precede him in. They looked nervous, but walked in upright and proudly.
He assumed they’d spied from the other side at some point, but he wasn’t sure. They stared at the vehicles. Assuming they were still pre-wheel, they’d have no way to identify them other than as huts of some kind, elevated off the ground. They eyed the tepee for a few moments, and the smoke hut/sauna and the women’s lodge.
Spencer came over, made a show of coming to attention and saluting. It looked out of place with his beard and hair to his ears.
“Welcome, sir. I want our guests to see you are held in respect and treated with deference. With your permission, I’ll take them over to the fire.”
He returned the salute.
“Please proceed.”
“Yes, sir.” Spencer saluted again, then turned and gestured to the Neolithics. “Come with me, gentlemen.”
At the fire, they were seated on logs.
“Bring water and food. We want to show we’re hospitable to friends.”
Barker said, “You’re in luck. I have salted, smoked trout and a haunch of kid in here.” He indicated the smokehouse.
“Perfect.”
Given water in wooden bowls, and smoked meat on a platter, the men relaxed slightly. They accepted graciously if a bit messily, but made their approval known with “Mmm!” sounds and nods. Those also seemed universal.
Oglesby went over to sit with them, and with Spencer, and started poking at the dirt with a stick.
Caswell asked, “Sir, permission to swap out and visit with them, too?”
“Yes, but since they’re all male, keep that in mind. Ortiz, take over up there.”
She said, “Yes, sir, I’ll try not to hurt their fragile egos.”
He started to comment and she said, “I understand what you mean, sir. I’ve got it covered.”
He decided to sit back and observe.
Oglesby made notes in his book, and seemed to develop a few words. It was also amazing what he could express with those few words and gestures. Each one of these troops was turning out to be a boon. He’d like to introduce anyone who thought soldiers were mindless drones to this element.
Especially since that would mean getting home.
He overheard Spencer.
“Ask him about the seas around the swampy land. It’s important.”
Caswell followed up with, “What about grain? Do they plant?”
He went back to the vehicles, where Alexander had her helmet and weapon grounded next to her desk.
She looked down and said, “Anything I can help with, sir?”
“No, carry on.”
“Whee. Documentation.” He gathered she’d rather be watching the guests.
He called up to Ortiz standing in the turret.
“What are they doing out there?”
“Shooting the shit and flicking sticks.”
“Good. Do they need food or water?”
“That might be an idea, sir.”
“Okay. Dalton can take it out to them, if he’s willing. I figure they won’t touch him while we have three of theirs.” He turned and got assent. “And Trinidad, join Ortiz up top and please keep them covered from here.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Continue with chores in camp.”
He wanted to do something useful, but he also needed to be nearby to be the officer. He let the others handle the wood and crafts.
Dalton took out a pile of meat and fruit on a slab of wood, came back promptly and unhurt.
He reported, “They appreciated the food, sir. We may be making friends.”
“Glad to hear it.” Yeah, that was the ideal outcome.
Alexander said, “Sir, it’s getting near dinner time. Are we hosting them inside, outside, or sending them away?”
“We’re sending them away,” he said. “You catch that, Oglesby?”
“Hooah, sir. I’ll find a way to break it to them gently.”
With some shooing from Spencer and Caswell, the men were escorted slowly out the gate. Alexander stood on the steps of Number Nine, holding her tanto. The damned thing had a blade more than a foot long. They seemed to understand what it was, and the implication that the hospitality was backed up by more force.
Once they were out, Sean climbed up alongside Ortiz to ensure they did head out of sight, over the ridge and away. He watched them retreat into the sunset, which was vivid in orange and violet.
He ordered, “Keep a close eye tonight. There’s always a chance they’ll come back.”
“Hooah.”
Back on the ground, he went to the fire and joined the others.
Spencer said, “Okay, sir, I’m guessing they’re from about six thousand BC, in what we call Doggerland.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s now the North Sea. Back then, it was above water.”
Okay. “How sure are you?”
Spencer said, “That it was above water? They find fossilized and even rotten plant and animal residue, and occasional human tools. It’s only about forty feet deep in some places.”
“Okay. So it flooded after that?”
“About then. These guys report rising water and swamps, and flooding of low areas. And they have high ground west and south. The Baltic was a lake. The Irish Sea was already flooded, long since. So Doggerland it is. They were farther north than here.”
“How do they know that?”
“They don’t, I do. Longer summer days. Very short winter days. Lakes to the east, sea to the north.”
“Roger. So they’re from halfway between now and our time, from the far side of the continent.”
“Yup.”
“They could even walk back and be just in time to meet themselves,” he commented.
Spencer snickered. “Yeah, we made that joke amongst ourselves. Us, not them
.”
“What else?”
Caswell said, “They arrived about a month before we did, and spent time building a village to the west. They’ve actually lamed a few aurochs to keep them nearby, and use the dogs to herd the goats. They’ve been harvesting fruit and know of some other tubers.”
She looked really angry as she said, “They conquered the Urushu. There’s about two hundred of them. They moved in, killed a few, enslaved the rest. Especially the women, the fuckers. They see it as a divine right. The gods removed them from bad land to better land and gave them superior tools.”
That was not good.
“That’s unfortunately logical. How do they view our tools?”
Oglesby said, “They don’t know what we have, but they seem astute enough to recognize the fabrication. We all have the same helmets and gear. We have the trucks, which they think of as huts. I said we can move them by touch. They didn’t seem convinced, but didn’t argue. I think we want to do something to impress them.”
“Hunting?”
“Or more chores. They saw us chopping brush. They recognized the machete as a cutting tool, and something they can’t make.”
“Yeah, we’ll want to make sure they know we can take them.”
Oglesby asked, “Can we? Two hundred of them?”
Spencer said, “Figure half of those are adult males, and yes, we can. Easily. As long as we know they’re coming.”
Caswell said, “They don’t have domestic crops, but they do weed around their preferred fruit trees, including apple. They trap fish and animals, and are proto-herders. They follow the herds around and use dogs to move them, and protect them from other predators. But if the time frame is correct, there was agriculture starting in the Middle East about the time they exist, and possibly in China. Actually, there may already be rice agriculture in China and Korea now. It would be interesting to know, but we can’t.”
It was all so fascinating, and he wished he knew more about it. “Okay. We’ll work on further relations with them. We’re going to build the east wall beyond the stream, and start on inside corner towers and a gate house. Well done, everyone. Let’s eat.”
Tonight’s smoked fish was a bit dry, but good. It made a change from red meat every day. The wild onions and salt had seasoned it nicely and added a fresh taste. The apple and pine smoke gave it a bite.
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