Taboo – Containment Protocol-Part 13

Forbidden! Fiction. 3200 words, 16-minute read.

Image: UK Hidden Gems

When last we left the men of Bedrock Patrol, the local witch doctor was keen on giving Pinsky the Joan of Arc treatment…

Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial

Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 12 (last episode), Part 14 (next episode)

Taboo – Containment Protocol-Part 13

By Ray Tabler

Pinsky fell backwards and hit the dirt with a flopping sound, his legs flying up about a foot with the physics of the movement. Bunzo darted in like a flash and seized Pinsky’s boots while they were still in the air. He leaned back and dug his bare feet into the sandy soil. The witch doctor had dragged Pinsky a good three feet closer to the stake before anyone could react.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Booker growled, scrambling forward to catch Pinsky by the collar of his coveralls.

Muñoz and Mulroney each latched onto one of Pinsky’s arms, and pulled. The apprentice shaman gasped, flung his blazing torch aside and ran to assist him master. Depending on which way they wanted Pinsky dragged, more and more bystanders laid hands on where hands would fit and pulled in that direction. It seemed as if the entire tribe was shouting and grunting with the effort. Through the entire stone age tug of war, Pinsky remained blissfully unconscious, head lolling about with the frantic jerking on his arms and legs. Which was probably for the best, in terms of subsequent mental scarring. Assuming he would live long enough to wrestle those demons.

Finally, Vinzi had just about enough of this nonsense. With the decisiveness honed through decades of guiding the tribe through fractious disputes, the chief released whichever part of Pinsky’s anatomy he held, and bent over to search the ground underfoot. He snatched up a stray piece of firewood destined for the base of the stake someone had dropped when the impromptu struggle over Pinsky had erupted. Almost casually, Vinzi swung the firewood in a short arc which struck a glancing blow off Bunzo’s skull, with a woody thwonk.

The witch doctor immediately released his iron grip on Pinsk’s boots, and grabbed his gray-haired head and screamed in pain and surprise. To Booker’s astonishment, the crowd dropped Pinsky, and guffawed at Bunzo’s distress. Pinsky plummeted and hit the ground with a bruising, dust-raising impact. It was just as well the loader was still passed out.

Vinzi tossed his chunk of firewood to the earth, and berated the witch doctor with a scornful rant, swinging his arms and pointing a finger. Bunzo straightened and barked back at the chief, rubbing at a bump on his head. The crowd followed this argument, bouncing heads back and forth like a prehistoric tennis match. Pinsky lay forgotten at their feet.

Not able to understand the words, Booker and Muñoz dragged Pinsky out of the center of the crowd. At the periphery, Booker handed Pinsky off to Jackson and Rusty. They stood Pinsky up between them, an arm over each of their shoulders. Pinsky’s head drooped, still out of it.

“Sergeant Mulroney,” Booker ordered. You three get him back to the lager, and organize a rapid exfil, in case we need it, triceratops migration or not.”

“Yes sir.” Mulroney hustled Fred’s crew back toward the vehicles.

Booker turned to Muñoz. “What are they saying, and what the hell is this all about?”

Muñoz nodded. “Apparently Pinsky wandered into some shrine he wasn’t supposed to.

“You’re kidding. All of this because he couldn’t read the local equivalent of a no trespassing sign?”

“Pretty much.”

“At least Vinzi seems to be on our side.”

“’Yeah.” Muñoz glanced over the heads of the crowd, where the chief and the witch doctor still argued. “Vinzi and Bunzo don’t exactly get along. Wrath of the gods or not, Bunzo’s enough of an asshole that half the tribe wouldn’t mind seeing him taken down a peg or two.”

Bunzo chose this moment to spear Booker with a righteous finger. The witch doctor ranted at the lieutenant, plowing through the crowd. He seized his necklace of old bones and teeth from about his scrawny neck and rattled the thing at Booker and Muñoz.

“What’s he saying?” Booker asked Muñoz out the side of his mouth.

“Hard to translate. I think he’s calling down the wrath of the gods on us.”

“Okay. Not exactly very hospitable, but at least it’s an improvement from burning Pinsky at the stake.”

Vinzi shoved his way through the spectators, and stepped between Bunzo and Booker. He folded his brawny arms and spoke firmly. Bunzo scoffed, and shook a pious finger. Then, the shaman narrowed his eyes, slyly.

“Vinzi is invoking our status as honored guests, and says Bunzo should cut us some slack.” Muñoz translated. “Bunzo maintains the gods must be appeased. If the blasphemer isn’t sacrificed, an offering must be made.”

“An offering?”

“Yeah. An offering of great value.”

Booker stared at Muñoz. “From the look in his eyes, he’s asking for a bribe.”

Muñoz raised an eyebrow. “It sounds that way to me too.”

It dawned on Booker that Bunzo was staring at the binoculars hanging from a strap around the lieutenant’s neck, almost licking his lips in longing.

“He wants my binocs.”

Muñoz evaluated the situation. “Yep.”

“These are my own, private binoculars. Not Army issue.”

“I noticed that they looked like a nice pair.”

Booker sighed. He reluctantly slipped the binoculars from around his neck, smiling grimly. “Would you do the honors? I don’t think I could keep my irritation out of my voice.”

“Sure.” Muñoz took the binoculars, and faced Bunzo.

With a ready supply of soothing words, Muñoz offered the binoculars to an eager Bunzo. He must have gone on to explain how the optical device operated, for the shaman cautiously raised them to his eyes. Bunzo gasped at the way distant objects jumped closer through the lenses. He swung them about to focus on the far side of the lake, spots on the surrounding caldera walls, mist rising from a hot spring.

Muñoz rejoined Booker, who commented quietly. “You ought to be in public relations.”

“God forbid!” Muñoz snorted.

“Well, you saved the day. Or at least Pinsky’s bacon.”

“Not me. Vinzi diffused the situation by whacking the witch doctor.”

A small crowd of curious tribesmen clustered about Bunzo, jostling to get a chance at peeking through the binoculars. Bunzo allowed a few moments goggling before snatching the things away. Those awarded by the sights hooted and jabbered excitedly. Booker suspected that Bunzo’s status benefited from possessing the binoculars more than it suffered from Vinzi’s blow with a chunk of firewood.

“Speak of the devil...” Booker warned, spotting the chief heading their way through the dispersing would-be lynch mob.

Vinzi stopped in front of the pair of soldiers. He cast a stealthy side eye at Bunzo holding court with his new toy, and spoke to Muñoz. The two exchanged a few phrases before Vinzi nodded to Booker and headed off to the chief’s hut. Booker looked at Muñoz for a recount of the conversation.

“Vinzi suggests that we keep a closer eye on Pinsky and the rest of your men until they learn a bit more of the customs around here.”

Booker ran a frustrated hand over his face. “Well, if we’d been able to leave this morning, as I planned, none of this trouble would’ve happened.”

“True. And he understands that. But we’re stuck here until the klesuf decide to move on. And Vinzi is just trying to keep the peace.”

“I appreciate his efforts. Looks like that’s a full-time job for him.”

“Disagreements between him and Bunzo are nothing new.”

Booker put his hands on his hips, and surveyed to dwindling mob as tribesmen wandered off in all directions. “Just another day in Bedrock, hey?”

“Pretty much.”

“Let’s go hear Pinsky’s side of the story. I know him. He’s a bit goofy, but he must’ve had a reason for poking his nose into whatever he did.”

Booker and Muñoz turned toward the lager. Bunzo trailed a curious half dozen, still seeking a chance at the binoculars, as he headed for his hut. The apprentice witch doctor stood alone by the hastily prepared, but unlit stake, disappointed at not even being offered a glimpse through the wondrous binoculars. He whimpered forlornly, petulantly kicked some of the piled-up kindling askew, and pouted.

***

Pinsky was still out when Booker reached the lager. The loader lay stretched out on the ground in the shade under Fred’s prow. The unconscious man smiled slightly, as if he were having a pleasant dream. That irritated Booker.

Someone had left an open, metal ammo box sitting on Fred’s hull. The ammo box was half-full of water, It looked as if an attempt to remove the smears of dino weed-reinforced blood and mud coating the tank had been interrupted by all of the excitement. Booker snatched up the ammo box and emptied it over Pinsky’s face.

Pinsky sat up coughing and spewing, in a most satisfying manner, and banged his head against the underside of Fred’s armored prow. That display helped Booker’s mood some, but not much. Muñoz and Mulroney both strove mightily, and unsuccessfully, to stifle laughter.

“Ow!” Pinsky clutched his head. Then he also put his other hand on the small of his back. “Why does my spine ache?”

Booker flung the dripping ammo box to the dirt in disgust. “Your spine hurts because we and half of Bedrock performed a chiropractic adjustment on you after you passed out.”

Pinsky’s eyes widened. “Oh my God! They were gonna light me up like a tiki torch!”

“Yeah. Maybe I should’ve let them.” Booker wiped his wet hands on his coveralls, noting in passing they were crusty with mud and dino blood from the events of the last twenty-four hours. “What the hell did you do, Pinsky?”

“Nothing, really.” Pinsky stood up, careful not to bump his head on the tank again. “I was just looking around, taking some video of this place. Figured the people back at the project would want to see the place. We’re supposed to show initiative. It’s in the manual.”

“Yes, it is. What happened next?” Booker prompted.

“I was running the camera, getting shots of the landscape, and the village. Then I noticed this one hut set off from the rest. I wandered over and took a peek inside. You won’t believe what I saw”

“Try me.”

Pinsky unzipped a pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a small video camera. “It’s like a sort of museum in there.” He fiddled with the camera, scrolling the recording back to the pertinent time stamp. “Just hit play.”

Booker took the camera from Pinsky, and watched the tiny screen come to life. The view showed the inside of a mud and hide hut, morning light filtering in through gaps in the walls and roof. Animal skulls and other less identifiable bones dangled from the rafters. Displayed on the walls of the hut were articles of clothing. Clothing from Earth. The light was dim. The cinematography left a lot to be desired. But there could be no doubt. Booker recognized a cowboy hat, a gingham dress, and what appeared to be a blue, uniform coat with brass buttons, all draped over wooden frames. There were many other items, but the recording abruptly exited the hut, jerking. Pinsky’s surprised protests and angry, tribal voices rose from the small, tinny speaker on the video camera, before the recording cut off.

“They dragged me out of hat hut before I figured out I wasn’t supposed to be there. You know the rest, El-tee.”

A puzzled Booker looked up at Pinsky, then over at Muñoz. “Did you know about this?”

“No.” Muñoz shook his head. “The locals always seemed to steer me away from that hut. But I didn’t suspect there was anything special about it.”

Booker spent a moment pondering the new information, and sorting through the implications. He handed the camera back to Pinsky. “Alright, Pinsky. You did good, despite the hornets nest you accidently kicked. Take this and stash it away some place safe inside of Fred. The brass will want to take a look at it.”

“Yes sir.” Pinsky took the camera and clambered aboard Fred, happy to at least not be in trouble for the moment. Of either the disciplinary or incendiary variety.

“So, we, and whoever manned those old, German tanks are not the only visitors from Earth this place has entertained.” Booker eyed Muñoz and Mulroney. “And getting that information back to base is a high priority.”

“Except we’re stuck here in Bedrock until those big, horny toads finish eating everything for miles around, and move on.” Mulroney pointed out.

“Yep.” Booker frowned.

“Hmm.” Mulroney looked at the surrounding Abrams and Bradleys. “As long as we’re here, sir, permission to get the vehicles cleaned up? We look like we been rode hard and put up wet. It’s against my religion to leave equipment in such a state!”

Booker chuckled. “What religion is that, sergeant?”

“Church of the Army, sir.” Mulroney answered soberly. “Besides, idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Best to keep the boys busy.”

Booker saw the logic in that. “Alright, permission granted. How’re you going to manage the operation?”

“Figured we’d drive over to one of them ponds. Scrub down, and get some the grime off.”

“Fine, but make sure you don’t foul the tribe’s water supply, or run over the sacred chicken coop. The going rate for bailing my men out of being burned at the stake is a pair of high-end binoculars. And I’m fresh out of those.”

“Yes sir.” Mulroney saluted, and gave Booker a puzzled look, not having witnessed the sacrifice of the binoculars.

The sergeant spun on his heel and bellowed a series of orders. The platoon hopped to, sorting themselves out for the short trip across the caldera and a tank washing party. The fact that most of the platoon still suffered from hangovers seemed to please sergeant Mulroney enormously. That constituted icing on his cake.

Booker and Muñoz stood idle, but troubled, amid the sudden flurry of activity.

“The fact that some sod busters and buffalo soldiers managed to travel between universes all on their own, when the project squandered, I don’t know how any billions of dollars to do the same thing, is going to get some people upset.” Muñoz observed. “Awkward to explain during the next funding hearings.”

“Yeah.” Booker laughed without humor.

“You know, I don’t know about you. But I could do with a bath, just like these tanks.” Muñoz lifted his arms and looked down at his filthy fatigues. “I’ll bet those T-Rexes would sniff me from a mile away.”

Booker became aware of his own grimy state from Muñoz’s remarks. “I’ll wait until the tanks are done. Don’t want to strip down in front of the men. Bad for discipline.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. Follow me. I know a great spot.”

Muñoz led Booker toward the base of the caldera wall. There, nestled among, and screened by, lush foliage, lay a hot spring and surrounding pool, about the size of a large living room. A torrent of steaming water tumbled down the caldera wall and into the pool, heated by some volcanic vent. Mist rose off the hot water, smelling slightly of sulfur. The near edge of the pool was fringed with a narrow, white sand beach.

“Looks like the friggin’ garden of Eden.” Booker laughed.

“Told you it was a nice spot.” Muñoz shucked out of his clothes, kicked off his boots, and waded into the water. When the water was up to his waste, he began soaking and scrubbing his shirt and pants in the pool. “No soap, but the hot water helps quite a bit.” He held his dripping shirt up to his nose. “Even if it does leave ‘em smelling of brimstone.” He shrugged. “They air out after a while.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Booker unzipped his coveralls, unlaced and stepped out of his boots, and disrobed. He waded gingerly into the pool. The water was hot, but not painfully so. It was pleasant, not much different from a bath house he’d visited when stationed in Japan. Remembering to pull his forgotten boxer shorts from a pocket of his coveralls, Booker worked at soaking and scrubbing the mélange of dino blood, mud and dino weed pollen from his garment. It seemed to be working, and would certainly be better than walking around reeking and filthy.

Presently, Muñoz held up his sodden shirt up for inspection. He appeared satisfied, and sloshed to the bank. “How about I go see if I can get Vinzi to open up about that stuff in the shrine?” He shook out his pants and started to pull them on. “I’ll just let these drip dry on the way over there.”

Booker looked up from his washing. “Want me to come along?”

“Nah.” Muñoz buttoned up his shirt. “I think he’ll be more likely to talk if it’s just me.” he knelt to tie his boots. “Why don’t you take it easy here for a while. You’ve had a busy morning.” Muñoz grinned.

Booker sensed that Muñoz was poking some fun at him, but decided to let it slide. “Alright.”

“I’ll check back with you once I’ve button-holed the chief.” Muñoz tossed an insolent salute and slipped through the screening bushes.

Booker was starting to like the scout, despite Muñoz’s flip attitude. The man was insubordinate, but extremely useful. And charming. That annoyed Booker more than anything else, having never picked up the skill of charm. He decide not to let Muñoz, and his charm, bother him for a while. The little pool was too pleasant, and the hot water too enjoyable to let anything spoil it.

After a few more minutes of scrubbing, Booker judged his coveralls as clean as they were likely to get, under the circumstances. He waded to the beach and draped the coveralls and his shorts from convenient branches to dry. However picturesque the beach looked; he didn’t want to get the gritty sand up his wet backside. So, Booker waded across the pool to a spot a couple of yards from the small water fall. A nearly-vertical rock wall dove into the water. The pool was just a couple of feet deep there. Perfect for a peaceful soak.

Booker sat in hot water up to his chest, sighing as the sulfur-tinged ripples seemed to wash his aches and troubles away. It felt wonderful to scoop handfuls of water and pour them out over his forehead. He closed his eyes and leaned back against a half-submerged bolder. For the first time in more than a day, he felt relaxed. It wouldn’t last. This luxurious indulgence was only a short, tranquil interlude in the roller coaster this mission had been. Still, Booker decided to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

The stressed lieutenant had all but drifted off to a pleasant nap when he felt the water slosh next to him, and heard a body slipping into the pool. He opened his eyes, and turned his head. Nohfa lounged there, nude and leaning back against the same bolder, her hands behind her head.

“Helloo Boookkur.” Nohfa smiled seductively, and sidled closer.

END.

Tune in next time for Part 14 – Mission Creep.

Find the rest of the Containment Protocol tale here: https://raytabler.substack.com/s/containment-protocol-serial

Part 1 (the beginning), ... Part 12 (last episode), Part 14 (next episode)

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