Traveller Inceptio

There were rumours. Any military runs on the rumour-mill. Even in the small group that made up Saxon Traveller, there were rumours actively discussed over cups of tea in their cafeteria. Much to the amusement of the British, the Americans had become tea-lovers, except for Leishman, who kept to his herbal varieties.

Equipment was seen being unloaded and assembled in one of the utility sheds by the larger polo field. There was also a slight increase in the intensity of their training, an almost imperceptible tension that all was coming to fruition. Thorough medicals were conducted and teeth checked. Over the past year, all had the unpleasant experience of having their old amalgam fillings drilled out to be replaced by the white, ceramic-plastic version. Even Special Forces have a thing about dentists when the drill’s high-pitched whine is heard.

All felt fit and capable and wondered secretly if they would even be able to fire a pistol or conduct a hostage rescue ever again. It had been over ten months in the specialty training squad and no modern weapons had been used. To the rest of the insular Special Forces world in which they lived and worked, they had virtually disappeared.

A special function was prepared for the staff, trainers and candidates to meet socially, but none were fooled. Something was in the air. On the evening, the usual finger food was served as senior military officers rubbed shoulders with politicians and academics, and the team members were paraded like freaks in full Saxon dress, including swords and bushy moustaches.

“I heard the powers-that-be are losing their backbone to permit travel into the past, that the whole programme could be scrapped,” Hurley suggested that morning, just before breakfast.

Hunter looked up in surprise. “How d’you know that?” he asked incredulously.

Hurley placed a finger to the side of his nose and gave a knowing wink. “Oh, I have my sources.”

Used to military SNAFU, though each of the team was committed fully to the project, each kept a little in reserve in case the concept was discarded as a bad idea. Hunter wasn’t sure whether this particular social event was to convince some of the decision-makers to permit the project to proceed, or to give feedback on the training to date. Professor Taylor was there, describing the programme’s successes to various British ministers, including the Minister of Defence and the US Ambassador. Hunter spotted the Australian Ambassador chatting with Murdoch and Master Kim, conscious of his pang of disappointment that Mae was nowhere to be seen.

Hurley walked up and pulled his get-me-the-fuck-outta-here face. Never fond of champagne, he carried a champagne flute filled with orange juice, his little finger sticking out, as he would say, ‘like a toff’. He looked on as Hunter watched his Ambassador chat with Master Kim. “Sorry about Mae,” he said in Saxon as he took a sip of his drink.

Hunter laughed and replied in the tongue. “How long have you known?”

Hurley just shrugged.

“How’s Murdoch?” Hunter asked quietly and Hurley nearly choked.

“How long have you known?” he asked incredulously. It was Hunter’s time to smile knowingly. “Mae and I spotted you leaving the Princess Lace Bed and Breakfast about three months ago.”

Hurley was aghast. “Bastard! That was our first time together”

“And ours,” smiled Hunter.

“You’ve known for almost four months?”

“Yep!” Hunter smiled and rocked backward and forward, heels to toes.

Hurley shook his head. “I wasn’t even sure. Helen thought you guys were at it, but I never thought so. Bastard!”

“You were too busy shagging, I think.”

“Damn right, my lad.” Hurley smiled and sighed. “All of that iron-assed self-control goes out the window when that uniform comes off, I can tell you.”

They laughed and Hunter slapped Hurley on the shoulder. “Well, good on you, mate! Mae was a nice girl but, well, sort of dysfunctional. She would fuck like a rabbit, but there was something wrong here,” he tapped his forehead. “And here” he added as he tapped his heart. “Great fun while it lasted though.”

“Whew, I should think so,” exclaimed Hurley, still miffed he hadn’t spotted something so obvious, and with his roommate, no less.

“Don’t worry, mate,” muttered Hunter. “Women have it all over us in the relationship area. They can spot flying hormones at fifty paces.”

“Aye, you’re right there,” agreed Hurley.

Professor Taylor and Captain Murdoch took their positions at the head of the room, one of the manor’s nicer ballrooms. Murdoch welcomed the guests and remembered to mention all the dignitaries by name and title, then handed over to Professor Taylor, who gave a brief history of the project and the rationale behind it. Michael noticed the young man, Chandler, who had addressed them when they first started. He stood with a couple of egg-head-types who appeared fascinated by the team in Saxon garb.

Professor Taylor continued. “After almost a year of the most specialised and intensive training, we can report that we are confident that our team members are at a skill level where they can potentially infiltrate Saxon society of the early eleventh century. We can do this! As we send selected team members back in time to conduct on-the-ground research, this ambitious program will meet with enormous success.”

Hunter could see many of the guests were obviously not privy to the finer details of the project and were having difficulty understanding what they thought they had just heard.

“As of tomorrow, scouting activity will take place to ensure we have an ideal location for our researcher infiltration. We anticipate that this will help facilitate the safe transfer of a Traveller to the forest, rather than into the middle of a populated area. As each of our team are experts on living off the land, they’ll proceed to one of a number of select populated areas to monitor and even visit the communities. We’ve developed a system that’ll enable daily communication to leave reports in the form of images and audio content. If they feel threatened, the Traveller can return for extraction. The Saxon Traveller Project will be primary historical research as never before possible and we hope to learn about Saxon language, customs, dress, food, what they thought and how they lived. We live in exciting times!” Taylor toasted the team while those gathered applauded excitedly.

“But first let me introduce you to these brave and undeniably capable men.”

Taylor beamed. One at a time, the team members were called to the front of the room and introduced. While Hunter knew they would have looked terribly impressive, neither he nor any of the others were pleased with the chorus-girl line-up. A smiling Professor Taylor then introduced Captain Murdoch to the podium.

Murdoch looked impressive in her dress uniform and she addressed those gathered in the same dour tone as she addressed her soldiers. Hunter thought of Hurley’s comments and hid a smile. “After an exhaustive training and selection process, a committee has been created to select who will make the first journey to study Saxon England in more detail. The committee included academic and military specialists. Though Welbeck staff members were not on this committee, each staff member and Saxon Traveller team member gave their input. In the end the name that has been put forward is,” she took a minor pause as if to catch her breath, “Sergeant Mike Hurley.”

Only Hunter noticed the stricken look that flitted across Captain Murdoch’s face before she regained her iron control. She joined in the applause as the team members lifted Hurley to their collective shoulders. The photograph taken was later posted on the wall of the cafeteria, nine young and fit moustachioed Saxons with Hurley on their shoulders, laughing as Hunter sprayed him and the others with champagne. Next to that photograph was the image taken soon after they had arrived, clean cut and in uniform.

So much had changed.