The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  At the end of Jack’s last day before he left for Kings Town, he sat with Baker on the training area benches.

  “Hey, Sergeant, you leaving tomorrow?”

  “Call me Jack. I’m not your trainer anymore. I’m riding down to Humboldt in the morning.”

  Baker nodded. The look on his face showed he understood the reason for Jack’s trip. “I’ve always wanted to ask, why do you carry a Kalashnikov? I know most Rangers carry M16s. A lot carry M14s, Mini-14s, H and Ks, and AKMs. Why did you choose the Kalash out of all of those? Seems like the least likely pick.”

  “I also carry a forty-five caliber pistol and a Savage bolt action rifle. I’ll use a shotgun if I know things will be up close and personal. If I knew how to manage it, I’d tow an arsenal behind me. Different tools for different tasks. I carry the AKM because it’s the issue rifle for the Freelands Rangers. It’s free, solid, and reliable. You can’t beat that deal. C’mon, free rifle!”

  Baker smiled and glared at Jack. “Don’t bullshit me. You had that rifle before you became a Ranger. Art said so.”

  “Art talks too much.”

  “I do, do I?” Art said from behind the pair.

  Jack looked over his shoulder and laughed. “You’re also too sneaky.”

  Art chuckled as he took a seat beside the two. “Baker, I’ll tell you why Jack carries the AKM. He’ll say it’s because of the reliability, and he’s right about that. But you need to realize that Jack here is an artist, a tightly wound, cover all the bases, artiste. He wants it all, reliability, durability, consistency, and accuracy. The Kalash isn’t known for being a tack driver, yet we have a crack shot like Jack carrying an AKM. Not the first choice of most Rangers, but most Rangers won’t go to the lengths Jack does to make the AKM perform.”

  “What is it he does?” Baker asked.

  Art smiled. “Want me to tell him, Jack? Or do you want to do the honors?”

  Jack sighed. “You’re doing fine, Art. Fire away.”

  “Jack has gone over every single part of that rifle of his to ensure they fit and function perfectly. Some of those parts he made himself. He doesn’t use ammo right out of the crate either, unless he can’t help it. Regular Soviet military loads aren’t good enough, oh no. He pulls the bullets, then weighs each one. They are supposed to be one hundred and twenty-three grains each. Right, Jack?”

  “More or less.”

  Art laughed. “More or less, the man said. That’s right. Well, anyone who knows anything knows that military specs were never too precise back in the Twentieth Century, no matter the country, but the eastern bloc was a little looser because they knew their rifle would eat damned near anything they fed it. You want to know Jack’s solution to the ammunition issue?”

  Baker nodded.

  “As I said, he pulls the bullets, with great care mind you, so he won’t mar them. He weighs them individually and divides them up by weight. Am I right so far, Jack?”

  “Spot on.”

  “Right. After pulling the bullets, he then pours all of the powder from every case into a container. Hazard a guess as to why?”

  Baker nodded. “So he can make sure each round is uniform. Same bullet weight, same powder load, equals higher precision.”

  Art smiled. “On the dot, Tony. That’s what he does. Some will tell say not to do that with steel casings, but Jack there does. He puts all of these carefully loaded rounds into nicely labeled boxes according to bullet weights. He test fires some of each to ensure he knows his sight adjustments, and then he proceeds to make the rest of us look like incompetent dolts when it comes time to shoot. The average Ranger firing milspec ammo out of a stock AKM can’t match Jack, his rifle, or his ammo.

  “Now, you might think I’m making fun of ol’ Jack here… well I am, but it’s because he deserves it and it proves a point. You give this job dedication, all you can spare, and you’ll do all right. You don’t, and you’ll get someone hurt. If that person is you, well, you asked for it. If that person is another Ranger or worse, a Freelander or homesteader, then heaven help you. You’ll never cut it as a Ranger.

  “There aren’t many that can match Jack with a firearm. That’s not the point. The point is this: we can all match his dedication. You give this job your all, and no one can say you didn’t give it your best. You owe it to yourself. You owe it to your fellow Rangers. Most of all, you owe it to those folks out there that need you.”

  “I’m guessing Jack picked up some of his dedication from you?” Baker said.

  Art started to reply, but Jack interrupted by slapping him on the shoulder. “See what I mean? You talk too much, and all of us young and impressionable Rangers listen. You better watch what you say, Corporal.”

  Art smiled. “I figured—”

  Jack stood and raised a hand. “Enough. I have bullets and powder to weigh. And for the record, and despite all of my meticulous work, I carry an AKM because my hero and mentor Art Sierra carries one. See you in the morning.” Jack turned and walked away with a smile.

  Art laughed. “Everyone talks about how they see a little bit of me in him. Taught him everything he knows, Baker, everything he knows. Pay attention and one day you might receive comparisons to me too.”

  . . . . .

  Jack went home and found his older sister, Mary, was there to see their mother and wish him a safe trip.

  “You’re leaving in the morning, Jack?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It will be a relief to close this chapter I think.”

  “I hope so.”

  She hugged him and wished Tess and Jack a good night.

  “You think she’s right?” Jack asked.

  “I do. Bring him home, Jack. I know it’s silly, but I feel he’d rest better near his own.”

  “It’s not silly, Mom. That concept goes back thousands of years.”

  Tess smiled. “You read too much.”

  Jack laughed softly. “You only have yourself to blame for that. I’ll get him home.”

  “I’m sorry it falls on you. You have a burden to bear.”

  “Yes. A duty also.”

  She nodded. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes. A son’s burden and a Ranger’s duty.”

  . . . . .

  Jack packed for his trip, double checking he had everything he intended to take with him. Satisfied he did, he went to the livery stable to make sure Jenny was ready to go.

  Jenny was an Appaloosa mare he purchased on his first official job as a Ranger, a trip to pick up and deliver radioresistant extremophiles from the independent city-state of Deva State to the Ranger Center in Heaven. He had traveled with a merchant named Bill Carson, an extraordinarily well traveled man, famous for his affection toward his pair of pack mules, telling old jokes, and his knowledge of the Freelands and surrounding areas.

  Carson had left his mules at the Geneva livery under the watchful care of Jim Pyle, a young man he had befriended some time before. Pyle was from the southern part of the Freelands and had agreed to take care of the mules until Carson returned for them.

  Jim was with the mules when Jack arrived.

  “Problem with Bill’s mules?”

  Jim shook his head. “No. I promised Bill I’d look after his mules until he came to pick them up. He got hung up in Hell on business, and now he has a trip he has to make. I have school starting up back home, so I’m taking them with me. A promise is a promise. I’ll look after them until Bill gets back. We leave in the morning.”

  Jack smiled. “We’re going the same way then. I’m headed for Kings Town in the morning too. You mind the company?”

  “That’d be great. I heard you were going. A lot of people talking about it. It’s your dad, right?”

  “That’s right. There’s a farmer going to the railhead in the morning. I’m going to meet him at the south gate and travel to Humboldt with him. Meet us there.”

  “I will.”

  . . . . .

  2

  Go South Young Man

/>   . . . . .

  Jack was up early despite having slept poorly the night before. He shaved and ate a quick breakfast alone before he grabbed his gear and went to the livery. It didn’t take him long to get Jenny tacked up and ready to go.

  He walked Jenny to the Ranger HQ and tethered her near the entrance. He found Ranger Michaels and Amanda inside.

  “Anything new?” he asked. “Hear anything from Sergeant Tucker’s team?”

  “Nothing,” Michaels said, “on either score.”

  “I doubt we will unless they’re headed back already,” Amanda said. “Lieutenant Geiger left a note for you. Said the salvager Kay Rush is at Camp Mead.”

  “Thank him for me.”

  “I have a TROG for you, Sergeant,” Michaels said. “Prepped, charged, and checked.”

  Jack looked at the wonder of the 1990s: portable computer, navigation device, telephone, and radio in a ten-pound package. It was the ten pounds that gave him pause. “Is there any reason I need to take a TROG?”

  Michaels nodded. “We’ll be able to talk to you over shortwave. We can notify you of any updates and that sort of thing.”

  Jack looked over the top of his glasses. “I’m chasing five year old ghosts. I doubt there will be any new developments. Since I cannot talk to you, I’ll ask again, is there a reason for me to take a TROG?”

  Michaels paused in thought. “Navigation.”

  “I have a map and compass for that. A TROG weighs ten pounds. I don’t want to be carrying that much dead weight if it serves no purpose.”

  “You might be able to shoot skip via the citizens bands,” Amanda said. “There is some sunspot activity. The conditions might be favorable for a while.”

  “Ionospheric bounce?” Michaels said. “You can do that on the CB channels? We operate shortwave for long-range commo out of the Ranger Center and CB for coms within Heaven. Never really thought about it being used for long-range commo.”

  Amanda nodded. “TROGs can’t send in shortwave, so if a team is way out and has to use the standard antenna, CB skip is the only chance they have. It’s not any different than other DX radio broadcasts that can be skipped. it’s not something they teach in Ranger training.”

  “Hmm,” Michaels said. “Maybe it ought to be.”

  “Salvagers, merchants, and Rangers use it when they’re out beyond conventional commo range,” Jack said. “But you have to get lucky. The sunspot lottery, as some call it. Amanda can explain it better than I can. I hope this task won’t require me to need to make any contact, but just in case….” He looked at Amanda. “I’ll take it.” He held his hand out to Michaels. “TROG me.”

  “Good luck, Jack,” Amanda said, “and be careful.”

  “Always.”

  Jack placed the radio in his rucksack and rode to the medical clinic where Jennifer was working a long shift. He stuck his head inside the door and pointed outside. She joined him next to his horse.

  “You have everything you need?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I wish you didn’t have to do this, but I know you do. See if they’ll spare a Ranger or two to go along with you.”

  “If the raider threat has lessened, I will.”

  She rubbed Jenny’s neck. “You watch out for him, all right?”

  Jenny bobbed her head.

  Jennifer smiled. “She understands every word we say?”

  “I’m pretty sure she does.”

  “Then I’m sure she’ll do her part. You do yours and get back to me in one piece.”

  “I intend to.”

  “And watch that knee.”

  “I will.”

  “It may feel fine, but if you push things….”

  “Slow and easy, that’s my style. No fights, no fuss.”

  Jen gave him a disapproving look. “I’m sure you’ll try, but that’s not likely given your history so far, Jack Traipse.”

  “Small sample size, Miss Lewis…, but you’re probably right.” He smiled. “Do you have any more nagging to do or are you going to give me a kiss and tell me you love me?”

  She raised her eyebrows and started to say something, then stopped. She smiled and did exactly what Jack suggested.

  . . . . .

  Jack rode to the south gate, already depressed about his mission. He came upon Corporal Sierra as he led the trainees out of the south gate for an exercise. Jim Pyle and Carson’s mules waited near the gate alongside a wagon belonging to the farmer hauling produce to the railhead at Humboldt. He waved at them.

  “Heading out?” Art said as he walked toward him.

  Jack nodded.

  “You be careful, Jack.”

  “I will. I’ll likely be solo unless they can spare some help. The worst that can happen is I’ll get one Ranger killed instead of five like the last time I was out,” Jack said referencing the five Rangers who died in the fight that broke the raiders grip on Kings Town.

  Art gave him a stern look. “Nip that in the bud right now. You didn’t kill those Rangers. Raiders did. Did you play a part in everything that happened? Sure you did, but their deaths aren’t on you. How many Rangers didn’t trust you or your plan? How many Rangers walked away before that fight?”

  Jack opened his mouth to reply, but Art cut him off. “None. That’s how many. You know it, I know it. You feel responsible because you give a damn. I’m of the opinion you can’t be a good leader if you don’t. Rangers won’t follow a leader that doesn’t give a shit, at least not very far.”

  “What about the Ranger Commander?”

  “I’m guessing he gave you his speech about how you should get over it. They’re dead and gone, all that crap?”

  Jack nodded.

  “I’ve heard his spiel more time than I can count. He says that as a cover. Been doing it for as long as I’ve known the bastard. He acts like he doesn’t care because he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He bottles it up and keeps it inside. He puts up a front and thinks everyone buys it. It’s pride and arrogance that leads him to ride roughshod over people, but underneath all that, he cares. He just doesn’t handle it like he should and he does a lot of rubbing in the wrong way in the process.”

  “How do you handle it?”

  “The same way you will.”

  Jack gave Art an irritated look.

  Art laughed, then placed a hand on Jack’s leg. “You will remember every single person you lost. Every Freelander, every merchant, every Ranger you had under your care that died. Each one of them has a weight, but you’ll bear it. You’ll use it to make decisions in the future and hope they’re the right ones, better ones. This is a tough job, Jack, and Straily piled a lot on your shoulders. You’re up to it, you proved that. He was right to do it, even if some of his reasons were wrong. Maybe he hoped you would walk away. Maybe he did it to cover his own ass. It doesn’t matter now. Do the best you can, learn from other’s mistakes, and don’t be afraid to seek advice from those you respect.”

  “So you’re saying I should just go to you?”

  Art laughed. “Of course, but I may not always be available.” Art’s expression became one of seriousness. “Go do what you need to do, kiddo. Get Hardin back where he belongs.”

  “Will do. I’ll see you when I see you.” Jack coaxed Jenny into a trot.

  Jim climbed aboard and sat beside the wagoner when Jack approached. He had tethered the mules to the back of the wagon.

  “We ready?” Jack asked.

  “We ain’t waiting on me,” the farmer said with a smile.

  “Me either,” Jim said.

  Jack laughed. “Let’s go.”

  . . . . .

  Their trip south was unhurried. The train wasn’t scheduled for departure until 1300, which gave them plenty of time to help the farmer unload his produce and get Jenny and Carson’s mules safely aboard a stock car with pads for equines.

  Favorable scheduling allowed the train system to get them to Heaven by late afternoon the first day. Jenny and Carson’s mules were put u
p in the livery while Jack arranged for Jim Pyle to stay at the Heaven Ranger barracks. He had learned Jim was paying to have Carson’s mules shipped out of his own pocket, and thought to soften the financial blow by finding free lodging for the young man.

  Jack checked in at the Ranger Center. As expected, there were no messages or orders for him. While he spoke with the Ranger on duty at the watch desk, he heard a voice call out his name.

  Jack turned and saw Ranger Captain Edward Drake, the source of the voice, and the commander of Troop A, which covered the northern portion of the Freelands. While Jack did not know him well, they had spoken many times. Drake had been working out of the Ranger Center in Heaven during the siege at Kings Town.

  “Captain Drake. I hear you’ll be returning to Troop A’s area of operations soon.”

  “You heard wrong. Not soon, I’m in the middle of my trip there now. Geneva to be specific.”

  Jack laughed. “How long until some of the force around Kings Town gets reassigned?”

  “They’ll pull Rangers from the Kings Town area in dribs and drabs, but we’ll have a full contingent up north before too long. Probably the largest force we’ve ever had. It depends on the raider situation out west. Straily doesn’t want to pull the plug until we’re sure they’re not able to mount a serious threat again.”

  “Are you going to stay in Geneva?”

  “For awhile I will, but permanently? No. I intend to do as I did before and rotate between all of the Ranger posts in Troop A. Spend time at one, then move on to the next.” Drake pointed at Jack’s Ranger Star and smiled. “I figured you’d make a helluva Ranger, Jack, but trainee to sergeant in record time is a feat.”

  “Sir, it wasn’t my idea. Commander Straily—”

  Drake held up a hand. “I know what you did out west, Jack. You won’t catch any guff from me about the chevrons. You receiving any flak about it?”

  “Some, but not as much as I expected.”

  “Whether you believe it or not, you earned the stripes. You want a bit of advice?”

  Jack nodded.

  “I’d imagine Art Sierra already gave you a version of this. Don’t try to do anything you weren’t doing before Kings Town. Be yourself, trust your instincts, and things will shake out.”