She nodded. “Nothing wrong with that. They were good men. I was there when you and Tig decided to stay on the hill so the rest of us might clear out before the raiders got there. You take personal responsibility for your people. You look out for them. Rangers will follow leaders like that into Hades if asked. It’s also why every last one of us decided to go back and fight when Ed told us that’s what he was doing. That’s how respect works, but you know that. Just remember that you need to look after yourself also.”
“I’ll try.”
. . . . .
The first days of preparation were mostly training room affairs: map recons; discussions of tactics; and briefings, many briefings.
The last day of briefings started with Barbara Louis and Amanda going over known points and hazards in the area of the Blastlands where the unit would be operating.
“I notice our course takes us through a lot of these hazards,” Thomas said after the question and answer period portion of the briefing had turned to the usual wisecrack session. “This a character building exercise?”
Barlo smiled and pointed at the word BLASTLANDS at the top of the map.”That might as well read Land of Hazards. The whole damned place is hazardous. Those that are marked are just the ones we know of.”
“So if we make it out, we’ll be able to add new hazard markers?” Ralph said.
Jerry laughed. “Yes, and the cartographers in Heaven will love us for it.”
“That’s motivational,” Thomas said. “If it makes the mapmakers happy, it’s worth any risk.”
Ranger Tibbs pulled a wheeled table piled with bags into the briefing room. “You ready for me yet?”
“Anytime,” Jack said.
Pat rolled the table across the room. He handed a bag to the nearest Ranger. “Name’s are on each bag, pass them down, keep the one with your name.” Once everyone had theirs, Tibbs directed everyone to open them and place the contents on the table.
“Every last one of you was born after the Calamity. That means you’ve grown up dealing with the threat of toxins and radiation present as a result of those events. I was a teenager when it all went to hell, so for folks like me, we had to adapt.”
“So you’re saying we have it easy?” Mike Pitts said.
Pat ignored the comment. “Long before I was born, the people that ran things finally figured out that testing atomic weapons above ground wasn’t a good idea. They pulled their heads out of their puckers when someone brought it to their attention that those born once weapons testing was going on had far higher levels of strontium-ninety in them than those born prior to testing. That was from hundreds of above ground detonations. There were tens of thousands of atomic detonations in the Calamity. That’s part of why our world is so damned toxic.
“As bad as the radiation hazard can be in parts of the Freelands and surrounding areas, it’s livable. Stay within the Freelands and all hazards are cordoned off and marked. The Blastlands is a different place, altogether.”
“The Blastlands is a different place,” most of the Rangers said in unison.
Tibbs shook his head with a pained look on his face. “Fucking Rangers and that damned movie.” He smiled. “To continue, the missile fields over there were part of the nuclear battlefield during the Calamity’s second act. Everyone with a beef against the Americans threw weapons at the missile fields trying to take out the silos before they could launch. In other words, the place got blasted. It wasn’t just a onetime target, it got smacked around until the place was wrecked or the other combatants ran out of missiles or bombs. Nobody knows how it all shook out. What we do know is that it’s an ugly and lethal environment, so you better watch your step, look out for each other, and hope the place doesn’t bite you in the ass. Each of you ought to know the procedures and the gear, but we’re going over it again to make sure it sinks into those thick Ranger skulls of yours.”
“Pat, you’re a Ranger,” Hal said while tapping his head.
“That’s how I know,” he said without a smile. “Every living thing on this planet has mechanisms to ensure survival. Adaptation is one of them. Sometimes it’s not enough, and sometimes it is.
“The things that prowl the Blastlands have adapted. They’ve survived, and in some cases thrived. Anything that survives out there is dangerous, but it’s not just the living things you’ll encounter that are dangerous. The soil itself can kill you. Dirt holds radionuclides. Always has, always will. Under normal conditions, there’s no threat. Much of this you already know about, but you have more to deal with than just the isotopes you’re used to, like iodine-one-three-one, cesium-one-three-four, cesium-one-three-seven, and strontium-ninety from fallout. Those are present in the Blastlands and in higher numbers than you normally deal with around here. As long as you don’t ingest or inhale any of those radionuclides, you’ll be okay, but you’re not going over there for a stroll. You might be fighting and that means crawling in the dirt, maybe digging in the dirt if your opponents are dumb enough to let you dig in. Crawling and digging means dust, dust you can suck into your lungs. You might also ingest dirt if you get a mouthful.
“You also have uranium and plutonium deposits from dud or fizzled warheads, and those that came apart in the air. If you blunder up on one of these hazards inadvertently, you are done for unless you act immediately. If you feel like someone is poking your exposed skin with needles, turn a hundred and eighty degrees and get moving. If you don’t, or the radiation level is great, you, are, done. It won’t come quick. It won’t come easy, and it sure as hell ain’t no proper way to die. Do me and everyone else that gives a damn about you a favor and pay attention.”
Tibbs had several items on the table in front of him. He gestured at them. “We have numerous countermeasures to help deal with radiation exposure. First off are your masks, which we will talk about in a minute. We have radioresistant extremophiles that consume radioactive materials and can be administered in various ways. You all should be familiar with the capsule form commonly called rad pills or rad caps. We also have Prussian Blue, and activated charcoal, all of which we will go over later today. First off, the gear.”
On the table in front of each Ranger were a few devices, some familiar to them, others not. “The radiation meter, radiation-cleaning unit, filtration mask, full protective mask, and dosimeter,” Tibbs said. “Some is old hat, one has a new wrinkle, and one is gear normally only used in radiation zones like the Blastlands.”
Tibbs held up the radiation meter, a device that resembled an overgrown lensatic compass. “This should be a no-brainer. The radiation meter. Green, white, yellow, orange, red, purple are the colors on the face of the instrument. The needle points at the current level of exposure. Goes up or down depending on how much it detects. Green means clear, nothing but normal background radiation. White means higher than normal, but still safe and requires no precautions but increased awareness. Yellow means use caution, wear filtration mask, wear gloves, clean hands before touching face and change clothes when out of yellow. Red means danger, exit area immediately if not wearing protective gear, full face mask recommended, protective coveralls required, protective gloves and boots also required, begin regimen of extremophile capsules, closely monitor rate, observe dosimeter frequently, and follow established guidelines. Purple, kiss your ass goodbye if you’re not in full protective gear, get the hell out if you are. Survival in this zone is measured in minutes.”
Tibbs scanned the faces of the Rangers. “Anyone not understand?”
Beth Cooper raised a hand. “Dosimeter. I know what it is, but it’s not something—”
“That’s next on the list.” He held up the device, a glass tube set lengthwise in a rectangular holder. “If you’ve never been into a radiation zone, you’ve probably not used this before. This measures total dose. Clip it to your clothes or load bearing equipment. That’s it. No adjustments, no calibrations. It will let you know how much radiation you’ve been exposed to, period. Rad meter shows current rate, dosimeter shows
total dose. We’ll go over what the numbers mean later.”
Pat held up the full protective mask. “You should all be familiar with this, but you’ll notice the faceplate is completely different. One piece of double-paned tempered glass replaces the goggle arrangement on the older mask. Exhaust venting over the view panel reduces fogging. The mask now has a voice meter to improve vocal communications while worn. The hose connections to the filter box are the same. Those who are stylish and wear eyeglasses no longer need the external apparatus for corrective lenses.”
“I just got mine a couple of weeks ago,” Ranger Dunn said. Jack laughed, having received his recently as well.
“At least they got us the new goods in a timely fashion,” Thomas said.
“Innovation doesn’t take a break, but we will. We’ll break for lunch,” Tibbs said. “Then we’ll go over protective clothing, radiation countermeasures, and perform drills this afternoon.”
. . . . .
The pace picked up once the Rangers moved out of the training and briefing room: marksmanship drills with pistols, shotguns, rifles, and machine guns; patrol drills; attack drills; withdrawal drills; land navigation courses, long range shooting practice, first aid refresher courses, TROG practice, and much more.
They met their first setback during this time as well, a knee injury to Ranger Mike Pitts. Slotted in as a team leader, the loss of Mike would require Jack to find not just a replacement in numbers, but leadership as well. He was sure they had several Rangers capable of fulfilling those duties, but Jack’s choice was not the obvious one. He picked Sean Trahearn.
Thomas and Ralph were already on the team, so the familiarity and comradeship were already present. All Jack need find was a replacement Ranger. Here too he took an unorthodox path. He went straight to Art Sierra who was working with the trainees on their final day. The eight would be taking up the star that afternoon.
“I need some input from someone who has been around the block a few times.”
“And you came to Art Sierra.”
“Of course I did… because Captain Drake isn’t here right now.”
“Those sergeant’s stripes are making you mean,” Art said with a smile. “What do you need, kiddo.”
“Mike Pitts went down with a bad knee, so I need to find a replacement. I’m putting Sean into the team leader position Mike held and I need one to get us back to full strength.”
“Lots of good Rangers around. Who’d you have in mind?”
“What about Baker? Do you think he’s up to it?”
“What do you think?”
“I think so, but you’ve spent a lot more time with him than I have.”
Art smiled. “Good, Jack. You’re thinking like an able leader. I’d say Baker will do fine. He’s smart. He doesn’t rattle. He can shoot. Put him with someone solid and he’ll be fine, but don’t throw him to the wolves. Dan will approve it, but talk to him about it and see what he has to say.”
“I will. Should I wait until after the training commencement ceremony to tell Baker?”
“Mr. Baker!” Art yelled. “Report to Ranger Sergeant Traipse.” He looked at Jack and smiled. “There’s your answer.”
Baker ran toward the pair. “You’ve done it now, Baker,” Art said as Tony stopped next to them.
“What’d I do?”
“Jack will tell you. I don’t want to be around to see this.” Art walked away, headed for the other trainees. “Heaven help you because this is gonna get ugly.”
Jack smiled. “Art’s screwing with you.”
Baker laughed. “I know. His eyes give it away. What’s going on?”
“You think you’re up to going to the Blastlands?”
“Your mission? I am if you think so.”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. Art agrees.”
“Count me in then.”
“I’ll talk to the LT about it. If he okays the move, you’ll have to play catch-up.”
“I’m game, Sergeant.”
. . . . .
Jack knocked on the edge of the doorway to Lieutenant Geiger’s office.
Dan looked up. “What you need, Jack?”
Jack stepped into the office. “You’re aware of Ranger Pitts and his injury?”
He nodded.
“What do you think about Tony Baker as the replacement for Mike?”
“So soon? He and his class aren’t even Rangers just yet.”
“True, but my group had half the time under your tutelage and we did okay out of the chute.”
Geiger smiled. “You talk to Art?”
“Sure did, LT.”
“Baker?”
Jack nodded.
“They both for it?”
“Roger that.”
“Done. Baker will be a good Ranger. My only recommendation would be to put him with a couple of experienced people who’ll look out for him.”
“I am considering putting him with Sean’s team. Thomas and Ralph are there. What do you think?”
Dan thought for a few seconds. “That’s good, Jack. They’ve all been in the thick of it, so they have experience. Good cohesion between those three and they know what it’s like to be fresh out of training. I think it’s a splendid idea.”
“Thanks, LT. I’ll tell Baker.”
. . . . .
Jack walked to the benches on the training ground where the ceremony for the soon-to-be Rangers would take place. He stood to the side for a few minutes until Thomas Young joined him. Within a short while, Sean, Amanda, Ralph, and Jennifer turned the pair into a sextet.
“If Jim Barstow were here, we’d have our entire class in one gathering,” Ralph said.
The eight trainees sat shoulder to shoulder on one of the benches and the six Rangers joined the procession that passed by the eight to congratulate them. They returned to the spot they previously occupied and gathered into a tight bunch of two rows to wait for the ceremony to begin.
“I remember exactly how I felt when we were sitting there waiting for our stars,” Ralph said. “It’s different for them. I’m glad.”
Jennifer nodded. “I am too. I remember how stunned I was when Lieutenant Geiger gave out the assignments and I found out most of us were not going to be here at Geneva as planned.”
Sean shook his head. “I knew something was up. That whole day felt weird. An exercise turned into Thomas and Jack tracking raiders, and then we end our training cycle early with no warning.”
“I know what you mean,” Thomas said. “Man, I’d forgotten what it felt like. I sneaked a peek at the assignments on Dan’s desk and knew I was getting sent to Mead. I couldn’t tell anyone. I felt like I was leaving home again. I guess I was. It was just months ago, but it sure seems longer.”
“It surprises me how much we’ve done since then,” Sean said.
Several others echoed his sentiment.
Amanda shook her head. “I wish I could say the same. All of you were at Kings Town, or worked missions here. You’ve done things that were important. Jen patching up people under fire and Thomas, Jim, and Ralph fighting down south. Sean hauling David Stark through miles of heat. Jack… Jack doing… who knows what. I’ve been in the HQ here in Geneva every day since training. That’s it.”
Jack put his hand on her shoulder from his place directly behind her. “Who was the intel and commo specialist at Geneva Ranger Post when Barlo was gone?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How many complaints have there been about your work? All I’ve heard is praise. You did as good a job as Barlo, and she’s the best you’ll find in the Rangers at that trade. You’ve managed an understaffed Ranger unit on the edge of the Freelands for weeks, and you’ve been doing it every day. Anyone look down on Barbara because she doesn’t get to the field very often? No. That’s because she’s worth her weight in gold to the Rangers she supports. I dare you to find anyone that will argue that point. You’re worth every bit the same.” He patted her shoulder. “Haven’t done much? Nobody here is buying it.”
&n
bsp; Sean put his arm around her. “I’ve been here since we put on the star, same as you. Jack’s right. Not a soul has said anything bad about you.”
Everyone else agreed.
Amanda poked Jack in the ribcage with her elbow, hard.”
Jack winced. “What was that for?”
“You made me cry, that’s what.”
Jack rubbed the spot where the blow had landed. “Next time I’ll keep my distance.”
“That was sweet, Jack,” Jennifer said quietly.
“It was,” Thomas said. “Now do the rest of us, me next.”
Everyone laughed.
The seven watched the ceremony, their first as observers. Only Rangers were present, as was tradition. Captain Drake, Lieutenant Geiger, and Corporal Sierra each addressed the trainees. Each of Jack’s group looked on as the trainees pinned on their own star, also a tradition, and recalled doing the same. They recalled the feelings that came over them with the realization that they were Freelands Rangers. Each of them felt and thought different things.
For Ralph it was the attainment of a lifelong goal and overcoming the hurdle of his physical handicap.
For Jack it was the realization that he was not there entirely by choice, he’d made the decision on his own all right, but his upbringing among the company of Rangers had made his chosen profession almost a foregone conclusion, one some might call destiny. He knew he could do other things if he so chose, but for now, the life of a Ranger felt natural.
The rest all thought of their own journey to this point, a journey of such a brief time, but one of much activity.
When the ceremony ended and the gathering that followed began to break up, Jack spoke with Anthony Baker.
“It’s not too late to change your mind about going into the Blastlands,” Jack said.
“I’m in, Sergeant. To be honest, I’m scared, but I want to go.”
“All right. Zero-eight-hundred in the training room. Be there early if you want me to give you a quick rundown of the mission.”
“I’ll be there, Jack.”
The Blastlands Saga Page 58
