The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  “Mr. Marcus, if you would? Eyes front and mouth shut, and if you can manage, ears open,” he said sternly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Corporal. I was just waiting for the real Ranger training to start,” Jason Marcus said, with a slightly sarcastic tone and a smirk on his face.

  “Well, we have an expert in the training of Rangers I see. Jason, I’ll let you in on something. Training requires you—the trainee—to accomplish three things: receive instruction about the assigned task, assimilate the information received in that instruction, then use the information to perform the assigned task adequately to satisfy the trainer… me. So far you ain’t doing so hot,” he said leaning close to Marcus’ face.

  “I seem to recall you sittin’ right there when the lieutenant told you to, and I quote, ‘listen very carefully to what he has to say,’ with the he being me. You do remember that, don’t you? It was all of three minutes ago,” Art said glaring at Jason, his eyes hard.

  “Yes, I remember, Corporal,” he replied meekly, not meeting Art’s gaze. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what this has to do with becoming a Ranger.”

  “I started as a Ranger more than twenty years ago. I was in the second group of people to go through training down in Heaven. I guess that makes me pretty knowledgeable about being a Ranger. How much time do you have as a Ranger, Mr. Marcus?” Art didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. “Oh, that’s right, none. None time. Not one damned second. Based on that, which one of us would know more about what trainees need to know?”

  “You?” replied Jason.

  “You don’t know? Because that sounded like a question.”

  “You, Corporal.”

  “That’s right, me. I’m not just pointing this out to be a jerk. Remember this, we do not have the time to waste with useless nonsense. Hell, we don’t have the time to teach you what we need to teach you,” Art said as he walked back to where he began, centering himself in front of the trainees.

  “If we teach you something, it’s because you need to know it, and it’s important. Plain and simple. Look, when you are on your own time, you do what you want. Get drunk, act stupid, play grab-ass. But when you’re on Ranger time, it counts. It always counts. Whether in training or out in the field. People count on Rangers and you owe them your best. You owe that to your fellow Rangers, and to yourself. If you can’t muster that, then you won’t cut it as a Ranger. Got that, trainees?” Art held a hand up. “No, don’t bother answering, because you don’t get it, yet. It takes time to sink in, it has to become part of you. It’s not just words, it’s something you live. You’ll get there, if you have what it takes, but it takes time.

  “Speaking of time, we gotta get back on schedule. So, where were we? Ah yes, orientation this morning. When I’m done there will be a few other folks go over some stuff with you, then lunch. This afternoon we have Initial Shooting Evaluation. Remember it is an eval, so do your best and make this afternoon count. Even if you manage to muck it up, we will work on getting you up to speed. Don’t sweat it. It’ll be fine, really.

  “Tomorrow we will cover some of the history of the Freelands and the Rangers. Some of you know a bit of this if you went to a settlement school, or if your folks taught you parts of it. I see some eyes glazing over, so look, I promise you it won’t be boring and it is important. It will set your mind on where you fit into all this.

  “The next few days you trainees are going to be spending most of your time sitting on benches here in the training area or on chairs in the training room while Rangers stand in front of you and flap their gums. You won’t get bored if you pay attention and I’ll say this again, it is important. Once we get to field training you’ll look back on all the time you spent sitting and wish you were back here, so enjoy it while you can,” he said with a smile.

  “Okay, everybody get up stretch your legs, get a drink of water, and be back here in ten minutes for more orientation.”

  . . . . .

  Around noon, orientation ended and the lunch break commenced with the trainees being told to be on the benches, rifle in hand at 1300, or 1PM as many of the trainees would say until they mastered the 24-hour way of telling time.

  Dan Geiger and Art Sierra had finished their meals and were sitting in front of the post headquarters building on a bench sipping tea and waited for the trainees to gather at the benches on the training area.

  “So you’ve known Jack Traipse since he was a kid,” Geiger said.

  “Sure. Since he was a few days old,” answered Sierra. “You know I grew up with his dad Hardin, and Hardin’s brother Gordon. Their folks raised me and I see them as family. I’ve kind of looked out for Hardin’s family ever since he went missing, not that Hardin’s wife Tess couldn’t make out on her own, but like I said they’re family.”

  “That was what, five years ago Hardin disappeared?” Geiger asked.

  “Yeah, thereabouts.”

  “Doesn’t seem like it. It’s got to be hard to be the son of a famous Ranger like Hardin. Even more so with Gordon and you as his uncles. Now he’s going after the star himself. That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “You bet it is. Everybody brings it up when they first meet him, and it’ll be worse once he’s on the job, but he’s up to it. He takes more after Tess than Hardin. He’s got the same mother hen complex, so—”

  “Mother hen complex?”

  “Yep. Hard-wired to look out for others. A good trait for a Ranger. How many young Rangers have stayed in the Traipse household over the years? A bunch. That’s Tess. She prodded Hardin to help shepherd young Rangers, and it turned out he was good at it.”

  “Is that where you got it? You did that for me as a young Ranger if you recall.”

  He laughed. “I’d like to think I come by it naturally, but I’d be wrong. Ah, you didn’t need much help, LT. You got smarts.”

  “That’s why I’m a lieutenant, because I can do paperwork and handle organization.”

  “That’s what I said, LT. Smarts.”

  Geiger laughed. “And you say Jack can shoot?”

  Art nodded. “Oh, yeah. Better’n you or me. Better’n anybody around here,” Sierra said earnestly. “There’s probably a few guys that might shoot better on paper, but not under pressure,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “I know I haven’t been up here that long, but there have been a few shoot fests the last few months and I’ve never seen him compete.”

  “That’s because that young man ain’t got nothin’ to prove. He’d win every damn time, and that ain’t no exaggeration,” Art said raising his eyebrows. “He’s a bit quiet, until you get to know him, and too damned smart for his own good. He’s not real sociable and sure as hell ain’t a show-off, not like his dad in that respect,” he said with a chuckle, “but he’s got the same drive and determination and he’ll get the job done, he just won’t do it all, how do you say it, all boisterous-like.”

  Geiger laughed. “Art, I have always admired your unusual mastery of the English language. Did Hardin teach him to shoot?”

  “Yeah, he taught him and his older sister Mary how to shoot as soon as they were big enough to reach the trigger with a rifle shouldered. Both of’em took right to it. It’s probably in the blood, Mary’s boy Hardin—named for her dad of course—can out shoot most folks and he ain’t much more than this tall,” he said holding his hand about belt high.

  “You’re saying Jack’s better than Hardin was?”

  “Hardin was good all right, but Jack is somethin’ else. I’ll put it this way, if my life depended on one man making one shot, Jack’s the guy I pick to take that shot.”

  Dan raised his eyebrows. “Well, you’ve really peaked my interest. I look forward to seeing Jack in action this afternoon.”

  . . . . .

  Jack Traipse was in the training area sitting on a bench near a few other trainees, but he spoke to no one. He removed his rifle from its case in preparation for the shooting evaluation as two other trainees approached. They were Amanda
Hays and Sean Trahearn, both friends of his. One old and one new.

  Amanda had known Jack since before her parents—and Jack’s—helped in settling Geneva fifteen years before. Her parents work as tech salvagers—the name given to people who specialize in technology recovery—had provided her with a solid grasp on gadgets, how they functioned, and tech of all sorts. Not a big girl, “Blond, brainy, and five foot one, maybe. A hundred and ten pounds, maybe,” as Jack described her. “Smart as whip and bold as hell, definitely.”

  Sean and Jack had become fast friends during the recruit evaluation phase the previous week, despite their apparent differences. Jack was tall, lean, dark, clever, and quiet, while Sean was short, stocky, reddish-blond, pugnacious, and while not dumb, he was not likely to stand out for his intelligence. Sean had traveled from Nosho, a settlement to the south—in a place once called Missouri—to attend Ranger training. At first he thought he might have to stay in one of the temporary quarters the Rangers provided until Jack offered a place in his family’s home. Sean was grateful because he figured he would “have had to punch one of those dumb bastards in the nose If I had to spend the night in the same room as them,” when referring to some of their fellow trainees.

  Jack was certain Sean had eyes for Amanda. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s getting himself into, he thought.

  “Are you nervous about the evaluation, Jack?” asked Sean.

  “A little,” he replied, as he removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses.

  “You have got to be kidding,” Amanda chimed in. “What do you have to be nervous about? You’ll ace this thing! You’d have aced it when you were ten.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have had the sense to be nervous when I was ten,” Jack said with a smile, “but I’ll bet you’ll say you aren’t the least bit worried.”

  “Why should I be worried? I’m a good shot, my rifle is sighted in and ready to go. I’ll be fine, and so will you guys.”

  “Speak for yourself, Amanda,” said Sean, “I’ve got a crap rifle and even if it weren’t, I’m not that much of a shot. I’ll be lucky if they don’t kick my sorry butt back to Nosho Settlement today.”

  “They won’t boot you today, no matter how poorly you perform. They will get somebody to work with you and you’ll do fine,” said Amanda.

  “I wouldn’t count on it, you don’t know how bad I am!” Sean said, half-joking. “I’ll bet that one-armed trainee will out-shoot me.”

  “He just might out-shoot most of us,” Jack replied. “He says he’s a decent shooter, and I’m inclined to believe him,” he said, putting his glasses back on his face. “He doesn’t come off as the sort to brag.”

  “Oh, so you talked with him. I haven’t had a chance yet,” said Sean, “What’s he like?”

  “Seems nice enough. His name is Ralph Sikes. Very motivated to become a Ranger. His family’s homestead got attacked when he was a kid. He was inside his house when a raider kicked in the door. He reached for a knife on a table and the raider cut his lower arm off. He grabbed the knife with his other hand and stabbed the raider with it.”

  “Seriously?” asked Sean.

  “No joke. He only wounded the raider. Ralph said the guy was going to kill him when some Rangers showed up—I guess they were chasing the raiders, hot on their trail—and one of them shot and killed the raider. The Rangers patched up the wounded, took Ralph to the nearest aid station, and he swore if he survived he was going to join the Rangers when he was old enough. He’s here trying to do just that.”

  “He’s got some serious guts,” said Sean. “Looks like he grew up well enough, he’s twice as tall as me.”

  “Almost everyone is taller than you, Sean,” joked Amanda.

  “So says the statuesque Amanda,” remarked Jack.

  Amanda glared at Jack. “I’ve had all the short jokes used on me over the years, now I have a chance to use them on somebody else.”

  “I can handle the jokes, but what does statuesque mean?” asked Sean.

  Jack and Amanda laughed.

  “No, seriously, what’s it mean?”

  “Later, it’s time for us to take our seats,” said Amanda as Geiger and Sierra approached.

  Lieutenant Geiger looked over the people on the benches. “Okay good, looks like everyone is here and ready to go. I will go over range procedures first, then give you a rundown of the evaluation.

  “To start, let’s go over basic firearms handling and safety.”

  Geiger held up a single finger. “First, treat every firearm you handle as if it is loaded until you physically confirm that it is not. Second, do not point your weapon at anything you do not intend to destroy. Third, keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to fire. Fourth, be aware of your background when you fire. What is behind your target? Is it something you don’t want to get hit if you miss or your bullet penetrates your target? Things like small children, or fellow Rangers, that kind of thing,” he said, which generated a few chuckles and some smiles.

  “Our range here is not a large one, and we do not have a large enough Ranger contingent present to be able to have all of you fire at once, so we will take you in groups of fours.

  “The Shooting Evaluation is fairly straight forward. There are four fixed targets in front of each firing position at one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, and four hundred yards. Each is a two foot by two foot black square with a one foot white circle in the middle, except the one hundred yard target which is a one foot square. There is also a zero target at one hundred yards that is identical to the other one hundred yard target, except it has a red background.

  “Each position will have a Ranger assigned to act as safety and scorer. There will also be a rangemaster who will act as timekeeper and give all range commands. You will have six rounds to confirm your zero. You will then fire four rounds at each target within a six minute time limit, reloading as needed. Then, you will fire two rounds at each target within a one minute time limit. That’s right, seven and one-half seconds per shot,” Geiger said as some of the trainees murmured. “For those of you with bolt action rifles this may be difficult, but we will take into consideration the kind of rifle you are using. A Ranger will tabulate how many hits you achieved on each target once the targets are pulled and returned to the firing line at the completion of all courses of fire.

  “Corporal Sierra will be the rangemaster today. Obey all commands given by the rangemaster immediately. If he calls for cease fire, do it immediately, not after your next shot, immediately. If you have a problem during a course of shooting, raise your hand and the Ranger at your position will assist you. Are there any questions?” the lieutenant asked. No one raised a hand or said anything. “No? All right then, Corporal Sierra you have the charge.”

  “Thank you, LT. Ranger instructors, your lane assignments, Lieutenant Geiger lane three, Corporal Braden lane two, Ranger Daley lane one, and Ranger West lane four.

  “Trainees, keeping your rifles pointed in a safe direction, proceed to the range in an orderly fashion. Do not load your weapons until I direct you to do so! Let’s move.”

  As they walked to the range, Sean grabbed Jack’s arm. “What did the lieutenant mean about ‘zero’?”

  “He was talking about confirming your rifle’s point of aim, making sure you are sighted-in, so to speak. If you need to make adjustments, you do it then.” Jack replied.

  “How do I know if I’m sighted-in? I mean I know how to shoot my rifle, but sometimes I don’t know if I miss because of my sights or if it’s me.”

  Jack scowled, irritated with himself. “I wish this had come up a few days ago. We could have worked on this. I should have asked. Look, do your best and see if the Ranger on your lane can help you, and we’ll see if we can do something afterward.” Jack said.

  “Okay, Jack. This will be fun,” he replied with a sigh.

  “Too bad for you, Trahearn,” said a smirking Jason Marcus, “but don’t feel too sad, you’ll just be one in a big bunch of losers aft
er you see me out-shoot all of you.”

  “You’re pretty funny, Marcus,” replied Thomas Young, one of the other trainees. “Maybe you can shoot, maybe you can’t, but the best you’ll be doing today is second, behind me.”

  Most of the other trainees rolled their eyes or shook their heads at the verbal exchange.

  “We’ll see,” Jason said. “You’ve got a bolt action and I’ve got a Mini-14. Mine holds twenty bullets. While you’re burning time reloading, I’ll be busy shooting.”

  “Twenty or not, I’ll best you, and they’re called cartridges, dickhead,” Thomas responded.

  While Young and Marcus jested and taunted one another, Jack ambled over to Ralph Sikes who was trailing behind the group a short distance. “What kind of a rifle have you got there, a Mauser Ninety-eight?” Jack asked.

  “That’s right. My grandfather had it rebuilt into a three-oh-eight before the Calamity. My pa gave it to me after I had my arm took from me,” Ralph answered.

  “Very nice piece. How do you shoot without your left hand?” Jack asked.

  “See, I have this strap I loop over the barrel and forend that goes around my forearm. I started doing this when I was a kid. I do all right with it. I can get the strap off quickly if I need to. I leave the sling on it if I want to carry it over my shoulder.”

  “That’s smart,” replied Jack.

  “What kind of rifle do you have?”

  “It’s a Savage Model 110, chambered for the same cartridge as yours. It was my father’s, but he never much cared for it. I put the scope on it a couple of years ago. It has a long eye relief, so I mounted it out over the barrel, kind of like the Germans did with Ninety-eights like your rifle.”

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Ralph asked. “You know how to gunsmith?”