The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  McCaffrey’s voice came over the speakers on the TROG that was set against the parapet wall in Demon Station.

  Cal Grant set his rifle next to his short-barreled pump action shotgun leaning against the wall beside the TROG and knelt next to the radio as he picked up the microphone and listened.

  “This is Sergeant McCaffrey,” the speakers blared, McCaffrey’s voice ragged and uneven as he ran. “We are returning to the settlement on the run, with two ogres pursuing us. We are staying in the trees and pulling some distance on them, but they will gain on us fast when we hit clear ground. Have everyone there ready to fight, we’ll be there soon.”

  “Sergeant, this is Ranger Grant. Will do. Contact us when you are exiting the trees so some trigger-happy idiot doesn’t shoot at you.”

  “Will do, Cal. It’ll be a few minutes. Just for the record, I’m too damn old for this running in the woods shit.”

  Jack ran down the walkway and made everyone aware of the situation. As he made his way back to Cal’s location, Ranger Grant waved his arm and yelled, “Watch your fire! The patrol is coming in!”

  Jack set his AKM rifle beside Cal’s shotgun and pulled his bolt action rifle from his back, where he had it cross slung. He removed the cover from the scope and braced his rifle on top of the wall and watched the trees behind the patrol running toward the gate located to Jack’s right.

  When the running patrol reached the halfway point between the wall and the tree line, Jack saw the first ogre exiting the trees behind them.

  “Shoot at its legs, maybe we can slow it up!” Cal yelled.

  Jack began firing at the ogre’s right knee. As he did so, dozens of rifles began firing from the top of Demon Station’s wall. Moments later an M60 machine gun added to the fire pouring from the wall toward the ogre.

  Jack could see the ogre slowing and limping on its right leg, and knew he was making hits. The ogre was less than two hundred yards away, so Jack quickly swapped his Savage for his AKM and resumed fire. The ogre fell, then scrambled up again. The patrol was at the gate and through, a tear-streaked militiamen from the group cried out, “We lost Paul Smith! He fell and that damned ogre was on him and smashed him. It sat astride him and smashed him with its fists, blood went everywhere.”

  Jack looked from the first ogre—who was seventy-five yards out and starting to fall apart from many hundreds of bullet hits—and saw the second ogre, still bloody and dripping from killing Paul Smith, closing fast from two hundred yards away.

  “Get that gate closed, now!” he yelled. The first ogre was down and seemed to be out of the fight.

  Jack aimed at the upper torso of the remaining ogre, hoping he could find a weak spot or the location of the creature’s brain. From his left, Jack heard the machine gun go silent. “Out of ammo! I’m out of ammo!” the gunner yelled in a panicked voice.

  The ogre was charging straight at Cal’s position twenty feet to Jack’s right. Jack fired as fast as he could pull the trigger, trying to put as many rounds into the upper part of the ogre as he could.

  The alien monster struck the wooden wall with a splintering crash, throwing Cal off the walkway as the structure collapsed and fell apart from the impact. The ogre rebounded off the wall and fell on its back, then quickly began to rise.

  The wall-walk Jack stood upon began to crack, then suddenly gave way as more of the wall collapsed where the ogre had done so much damage. Jack found himself sliding down the steeply tilted surface into the rubble, something hard and metal striking him in the back of the head when he hit the bottom, stunning him momentarily.

  The ogre was on its feet again and resumed its assault into Demon Station, smashing lumber with its arms as it slowly made its way over the jagged remnants of the broken wall. Jack lie directly in the path of the monster, tangled in a pit of wooden wreckage. Jack’s legs were pinned under the rubble, his right hip on the ground. His rifle was nowhere to be seen.

  Bullets from the defender’s weapons began striking very near him, showering him with splinters. Fuck me running! he thought, as he unsuccessfully tried to reach the pistol on his right hip. He looked desperately, seeking cover, or an escape route, but found neither.

  The ogre was on top of the rubble by now and came down with its right foot just inches from Jack. Do something, idiot! Jack thought. He tried desperately to pull himself up the steeply canted walkway, blindly seeking a handhold to drag himself away from the ogre as a hail of bullets crisscrossed just above him striking the ogre and the rubble. Even if you do pull yourself out, you’ll end up full of lead. Just then, Jack grasped something solid. He pulled at it, but it gave way. It was Cal’s twelve gauge!

  Fuck it! I’m going down shooting, Jack thought. He pushed the safety off as he shouldered the scattergun and fired into the ogre’s crotch, which was almost directly above him, droplets of Paul Smith’s blood splattering from the alien and falling onto him. He racked the slide back violently, then forward, ejecting the just-fired shotgun shell and chambering a live round. He fired again, racked the slide, fired again, racked the slide, and then felt the firing pin strike forward into an empty chamber when he pulled the trigger. He racked the slide to the rear and looked into the shotgun and could see it was empty.

  The ogre swayed forward for a moment above him, then staggered rearward and fell into the shambles of the wrecked wall, lumber pieces flying. The ogre did not move. The firing eased off slowly, militia members and Rangers yelling, “Cease fire. Cease fire.”

  Finally the shooting stopped. The men and women who fought off the ogres stood silently looking at the shattered wall, the motionless ogre, and the half-buried inert form of Ranger Grant curled on the ground.

  “Are you finished?” an angry voice yelled from the wreckage. Rangers and militia members looked at one another incredulously.

  “My sentiments exactly!” Cal Grant said loudly as he rolled onto his back, cradling his right arm. “Is that you, Jack?”

  “What’s left of me,” Jack snarled. “I know you folks have been through a lot, but if it’s all the same to you I’d really like to get out of this damned wreckage!”

  The people nearest Jack and Cal rushed to pull rubble from the Rangers and helped them to their feet, leading them to a nearby storage box to sit.

  While they were checked for injuries and provided canteens of water to drink, a crowd gathered near the dead ogre in the wreckage of the wall.

  “That thing went down hard, but we got it,” said a militiaman.

  “Like hell. Jack killed it. With my shotgun,” Cal Grant said loudly. “I was right there and saw it. I was trapped there waiting for that thing to smash me flat when I see the muzzle of my shotgun come up out of that pile of wood. Three rounds of double-aught right in the crotch. I think you found the sweet spot, Jack.”

  “The ogre must be a male, since its brains are in its crotch,” A militiawoman said, which caused much laughter.

  “How did you know where to shoot him, Ranger?” asked someone in the crowd.

  “That took serious guts to let him get that close to you!” someone else said.

  “With all the lead you folks were slinging around and that thing standing over me while I was jammed in the wreckage, I was stuck. The only thing I could fire at was the ogre’s legs or crotch. It wasn’t bravery or knowledge that led me to shoot at its crotch, I guess it was desperation and luck,” Jack replied.

  “So then, you really only did it to get us to stop shooting at you?” Sergeant McCaffrey joked.

  Jack smirked and shook his head, then leaned forward with his head between his knees and emptied his canteen over the back of his head.

  While the people of Demon Station cleared the pieces of the broken wall and dead ogres that remained from the fight, Jack learned from the medics that he had nothing more serious than some minor cuts, bruises, and scrapes. Cal was not so lucky. His right arm was broken and he had a laceration on his back that needed stitching.

  Jack’s rifles were pulled from the debris a
nd returned to him. His AKM was scratched and dinged a bit, but was still totally serviceable. His Savage 110 was in similar condition, except for the scope, which was damaged beyond repair.

  Sergeant McCaffrey talked with Jack later in the day, and told him the Ranger Center in Heaven wanted someone to come in personally and give them a brief on the ogre.

  “I figure you’re the guy for the job, Jack. You’ve been closer to a live ogre than any Ranger I know of. I called Dan Geiger and told him what happened, and asked him if he could spare you for a few days so you could go down to Heaven. He said he was fine with it, if it was okay with you.”

  I owe you one LT. “Yeah, I’m okay with it, Sergeant,” Jack said with a bit of a smile.

  “You might see about getting that scope replaced in Heaven while you’re there. You can probably get reimbursed for the damage. I’ll file a report about it. The Ranger Center will get around to it in three or four years, maybe. I’ll call them and let’em know you’re coming.”

  . . . . .

  Chapter 6

  A Gathering of Crows

  Jack arrived in Heaven late the following day. He checked in with the Ranger Center and they told him to come back in the morning to talk about the ogre. Jack asked about Jennifer and discovered she was on her way to Mead Ranger Base, the nerve center for the Ranger operations near Kings Town.

  “You missed her by a day,” they said.

  Jack closed his eyes briefly and mentally cursed.

  Jack decided to call Geneva and the Ranger at the desk directed him to a phone on the other side of the room. As he walked to the phone, he quietly grumbled to himself about his timing.

  Amanda was in the Ranger post in Geneva and answered his call.

  “Hi, Jack. We heard about the ogre. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I need a new scope for my rifle, but I’m still in one piece. Did Jennifer leave a message?” he said, sounding mildly irritated.

  “That was going to be my next subject.”

  “I’m sorry if I sounded terse, it’s not your fault.”

  “It’s okay, Jack. If I were you I’d be shrieking my head off. Not you though, you keep it all tightly wound up inside. That’s why you get yourself into situations where you stick a shotgun up a giant alien’s ass and pull the trigger. That’s your pressure valve I think, killing aliens.” She sounded happy.

  “Is that the tale that’s getting told? That’s not quite true, I’ll tell you the whole thing when I get back. What did Jennifer say?”

  “She called yesterday, a little before lunch time and said there was an operation kicking off down south and they needed every medic they could get.”

  “That was about the same time I was getting my ass kicked by an ogre.”

  “You and Jen are kind of star-crossed, aren’t you?”

  “Is this supposed to cheer me up?”

  “You are in a foul mood, Jack. You are supposed to say, ‘we are not star-crossed.’ Then I would tell you that you’re right, you’re made for each other. Kidding aside, it’ll be okay, old friend.”

  “Okay, I get it now. How did I not see that?” he said sarcastically. “Thanks, Amanda. I have to talk with someone about the ogre tomorrow, and I ought to be back up the day after that.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell the LT. You keep your chin up, Jack. It’ll be fine, really.”

  Jack left the Ranger Center, headed for Pinpoint Guns, a gun store owned and operated by Luke Morris, a protégé of Gunther Salas and a friend of Jack’s.

  Jack showed Luke his destroyed scope, hoping he could find a replacement for it. Luke informed him that he didn’t have any extended eye relief scopes, but he could provide him with a conventionally mounted scope, one that mounted over the receiver.

  “I have this German built scope that nobody around here wants to buy. It’s a six power scope with an etched post reticle. It’s got etched hold over and drift marks also. I guess it’s just a little too unconventional for these parts. I’ll let you have it for cheap.”

  “If you can have it ready tomorrow then we got a deal,” Jack replied.

  . . . . .

  Jack showed up at the Ranger Center early the next morning to brief some Ranger intelligence specialists about the ogre. By mid afternoon, he had provided every bit of information he had, and finished working with an artist drawing a depiction of the monster.

  His mission accomplished, Jack returned to see if Luke Morris had his rifle ready. He did, and Jack smiled when he saw that Luke’s labors were of the highest quality and gladly paid for the work.

  “I bore-sighted her. You ought to be on at 300 yards,” Luke said.

  “Not with these, Luke,” Jack said pointing at his glasses.

  Luke grinned. “Okay, pal. I got something for you. There’s a range a mile and a half north. Here’s a box of ammo. Match grade handloads, mine. Better than any of that shit you put together. You get up there and back in less than an hour with your rifle sighted in, you keep whatever is left in the box. If you’re late you buy’em. You can even take my wagon,”

  Jack smiled. “I can tell you’re bored, Luke. Challenge accepted.”

  Fifty-four minutes after he departed, Jack was walking through the door of Luke’s shop.

  “Let’s see it,” Luke said with a disgusted grin.

  “There you go,” Jack said as he unfolded a paper target and slid it across the counter to Luke.

  “This at three hundred?”

  “Three hundred yards,” Jack replied.

  The target had four holes in it. One hole an inch high and three inches to the left of the bulls-eye, and three in a neat two inch triangle surrounding the center.

  Luke shook his head. “You sure ain’t lost your touch. Keep the ammo, Jack. I’ll keep the target and use it to advertize my ammo.”

  Jack settled in to spend the rest of the afternoon talking about shooting and updating Luke on events in Geneva.

  As they talked, they noticed a commotion in the street outside.

  “Something’s going on. Let’s see what’s up,” Luke commented as he rounded the counter heading for the door, Jack following.

  Luke waved at a teenager wearing an apron on the sidewalk across the street standing in front of a restaurant and shouted, “Kyle, what’s going on?”

  “I dunno for sure, but they’re calling for every Ranger in town. I think they said something happened out by Kings Town,” the young man replied.

  “I better get back to the Ranger Center then,” Jack said. “Thanks for this,” he said, holding up his rifle as he headed down the sidewalk.

  “You watch yourself, old buddy,” Luke yelled after him.

  Arriving at the Ranger Center, he joined a group of Rangers at the watch desk to get information about the situation and discovered they were gathering all available Rangers to send to Mead Ranger Base near Kings Town.

  “Look, I’ll tell you what we’ve heard,” the Ranger at the watch desk said to the group. “The Rangers out at Mead Ranger Base mounted a large operation this morning, and things went bad. None of this is confirmed, but it sounds like ten or twelve Rangers dead and dozens more wounded. It seems they have been able to pull back to Mead. Most of the wounded were sent to the hospital in Durant east of there. We don’t know much more.”

  “You got any names of the wounded or dead?” asked one of the Rangers.

  “Not yet. I’m sorry. The closest thing to any kind of details we got is that a sergeant and two medics were among the dead, one of the medics was a woman.”

  “Do you know how many female medics were at Mead?” Jack asked.

  “I told you, that’s all the info we got. There are medicos in Durant, Mead, and out in the field with Rangers, so I don’t know what to tell you. There ain’t that many female medics, so maybe that narrows things down. That ain’t much help, I know,” the watch Ranger said.

  No shit. “Thanks anyway,” Jack replied.

  Jack made his way to the phone he used the previous day and calle
d the Geneva Ranger Post hoping there might be a small chance they had more information. Amanda answered, and as Jack suspected, there was no new information.

  “I’ll try and find out who is down there, Jack,” Amanda said. “I doubt I’ll get very far though. I imagine they are burning up the phone lines if things went as bad as you say.”

  “I know. We are supposed to leave later this afternoon and be in Mead by early evening. I suppose I’ll know then,” Jack replied.

  “What are you going to do, Jack... if it’s her? It’s something you need to be prepared to deal with.”

  “I know, but until I learn the truth I can only guess what my response might be.”

  “And your best guess is?”

  “I quit the Rangers and hunt Cuervos until I kill them all or they kill me,” he said coldly.

  “I was afraid you’d say something like that. I am praying that Jen is alive and well, for your sake as much as for hers.”

  “Thanks, Amanda.”

  . . . . .

  A short time later, every available Ranger in Heaven was standing ready, gear and weapons in hand, to board the train, a special, that would take them to Mead Ranger Base. The train would be making stops along the route to pick up other Rangers, especially in the large towns of Hell and Hugo.

  As Jack was preparing to board, the watch desk Ranger ran onto the boarding platform and shouted, “I’m looking for Ranger Traipse. I have a message.”

  Jack signaled the man, who handed him an envelope. “This came in just a little while ago. Maybe it’s important.”

  Jack thanked the Ranger. “Maybe Amanda found something,” he muttered as he boarded the train.

  As the train got underway, Jack opened the envelope and read the message inside:

  Jack,

  I have important news about Hardin. I must see you personally. Get your tail down here as soon as you can. I know, easier said than done.

  Gordon.

  Forwarded via Ranger Barbara Louis, Mead Ranger Base.