The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  They followed roads that took them north and angled east in certain parts, stopping at Old Freeman. They moved slowly and cautiously, knowing they were in the area where TGG teams were traveling. They decided to follow an old highway west to Louisburg, a place with some residents and a traveler’s camp. The people there were wary and standoffish.

  Jack and Sean looked at their map and plotted a route back to the Freelands before setting up their sparse camp. They knew they would be spending one more night after this out on the trail before they would reach the Freelands. Their scout along the Blastlands went longer than originally planned.

  . . . . .

  12

  When Raiders Call

  . . . . .

  The Rangers left the camp at Louisburg and went southwest. Later, they cut south so they would clear Lane well to their west. They rode into the dark at the end of an uneventful day and made a cold camp south of Old Greeley, rising early the next morning eager to make the push for home.

  They took an old highway south, following it as it meandered southwest, and skirted the edge of Old Garnett, long considered the next major location in the north ready for settlement by Freelanders, but that was still some distance in the future.

  By late morning the Ranger pair neared some of the outlying homesteads northeast of Geneva. They powered up the TROG, switching to 27.065 megahertz, the citizens band channel used for most Ranger broadcasts. They were surprised to hear radio traffic so far out, but quickly learned it wasn’t Rangers.

  “—at least a dozen of them. Red kerchiefs, so I’m sure they’re Cornhusks,” said someone within broadcast range. There was a pause.

  “Will do, if we can hold out that long. Looks like their getting smart and trying to maneuver around to come at us from two sides.”

  “So much for Ellison’s agreement to stay clear,” Jack said.

  “I’ll see if I can reach them,” Sean said. He keyed the mic. “Station under attack by Cornhusks, this is Ranger Sean Trahearn. We are a patrol in your broadcast range. Can you read me?”

  “Yes, this is the Kaplan homestead north of Geneva on Indian Creek. We have raider troubles.”

  “We’re five miles away,” Jack said. “We’re—”

  “We’re going, I know,” Sean said with a smile. He keyed the mic. “Our patrol is en route. Are you in contact with the Rangers in Geneva?”

  “Yes. They are sending a force.” Gunfire, both near and far, popped in the background of the transmission.

  “We are out of range of Geneva. Relay to them we are coming to your location and we’ll talk to the patrol coming from there when in range. Copy?”

  “Got it. Will do.”

  “Keep your heads down and we’ll call you when we’re near.”

  “Thanks, and hurry!”

  The pair took off at a gallop, their mounts eating up the distance as if they understood the imperative nature of the trip. They crossed a narrow bridge over a large creek and took the next road north. They slowed less than a quarter mile to the southeast of the homestead and moved in closer, stopping in a low spot. Sporadic small arms fire popped ahead. Jack stood in the stirrups and used his binoculars to view over the tall grass between himself and the Kaplan place.

  “Kaplan homestead, this is Ranger Trahearn. We are a quarter mile away. What’s your situation?”

  Several seconds passed without a response, then just as Sean was about to try again, the same voice as before came over the speakers, “We got raiders closing on us from the west, while another group to the north across the lake are making things miserable for us.”

  Jack listened as he scanned the Kaplan homestead. Their stone house was partially obscured by their barn and outbuildings located south of there. Jack grimaced. A quartet of raiders moved toward the house using the buildings as a screen. They probably have the house between themselves and their friends to the north too, Jack thought.

  “They have raiders coming from the south as well. Tell them not to fire in that direction, we’ll deal with them,” he said as he pulled his Savage bolt-action from its sheath at the side of his saddle.

  Sean did as Jack asked and then draped the strap of the TROG over his neck and shoulder. He plugged an earpiece into the TROG, shutting off the external speakers.

  “I can’t hit them from the ground,” Jack said. “We’re too low. We’ll have to close with them.”

  Sean looked to the homestead. “No time. They’ll be near the house before we get there. I’ll get their attention, you swat’em. I just hope you shoot that thing under pressure as well as Art says you do. You can hit’em from here.”

  “Yes, but I’d rather not—”

  “Command decision.” Sean spurred his horse and rode west unslinging his AKM as he went, the spare horse trailing, still tethered to Sean’s mount. “Don’t let me down, pal,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  Jack cursed Sean and turned Jenny a little to the right. He turned to his left cocking his legs in the stirrups to create a small amount of tension. He’d practiced the old cavalry technique using his Kalashnikov while saddled on Jenny, but never his .308 rifle and never when shooting with a scope.

  A glance as he brought his rifle to his shoulder showed him Sean’s intentions. He was going to draw their fire and, hopefully, stop their advance on the Kaplan’s house. And not get killed in the process, Jack thought. Hopefully.

  Sean’s AKM barked several times in rapid fashion. He fired into the air, his only goal to gain the raiders’ attention. It worked. All four men stopped and turned, bringing their weapons around to deal with this new threat.

  Jack could feel Jenny’s gallop induced heavy breathing and heartbeat as she stood calmly, his own heart’s pulsing as well. He watched the reticle dance as he arrested his breathing, everything—range, setting, targets, background, environment, Jenny, his own breathing, heartbeat, sight picture—settling into one act. The trigger broke cleanly at his pull, pounding the stock into his shoulder in recoil as the bullet sped toward its destination. Jack knew the shot was good, the bullet going precisely where he intended. Barring something highly improbable, the raider was a dead man. Jack’s right hand flew to the bolt handle, throwing it up and back, smoking brass flying as he slammed the bolt closed and down, returning his hand to the grip, finger lightly hooking the trigger once more. He acquired the next target, another raider firing at his friend Sean, unaware of his comrade’s fate. Jack fired again, cycled the bolt, acquired a target, fired again, cycled the bolt, and found nothing but four dead men near the outbuildings behind the Kaplan’s house. Sean dropped one.

  He looked over the top of the scope and saw Sean signaling him to close. He waved at his friend and patted Jenny on the neck before he snatched the reins. “You did good, girl,” he said. Still holding his rifle, he and Jenny took off for Sean’s location.

  They slid to a stop next to Sean and his mount. “Nice work, buddy.” Jack scowled and pointed a finger at his friend. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.” Shots still rattled sporadically from the area around the house.

  “I will when you follow your own advice… show-off.” He shook his head. “One, two, three, from the back of a horse. Art wasn’t joking. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank whoever wrote the part in War Department Document Number Six-Two-Zero-dash-One about Position and Aiming Drills, Mounted at the Halt.”

  “I will. Who was it?”

  Jack laughed. “No idea. It was written in Nineteen-seventeen. You might soon meet him if you don’t stop charging into the fray.”

  “I’ll do that. You had better do the same. Kaplan said they have a missing daughter. They think she went to the barn to check on an animal, but they aren’t getting any answers when they yell and there’s too much lead in the air to go out there now.”

  “How many and how close are the raiders to the west?”

  “More than a dozen and less than a hundred yards out. The raiders to the north are still there.”

&nbs
p; Jack nodded. “A hundred yards. That’s too damned close. Any word on the other Rangers?”

  “Kaplan said they were on the way. Nothing on the radio from them yet.”

  “We can’t wait. Let’s see if we can get on their flank. Tell the folks in the house we’ll be to their left, so they should—”

  “I got it. You lead, I’ll follow and talk on the radio.”

  Jack laughed. “Maybe you ought to be the one with sergeant’s stripes. Let’s go.”

  Jack moved into tall grass. To his left was a gentle slope with a copse of trees at the summit. He slowed and pointed. A glance back revealed Sean’s hand signal of acknowledgement.

  They moved quickly, shifting to a crouch as they neared the top. A tap on Jack’s leg stopped him and he looked at Sean.

  “Mr. Kaplan’s wounded,” he said quietly. “His oldest daughter is on the radio now.”

  Jack nodded. “She’s not the one who was missing?”

  “I asked the same thing. No such luck. The missing girl is seven. Name’s Ursula.”

  Jack nodded again and crawled to the top of the rise. He looked over, placing his bolt rifle on the ground beside him. They were twenty feet higher than the rolling ground in front of them. If the raiders had any sense, they should have placed some men up here, he thought.

  A ditch crossed the field in front of the house and the raiders were using it as an entrenched position to fire at the Kaplans. Jack and Sean were not absolutely perpendicular to the run of the ditch, but it was close enough. He smiled grimly and brought his Kalashnikov to his shoulder. Another tap, this time on his shoulder stopped him from firing.

  “Sergeant Tucker and three others are coming from the southwest. Two minutes.”

  “Tell them where we are and have them come up from our left. The high ground here will shield their approach and they don’t have to worry about fire from the house hitting them.”

  “On it.”

  Jack pulled the butt into his shoulder and waited for Sean. The nearest raiders were seventy-five yards away, with more strung down the ditch another thirty yards farther. Two hundred and fifty yards away to the north-northeast was a group of raiders on the north side of the house. The ground behind and leading up to the ditch was littered with five dead raiders, evidence the family Kaplan were far from helpless.

  “Ready when you are, Jack. Tucker’s team will squawk when they get close.”

  Sean pulled the earpiece plug from the TROG. Noise from the speakers would pale in comparison to a pair of rifles barking, and once they did, noise discipline was no longer necessary.

  Jack aimed at the farthest raider in the trench, waiting for him to stick his head up to take a shot at the house. A blond head came up and settled onto the plastic stock of an M16A1. Jack fired and the head and rifle disappeared from sight once again.

  Sean’s rifle sang in a slow and even tempo. A scream sounded from the trench. It didn’t take long before the raiders in the ditch realized they were in trouble. The two Rangers firing at them became the focus of their concern, the people in the stone house forgotten for now.

  Soon enough the raiders to the north of the house shifted their fire to the high ground where the Ranger pair worked. Raider rounds chewed at the dirt and trees near them.

  “Shift your position every few shots,” Jack yelled over the din.

  “Got it.”

  The two Rangers fired and moved, time and again. From Jack’s left came more fire, startling him. He looked left and saw Will Dando racing toward him up the rise, behind him three other Rangers threw lead at the raiders.

  “Been calling you, but got no answer,” Will said as he drew close. “The Kaplans said you were still working the raiders over, so we figured you were just too busy to talk.”

  “I never heard a thing, sorry. Welcome to the party, Will.”

  “Thanks for leaving some, Jack,” he replied as he brought up his rifle.

  Raider fire dueled with Ranger and Homesteader fire as the fight grew in noise and intensity, but as often was the case, increased fire did not result in a greater rate of casualties and few were hit on either side. It became clear the raiders were at a disadvantage. Jack slid down the backside of the hill until he was completely out of the line of fire. He shook Sean’s ankle and gave a ‘follow me’ gesture. The pair slid right until they were in perfect position to put true enfilading fire on the ditch. They fired several shots before the raiders realized their position was untenable. Those farthest away ran north, hoping to make it to the lake and take cover behind the banks of soil that held the water in place, and then follow their compatriots to the north of the house down the creek bed that meandered from that direction. Those closest to the Rangers threw their weapons away and held up their hands. The fight was over.

  “Jack,” Sergeant Tucker shouted from the left.

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep Will with your team and secure the homestead. The rest of us will see if we can give the rest of them a kick in the pants on the way out.”

  “All right, but they have a head start.”

  Tucker laughed. “They have no horses. We passed them on the way in. They’re going the wrong way if that’s what they had in mind.”

  Jack smiled. “Good luck.”

  The three Rangers spread out and moved down the hill toward the ditch. There were three survivors, all of them wounded. They were quickly disarmed and bound.

  Jack looked at Will. “Can you watch these guys?”

  He nodded.

  “We’ll sweep the outbuildings and the barn.”

  Sean ran up the hill and retrieved the TROG and Jack’s other rifle. To the south, they saw Tucker, Stan Dando, and Lew Braden ride east for the north-south route in pursuit of the raiders.

  Will grumbled. “Stan always gets the fun jobs.”

  “If he gets killed you’ll be glad you stayed here,” Sean said. “Besides, the eldest Kaplan daughter sounded like a nice girl over the radio.”

  Will laughed and pointed at Sean. “That she did. I like the way you think, sir.”

  Jack and Sean moved to the outbuildings. Other than bullet holes, they were secure. Jack signaled Sean to lead, and the pair moved down the side of the barn toward a side door. They could see the area to the east of the house. It was clear.

  As they neared the door, the fierce voice of a young girl sang out. “You come in here and I’ll gut you.”

  “We’re Rangers, Ursula.” Sean said. “Your folks told us about you over the radio.”

  “We’ll see about that. Stay there.” There was the sound of movement inside. “Step back, away from the barn.”

  Jack and Sean looked at one another and then the barn. Jack shrugged and gestured over his shoulder. The pair walked away a few steps.

  “Let me see your stars.”

  The two Rangers turned toward the source of the girl’s voice.

  “I see’em. Come to the door. I’ll unlock it.”

  Sean smiled. “Yes ma’am.”

  The barn swung open a short way and a blonde girl with a tear-streaked and dirty face looked out at them. “You better be Rangers.”

  “We are,” Sean said. “Why are you out here in the barn alone?”

  “I’m not. We got livestock out here, but I was looking out for Lucy. Everyone’s okay. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Jack smiled, and then looked at Sean, gesturing toward the farmhouse. “Go ahead. I’ll give them the all clear and let them know the girl is all right.”

  Sean held up the mic attached to the TROG. “I’ll tell them you’re coming around. No point getting shot at this stage of the game.”

  The girl pushed the door open and Sean followed her inside. She carried a short-bladed hunting knife in her hand.

  Jack walked to the front of the house and waved to Will that all was well. From top to bottom, the stone walls were chipped and pocked from bullet hits, but no small arms fire was capable of penetrating such defenses. The glass in the windows was a differ
ent matter and was nearly gone, shot out and shattered. Jack cringed to think what the inside of the house might be like. The front door swung inward and a large bearded man stepped out onto the open porch, looking back over his shoulder and hobbling on a leg wrapped in a bloody bandage. He shouted at someone inside the house. “I’ll be good and damned if I’ll not check my own land for pests. Rangers or no, it’s not their place.”

  He turned and saw Jack standing just a few steps away. He smiled. “Not that I’m ungrateful mind you.”

  Jack smiled as well. “This place is yours. We’re just here to help.” He pointed at the man’s wounded leg. “You might take a horse to check things over. Wouldn’t do to make that worse with all the work you must have to get things back in order. Your daughter and animals are in the barn and fine by the way.”

  A woman Kaplan’s age pushed past him and ran to the barn.

  Kaplan canted his head. “Heard over the radio. Headstrong thing, that girl. Takes after her mother. All Kaplan women share that trait it seems.” He looked at his leg, then at Jack. “You have a point about the horse.” He looked over Jack’s shoulder and saw the carnage in the field. Weapons and dead raiders littered the ground. Shots came from the north as Will led the three prisoners toward the house.

  Jack looked at the front door. “Anyone else hurt?”

  “Just a few nicks and scratches… and the house. Thank my wife for insisting we build in stone.” He looked at the broken windows. “I don’t think the bastards missed a single window. Not a damned solitary one.”

  He kicked some glass off the porch and winced in pain as Will halted the prisoners nearby.

  “How many damned raiders were there?” Kaplan snarled. “What did I ever do to warrant this?”

  The rest of Kaplan’s family stepped out onto the porch. A tall buxom daughter, three strapping teenaged sons, a girl in her early teens, and a boy of perhaps ten years of age, each golden-haired like their mother and younger sister.

  “I count fourteen dead out there,” Will said. “These guys say there were about thirty of them in total.”