The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  As everyone resumed normal activities, Art put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Missed a golden opportunity there.”

  “What did I miss?”

  “There are people here that would pay you to go along. I thought you had better business sense than that.”

  Jack chuckled. “No business acumen, that’s why I became a Ranger.”

  Art patted him on the back. “Runs in the family, kiddo. Runs in the family.”

  . . . . .

  Jack spent the first part of the morning putting together a list of Rangers for the Blastlands mission. He was careful not to pull too many of the experienced Geneva Rangers, understanding there might be more incidents with raiders and knowledge of the local area would be important. He largely went young as Art suggested, choosing his classmates, Sean, Ralph, and Thomas first. Of Geneva’s veteran contingent, he selected Hal Daley, Mike Pitts, and David Stark, all three proven and solid Rangers. He knew he needed a commo and tech specialist, which fell to Jerry Michaels, and based on his performance and the recommendations of Barlo and Amanda, was one he felt comfortable with. The rest of his roster save for one he made up from Rangers he served with during the issue at Kings Town, Al Dunn, Jim Tanner, and the cousins Dando. He added Terry Manuel at the suggestion of Ralph. “He’s as quiet as Rangers come, but solid. He has some med and commo know-how as well. All that was left was approval by Captain Drake and the addition of a medic.

  Captain Drake had no objections to Jack’s choices. Lieutenant Geiger said he would see to notifying those selected.

  . . . . .

  Jack called Professor Limestone and one of his assistants told him the professor would call him back shortly. Jack waited by the phone, and fifteen minutes later was rewarded for his patience.

  “Jack Traipse?”

  “It’s me Professor.”

  “Good to speak with you again. This is Adelbert Limestone calling.”

  Jack smiled and shook his head. “I recognize your voice, Professor.”

  “As to your explosive problem….”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I am of the opinion this particular polymer bonded explosive, this PBX Nine-Four-Zero-Four, is still explosive. I looked into its composition, and therein hides the problem. It is the nitrocellulose binder that is decomposing. The result is embrittlement of the explosive charge. HMX made up ninety-four percent of PBX Nine-Four-Zero-Four. HMX was also called octogen because of its molecular structure, a ring consisting of eight members of alternating carbon and nitrogen atoms. Each nitrogen atom has an attached nitro group. This results in a high molecular weight, and therefore makes it quite a potent explosive. Very high-velocity.”

  Jack glared at the ceiling as Limestone spoke, hoping he would get to the point.

  Limestone continued. “The manufacturing process must be quite complicated. It must have been expensive, even prior to the Calamity. You might find this interesting. Nitration of hexamine in the presence of acetic anhydride, paraformaldehyde and ammonium nitrate. Hmm, such cost prohibitions would be limiting I should think. I must imagine it was used for very specialized applications.”

  “I’m sure. I’m thinking charges within devices like the W-Five-Six thermonuclear warhead.”

  “Possibly, but without—”

  “I mentioned it yesterday.”

  “Did you? Oh, so you did. Yes, then I was correct. That would be a specialist application.”

  Jack grimaced and grabbed his forehead with his left hand. “Back to the original question, is the PBX in the warhead still pressure sensitive?”

  “To one degree or another, it is certainly a possibility.”

  “Your answer is maybe?”

  “Not quite. A supposition. We cannot say definitively without extensive study and testing. We lack the means to replicate it. Even if we could, you lack the time for us to wait for the nitrocellulose binder to degrade. If you had a sample for examination, well, we might be able to—”

  “We don’t. An educated guess then?”

  “I don’t care for that term.”

  “Is it possible the PBX is no longer explosive?”

  “No. The octogen should still be usable for its intended purpose, however, with the nitrocellulose decomposition and embrittlement, it may be less insensitive than was in its original state.”

  Jack removed his glasses and placed them on the notepaper in front of him. “Thanks, Professor. I appreciate your time.”

  “Always welcome. Please visit when next in Heaven. I have several devices you might appreciate.”

  He leaned back in the chair and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll do that, Professor.” He hung up the phone and growled.

  “I take it he wasn’t helpful?” Amanda said as she walked by.

  “I don’t know how long I was on the phone, but it took that long to find out we know the explosive is likely still capable of exploding, and it might still be pressure sensitive.”

  “You can’t say you didn’t try. You’ll figure it out. Barlo has some info for you.”

  Jack walked to her office and looked in the doorway. “You have something for me?”

  “Sure do.” She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled out a manila folder. “Heaven sent this up last night via teletypewriter.” She pulled a few papers from the folder and passed them to Jack.

  On each page were line drawings, diagrams of various parts of the Minuteman II and its components.

  “If you need to demolish the vehicle, we thought those might help.”

  Jack looked through the pages. “No diagram of the warhead?”

  She opened the folder once again and flipped through pages. “Do you think you might need that?”

  “If we do need to demolish the thing, I would prefer to render the warhead unusable and not have a…,” he trailed off as he searched for data, “sixty foot, seventy-three thousand pound missile blow up in my face. If we used a small demo charge to set off the unstable explosives in the warhead, that ought to do the trick.”

  “It might at that. It might give the rads a new place to flock to as well.” She placed a diagram on her desk and tapped a spot. “That’s it right there, likely a charge to initiate the detonation of the warhead. Remember, the warhead is inside a reentry system, a nose cone, for lack of a better description. You might not need to target the PBX inside. If you could simply rupture the warhead, it would render it unusable to anyone with sense.”

  Jack copied much of the data to his own notes. He thanked Barlo and walked to the livery. He found Sean had his own mount and Jenny ready to go.

  “Let’s go see if Yuri took off with Anderson’s wife,” Sean said.

  . . . . .

  Anderson welcomed the two Rangers and brought them inside. “Yuri’s on the back porch working on a part for the radio. He keeps it up, we’ll be able to talk to anyone, anywhere. He’s drunk, but it’s not a problem. He waxes eloquent when he’s like that, so says the wife. I do believe all Yuri need do is ask and she’d leave with him.”

  “Why do you let him stay then?” Sean asked.

  “She’s a big girl. She makes her own decisions. If he does take off with her, I just hopes he finishes with the radio first.”

  The two Rangers laughed, not sure if Anderson was joking or not. They stepped onto the back porch and found Yuri winding a wire around his left hand, the last piece of gear to be placed in an open tool bag. On the table was a piece of communications equipment Jack could not identify.

  “Ah, Rangers Traipse and Trahearn. Sounds like law office. You come for Blastlands paper?”

  “That’s right.”

  He held up a single finger. “First thing. Remember that maps you use are far out of time. Much is no longer the same. Many roads are still there, places still there, but many are gone. Some are rubble, but many left no trace, just ink on map. You know this?”

  “Yes.”

  Yuri nodded. “There is much odd and dangerous in Blastlands. People think it is dead zone.” He
sneered and shook his head. “Is not, mostly. Twisted nature out there, strange things, bizarre things. Things that should not be. Things men should not place eyes on. Is worse than alien areas. There you know is alien and they don’t belong here. Blastlands is us, our doing, our world warped into unrecognizable reality.”

  “I keep hearing that kind of thing.”

  “Yet you still go. Bravery, stupidity, necessity? Perhaps all three. Every day people venture into Blastlands. Salvagers, scavengers, those with curiosity. Most are fools. Some make living from there. Gregori and I for two.” Yuri gave a hard-eyed smile.

  Jack knew the secrets of the Blastlands came at a hard cost to those that learned them. He had heard talk of it since childhood. It was as Dan Geiger had said, a great deal of such knowledge was not for sale or barter. Jack was trading for specific hazards, and anything else he got from Yuri was a bonus.

  Yuri went on. “Is place of monsters. They mostly come from center of Blastlands around old air base, the Devil’s Brew Pot some call it. A radioactive hell that spawns them and they fall from pot to plague us.” Yuri dug into a breast pocket and retrieved a precisely folded paper and handed it to Jack. “Here is all information Gregori and I can recall. It might be dated now, but perhaps not. Few but rads walk the Blastlands and most of them die or change into something else. It seems that little changes in the place.”

  Jack skimmed the paper, a single sheet with tiny, but uniform and exacting print. Details of hazards with map coordinates or descriptions of ways to locate them, a list of waterways and their dangers. One hazard that caught Jack’s eye was labeled BIG MUTANT BOWFIN.

  “Bowfin? That’s a fish. How big are we talking here?”

  “Three meters… ten feet, far bigger than non-mutated. The bowfin is strange enough creature without mutation. A dinosaur that survived when most other dinosaurs did not. A survivor of aliens and nuclear war. A survivor of Blastlands too. Survivors are dangerous. This fish has lungs, breathes like you or him or me from open air. They have teeth, sharp things. They will exit water to grab prey, like crocodile. Be careful near rivers and streams.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ve seen the bowfin. Caught them a few times. I don’t want to meet its mutated cousins.”

  “It may wish to meet you. As I said, Blastlands is twisted nature. Twisted nature for a twisted world where people in Deva State sell bowfin roe as Acadian Caviar. Perhaps is Acadian. Is not caviar,” he said emphatically. “We shall see if this sturgeon man you mentioned can create something passable.”

  “Mike’s Trout, a little east of Wetumka. That’s your place.”

  Yuri rolled his eyes and looked skyward. “Ah, trout. Seems somehow appropriate and not encouraging. Acadian Caviar man is also trout man. Always with the trout over there. Gregori enjoys trout in its many forms, but I grow weary of it. I agreed to tell you he says that you are asshole and that he wishes you safe travels.”

  Jack smiled. “I’ll take that as high praise. Thank him for me. I appreciate your help, Yuri.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Is nothing. Use caution, and do not risk your life for things that are worth less than what you hold dear.”

  Jack nodded and touched the bill of his cap. “I’ll try.”

  . . . . .

  Jack and Sean returned to the Ranger HQ and found many of the men selected for the mission were there. Captain Drake wished to go over some details of the mission and since Lew Braden had the trainees out on a land navigation course, asked Art to sit in.

  “I have an idea I wanted to float by you,” Drake said. “Have you considered using horses to get you to the edge of the Blastlands? It will save time and energy, both of which you might need. Sergeant Tucker has a long-range patrol planned, and they might go with you and lead the horses back.”

  “It’d save boot leather,” Hal Daley said.

  “Might make those of us that aren’t good riders saddle-sore too,” Thomas replied.

  “I have an idea right out of left field,” Art said.

  Everyone looked to him.

  “Flour Power.”

  He received confused looks from everyone in the room, which was Art’s intention.

  “Noah McCarty has his latest truck project up and running. Was a delivery truck for a bakery company back in the Twentieth. He calls it Flour Power. Converted into a flatbed, runs on LP, wound hemp tires, mufflered, the works. He wants to take it for a long distance run. Won’t short anyone around here a vehicle, and we won’t need quite as many Rangers and horses out that far so the remainder can stay on raider watch. Worst case, a handful of Rangers will have to sneak back if the truck goes down.”

  “He have the range to go there and back?” Dan said.

  “Wouldn’t have suggested it if he didn’t. Haul an extra tank on a trailer is all it takes.”

  Captain Drake nodded. “Good idea. What do you think, Jack?”

  “McCarty’s a fine mech. I assume you talked to him about this, Art?”

  “Wouldn’t have suggested it if I hadn’t. If Tuck’s out with a patrol, maybe he could take a wagon with an LP tank on it just in case.”

  Jack nodded. “A truck ride is probably easier than going by horse. The roads over to Old Drexel are decent. Let’s make like baked goods and go by truck then.”

  “And protect Thomas’ dough-like, non-horse riding posterior,” Hal said.

  “Good,” Drake said. “About your medic, we have two who can be here tomorrow, so you’ll have to pick one. Rangers Paul Coleman and Beth Cooper are your choices. Both are willing to go. Before you ask, neither one has Lewis’ expertise with med equipment. Jennifer is staying here.”

  “I don’t know Coleman. Cooper crossed the Washita when we went after Crow. I’d lean toward her.” Jack looked around the room. “Anyone else have something to add?”

  “Cooper,” Hal Daley said.

  “Agree,” Tanner said with a nod, “Paul can be difficult sometimes.”

  “I was on Sergeant Norman’s team with Beth,” Thomas said. “She was nails.”

  Jack looked at Art.

  “Paul’s solid, Jack, but you’ll have to keep him on a short tether when your attention would be better put to running a whole team. Beth’s the better choice.”

  Jack nodded and looked to Captain Drake. “You heard it, sir.”

  Dan Geiger stood. “I’ll make the call, Ed.” He walked to his office.

  Drake nodded. “What about the breakdown of personnel within your unit, Jack?”

  Jack looked at his notes. “Three teams, Hal leads one with Dunn, Manuel, Tanner, and now Beth Cooper. David Stark leads another with Michaels, and the Dandos. Mike Pitts leads the other team with Ralph, Sean, and Thomas.”

  “You’re not taking a team?”

  Jack shook his head. “I run the unit. Let the team leaders run the teams. We’ll adjust as needed.”

  . . . . .

  The following morning saw the unit gathered together. At Art and Ed Drake’s suggestion, the morning was spent letting the men get to know one another.

  After lunch, Jack began an overview of the mission with help from Dan Geiger. During a break, the number of Rangers on the team came up.

  “Thirteen, that’s what we have,” David Stark said. “Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

  “Only if you believe in that kind of thing,” Mike Pitts said.

  “Ranger Cooper should be here this afternoon,” Dan said. “Then it’ll be fourteen.”

  “What’s she like, this good luck medic we’re getting?” Stark said. “I’ve never met her.”

  “She was built for the roller derby. Low, wide, and fast,” Art said. “And she has a mean streak. Lucky for us the days of such entertainment are gone and she’s a Ranger instead. One of the best round kicks in the Rangers, so don’t tick her off. And don’t ever ask her to sing. You’d suffer less if she kicked you. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  “Art Sierra. Still got the biggest mouth in the Rangers I see,” said a voic
e from the entrance.

  Everyone looked to the doorway and saw it was Ranger Beth Cooper. She dropped her gear on the floor.

  “I forgot to mention extraordinary hearing.” Art stood and faced her. “And you’re still sneaky and ill-mannered.”

  Both of them started laughing as Beth walked across the briefing room.

  “I haven’t seen you in forever, Art Sierra. Be it known to all present,” she said loudly, “I still have a crush on this man.”

  Art laughed again. “Join the club and get in line.”

  “The line starts right here you bastard.” She hugged him. “Say, what the hell is that crap about my singing?”

  “You staying on when this is done, Beth?” Hal Daley said, saving Art from answering.

  “No. I just left Mead two days ago for Hell. Got the call to come up here yesterday. We get through with this Blastlands thing, I’m going back and staying for awhile. Hell is where my heart is. Besides, you have Jennifer. Hell needs good medics too.” She looked at the map, and then smiled at Jack. “I just had to see what kind of trouble you’ll get us in and out of, Sergeant. Get me up to speed on this little adventure.”

  . . . . .

  With Cooper’s arrival, the team going into the Blastlands was complete and they could begin preparations in earnest.

  When they took a break later in the day, Beth approached Jack. “Thanks for picking me. I’m honored.”

  “I didn’t pick you, actually,” Jack said with a smile. “Damned near every guy in the room spoke favorably of you when the subject came up. You won the popular vote in a landslide. It was an easy decision.”

  Initially taken aback by Jack’s comment, she quickly recovered. “It’s my sparkling personality. Sergeant Norman sends his regards. Said he was a little concerned about you.”

  “He has good cause.”

  Beth gave a disapproving look in response to Jack’s deflection. “Ed Norman told me he was worried you might be beating yourself up about those we lost that night over the Washita.”

  “I’m through with the beating, but I’m still feeling the lumps.”