The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  “There’s something,” he said.

  Jack signaled another halt and crossed to Sean’s position. In front of one sagging, but still serviceable building was large metal representation of the radiation warning trefoil atop a ten foot high pole. Another hung from the face of the building near the entry. Faces appeared at windows only to disappear seconds later.

  “Is that a church of some sort?” Sean said.

  “That’d be my guess. Let’s give the place a wide berth,” Jack said. He looked around, and then pointed to what looked like an alleyway behind the buildings across the street from the rad church. “Let’s move through there.”

  Jack signaled for those behind him to watch the church as they passed. Jack and Sean moved to the alley and found it passable, if somewhat cluttered with refuse. The radiation level was lower there. Within a few minutes, the unit was clear and they moved back to the street.

  Amidst the wrecked and dilapidated buildings, they came across a set of railroad tracks, their turning point.

  They went north. While the gravel bed was still serviceable, the wood ties that held the steel tracks in place were succumbing to time and exposure. Many of the track segments lay in haphazard fashion.

  About a mile up the tracks, the unit came to an open decked railway girder bridge that spanned a river. The waterway ran under the bridge at a diagonal from northwest to southeast. The bridge did not look to be in very good shape, but there were few alternatives. There was another crossing, a highway bridge, if it still stood, less than a mile to the southeast, but if the description Yuri and Gregori provided was accurate, it was impassable, blocked by a warren of barricades, wreckage, and traps.

  The Rangers gathered at the southern end of the rail bridge.

  “There’s no decking out there,” Terry Manuel said looking across the bridge. “Just ties and rails. Saw a guy fall through the gaps on a bridge similar to this one once.”

  “That kinda makes him an expert, doesn’t it, Sarge?” Thomas said. “He ought to go first.”

  Terry suppressed a laugh and shook his head. “The ties are close-spaced, so that helps. I think.”

  “I’m the lightest,” Beth said. “Maybe—”

  “Nice try, Beth. Medics don’t walk point,” Hal said.

  “In hostile territory or over rusting and rotting bridges,” Jack added. “Follow me. Single file, with the handcarts to the rear. Stay over the support structure that holds the ties. Keep some space between one another. If anyone gets in trouble, shout out. Safety first, noise discipline comes after.”

  “Hey, Jack,” Sean said. “Maybe I should—”

  “Command decision,” Jack said with a smile. “Follow and throw me a rope if I survive the fall.”

  “I will, unless a mutant dinosaur fish latches onto you. That happens, you’re on your own, pal.”

  Jack went slowly. He estimated the bridge’s span to be in excess of a hundred feet. Built for rail cars to cross, not foot traffic, there was no flat and solid walkway like might be found on a highway or road bridge. With this in mind, he stepped from railroad tie to railroad tie excepting those that looked dilapidated enough to crumble under his weight, stepping onto the rails in those places. In some locations, the rails themselves were loose. As he went along, he called out the points where he felt there were hazards. With no decking, the river below was quite visible through the gaps in the ties and framework of the structure. Knowing the condition of the bridge, it was not a comfortable feeling looking down.

  A little over halfway across, Jack stepped onto a tie that looked perfectly solid, but he quickly found its integrity to be lacking. The wood cracked dully and fell away under his foot. For a brief moment, he saw chunks of wood plummeting toward the moving surface of the river’s water while his boot stood on nothing but air. Instinct took over and he collapsed his trailing leg and fell backwards. Not a graceful move, but one that kept him high and dry, if a little shaken. He stood and looked at the gap the rotted tie just recently occupied and shook his head. A glance back showed him the concerned looks of those that followed. “You probably don’t want to step there,” he said.

  That would be the last bit of drama crossing the bridge, and soon enough, everyone was safely across.

  A little over half a mile north, the rail crossed another waterway, this time a substantial creek. The bridge here was in far better shape and the crossing went without mishap.

  The course of stream they crossed ran to their west and eventually disappeared from sight into a marshy area. Large things moved in the murky water, unseen but for the swirls of water they created. Loud odd sounds and deep gurgling emanated from the marshland. The Rangers decided they would not investigate the origins of the sounds.

  “I don’t think I want to know what lurks in there,” Beth commented. The other Rangers agreed.

  The stream resumed a recognizable form a fair distance upstream, running past a hillock they could see ahead. Jack felt it might be a good location from which to observe the area north, but it would place them on the other side of the creek from L-11, which was still another couple of miles away. With just a few hours until dark, Jack elected to use the hill for their camp and send a recon team north.

  Ranger Stark would lead the reconnaissance with the cousins Dando and Ranger Manuel accompanying him. The remaining Rangers would see to crossing the creek.

  Rangers scouted upstream and downstream looking for a suitable crossing point while others sought bridging material. The latter took almost no time at all, downed creosote treated poles near the rail bed appeared to be suitable candidates. Hal Daley found a point not far north two hundred yards from the hill’s peak, a spot with high banks on each side of the creek that were nearly level with one another.

  The Rangers hefted one of the poles upright at the edge of the creek and pushed it over, its upper portion thudding onto the opposite bank once it fell. They repeated the procedure with a second pole, this one ending up at an angle leaving a wide gap on the other side of the creek.

  Sean volunteered to cross first with one end of a rope to provide a handhold for those that would follow. He sat on one of the poles and crept his way across using his hands and the seat of his pants. Halfway across the water below swirled, the rounded caudal fin of a large fish peeking out before disappearing into the dark water. Sean increased his pace.

  Once across, he secured the rope to a tree. The rope was pulled taut on the other side and secured as well, then a few Rangers crossed over to move the other pole into place beside the other. As they worked, more creatures gathered in the waters below the newly constructed bridge.

  The handcarts were pulled across, the rest of the gear was carried over, and the remaining Rangers crossed. Hal found a tangle of old and rusting barbed wire fence near the creek, stubs of wood still attached by staples were all that remain of the fence poles.

  “Make a decent barrier for the bridge,” he said.

  It took several Rangers to pull the wire into usable lengths, but it appeared Daley’s idea was a sound one.

  “Jack, Stark’s on the TROG,” Jerry said. He passed Jack a set of earplugs and the mic. “They found something.”

  “This is Jack. What do you have?”

  “A sizable force digging in near the creek southwest of the silo. I’m guessing TGG.”

  “Can you see the silo?”

  “No, we’re south and west of it. I don’t think we could get there and get out by dark. The Dandos want to sneak in for a closer look at the guys digging in. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Maybe they’re guarding a silo with a missile still inside.”

  “That’s what we were thinking.”

  “All right. Allow time to get back here before dark. We can do more recon tomorrow. We’re across the creek and moving onto the hillock.”

  “We’ll call when we’re on the way back.”

  Jack led the Rangers with him up the small hill. Looking to the north from the top provided a commandin
g view of the nearly flat terrain half a mile in that direction. A few stands of trees and folds in the land prevented an absolutely clear view, but it would be impossible for a force of any size to approach unseen across it.

  The topographic map of the area showed elevation and contour lines, but the feature had never been named, perhaps because it was not substantial enough, it was just a hillock after all. Thirty years and a nuclear war had changed the landscape of the Blastlands, and the hillock, marshland, and streams were no exception. The area’s present state no longer matched the old map.

  The wide stream ran past the hill on the east side with no crossing points nearby but the one the team used, and as the Rangers knew, monsters inhabited the waterway. To the west, long term and heavy erosion created a severely steep slope nearly thirty feet high that ran to a river branch on that side. These two factors limited the approach onto the hilltop to the slope on the north side and one to the south. With wisely emplaced defenses, an attacker would have a very difficult task if they wished to take the land feature.

  If L-11 was the silo with the intact missile, Jack felt the small hill might serve as a base of operations and a defensible refuge should things go bad.

  The hill had little in the way of vegetation, some sparse ground cover and a few small plants, certainly nothing to conceal any positions placed on the hill. Jack felt this was not an issue. “If we need to fall back here and fight, our opponent, whoever they might be, will know where we are. With no vegetation and no nearby defilades for them to use as cover, they’ll be exposed to our fire all the way to the top.”

  Hal Daley nodded in agreement and smiled. “We keep our heads, shoot straight, and there will a bunch of dead or sorry bastards wishing they never tried this on. First thing though, we need to dig.”

  Picking the locations for the positions was not terribly difficult since terrain limited the approaches. The westernmost emplacement need to have observation of the eroded area in case there was an attempt to scale it, and over the long expanse of open ground to the west on the other side of the river branch. Any flanking maneuver on that side wishing to avoid taking casualties would need to be done with great speed or well west of the hill. The eastern side needed extra positions facing the stream in case there were attempts at flanking via stream crossing or moving along the western side of the waterway.

  They left the creek crossing open, covered by an M60 machine gun placed on the hill overlooking the bridge.

  Half of the Rangers would work on positions while the other half stood watch, changing tasks periodically.

  The unit set to work, most of the Rangers dug standard military style two-person fighting positions with overlapping fields of fire. The ground was easy to work with, as sparse vegetation meant little in the way of roots or other obstacles to excavation. The dirt from the excavations became berms that edged the holes, and within the berms were narrow gaps from which the Rangers could fire. Anyone attacking straight up the hill would find few targets directly in front of them, instead, they would be under angled and intersecting fire from at least two positions at any given time. In a pinch, the Rangers could change their firing angle within their foxhole and cover other angles of approach, but that meant exposing themselves to more fire from attackers below.

  As Jack worked, he recalled what one of the original Freelands Rangers, Lyman Oswald, once said to him. “When you have a chance to dig in, do it. It’s crappy work and you’ll curse while you’re doing it, but it might just save your ass. Had a drill sergeant at Fort McClellan tell me, ‘You might be digging your own grave, or your salvation. That hole, those berms, they make you worlds more dangerous than if you were standing in the open like an idiot popping caps at your opponent. Dirt makes you hard to kill. Dirt makes you a better killing machine.’ It always stuck with me.” It stuck with Jack as well. Lyman fought a war on the other side of the world before the Calamity and survived, so Jack always felt the man knew what he was talking about and suspected the drill sergeant did also.

  A radio call from Stark’s team announced they were returning, Sean and Ralph went to the creek to point out the crossing. The rest of the Rangers continued as they were.

  The emplacement of a larger hole a short distance behind the fighting positions provided a place of cover for any wounded that might require treatment or shelter, and storage for water and food. Another nearby hole provided secure storage for the handcarts and extra ammunition.

  Jerry Michaels brought up the defense of the southern side of the hill. “What if we’re attacked from there?”

  “They would need to circle around to the west or slog through the wetlands southeast of here to do that,” Jack said. “I doubt they’d be much of a threat if they survived the latter. If such a force comes from the north, we ought to be able to see them before they make the trees to the west. The machine gun covering the creek will have to do for now. If we have time, we’ll put in fighting positions facing to the south, but as soon as we complete what we have now, we need to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  The Rangers climbed up the hill from the bridge. Jack could see they had dropped the hand rope and placed barbed wire at both ends of the crossing.

  “The Greater Good, no doubt about it,” Stark said as he neared Jack. “Looks like we have rads coming our way too.”

  “That’s why TGG is digging in?”

  “Seems so.” Stark looked at Stan. “Tell him what you overheard.”

  “Will and I moved in to see if we could find out how many of them were out there, but that was a bust. We got close enough to hear some of them talking though. One of them mentioned rads coming in from the west. His buddy said, ‘We can hold them here long enough to let the others complete their work.’ I’m guessing he was talking about others pulling the missile.”

  Jack nodded. “Good work. We’ll send recon teams out at first light. One straight north to see what is beyond the tree line up there: one northeast to eyeball the silo and see how far along they are; and another northwest to see if there is any sign of rads.”

  Jerry Michaels waved Jack over to the TROG he had set up as the base TROG attached to a more substantial external antenna.

  “I’m scanning the shortwave bands. We’re receiving, but nothing from the east, that of course includes the Freelands Ranger broadcasts. I think we’re receiving bits, but there’s nothing readable.”

  “Is it the interference we came across?”

  Michaels shrugged with a chagrined look on his face. “I’d guess it is, but that’s all I have, guesses. This is outside my experience.”

  Jack smiled. “The rules are different here it seems.”

  As dark approached, the positions neared completion. Jack relayed the information the recon team had brought.

  Once the positions were finished and the Rangers prepared for rest, Sean announced, “I declare this place, Ranger Hill.”

  Hal Daley laughed. “Like one of those housing developments near Heaven. You just doubled the property value of this place.”

  “Doubled?” David Stark said. “With all the improvements we’ve made? It’s gotta be triple.”

  Jack smiled. “If TGG, rads, or anybody else tries to take this real estate from us, it’ll cost them.”

  “An arm, a leg, or a life,” Beth said.

  . . . . .

  16

  Convergences

  . . . . .

  Flour Power rolled as soon as the sun cast full light over the land. Art rode beside McCarty in the cab, while a pair of Tucker’s Rangers stood in the bed and looked over the cab.

  “We’ll make Geneva by midmorning,” McCarty said to Art. “You get your people together while I get more LP and we’ll be back up here in no time.”

  “Sounds like a plan, but you know what they say.”

  “What?”

  “Plans are just a preliminary list of things that will get fouled up.”

  . . . . .

  At first light, six Rangers went out. The co
usins Dando headed north and west to search for any sign of rads; Al Dunn and Jim Tanner went due north; and David Stark and Terry Manuel northeast toward the silo.

  The Dandos followed the tree line that edged the river to the west, Dunn and Tanner doing the same on the creek to the east. Stark and Manuel crossed at the bridge and followed a similar course to the one they used the previous day.

  Within minutes of their departure, Tanner reported they had found several large tangles of barbed wire near the creek. “We’d be happy to lug it over to Ranger Hill, but we already have a job to do,” he said, mirth evident in his voice.

  I guess that makes it official, Ranger Hill it is, Jack thought as he toed some dirt on the land feature. He led a group down and pulled the wire to the base of the hill. Part of the team worked on stringing wire across the north slope of the hill, while others dug fighting positions that covered the southern approach and put in shallow trenches between the positions across the small hilltop.

  Dunn and Tanner were the first to report. “Nothing we didn’t expect,” Tanner said. “The trees run east-west in a narrow band for quite a ways, then it opens up into a small forest that runs northeast to southwest to the river branch. The stands of trees in between the tree line and the hill are substantial enough to be used as cover. There are folds and depressions enough to hide or seek cover in too. We caught a few glimpses of GGs a few hundred yards to our northeast. No sign of rads. You want us to stay and observe?”

  “Roger that,” Jack replied. “Unless you’d prefer digging and running wire.”

  Tanner laughed quietly. “We’ll make do roughing it out here all by ourselves. Will contact you if we see something.”

  A half an hour later, Will Dando’s whispered voice came over the radio. “This is Recon Force Dando, do you read me?”

  Jack chuckled at the self-appointed name. “We read you, RFD.”

  “Good. Been hitting that weird interference off and on all morning. We’re about two miles west of Lima-One-One. We crossed a small bridge that spans the river branch. A couple of minutes after we crossed, four men ran past headed east. We’re sure they are GGs. We think they were trying to stay ahead of something, and it sounds like that something is coming down the road now.”