The Blastlands Saga

by DK Williamson

  On the wall where the blast door rested when open was a rendition of a B-17 Flying Fortress from World War II called Missouri Molly, a long row of white bomb silhouettes painted below the cockpit.

  “I guess those assholes missed these,” Will said.

  Jack stepped past the three dead bodies and yelled up the elevator shaft. “Stan, we’re coming up.”

  “I’ll be here. Daley just called. The rads took the GGs line.”

  “Be right there.”

  Eric kicked one of the corpses, then rubbed his head. “He didn’t deserve any respect when he was alive either,” he muttered.

  Jack set his flashlight on the floor behind the ladder, pointing it upward and using the lead-acid battery to hold it in place.

  With three binders in hand, he stepped onto the bottom rung. “Let’s get topside.”

  Within a few minutes, all five men were back at ground level. They carried their gear to the day room. “Two go down, five come up,” Stan commented.

  Will made introductions while Jack went to the TROG.

  “Ranger Hill, this is Jack. What’s the situation?”

  “This is Ranger Michaels. The situation is as follows: the rads overran the GGs defensive line. There is still firing coming from the area, but The Greater Good is finished there. Ranger Daley reported a handful of survivors headed north. Rangers Manuel and Stark were south of silo Lima-One-One when the rads arrived. The rads were not happy when they discovered an empty silo and no missile.”

  “Roger. What is the status of the Rangers there? Any casualties?”

  “Not until just recently, and those are minor wounds according to Ranger Cooper. Ranger Daley, are you still on the net?”

  “Roger.”

  “Go direct with Sergeant Traipse.”

  “Jack, Hal here. It’s like Jerry said. Dunn got nicked in the hand, bullet fragments peppered Sikes and Young, a couple of bumps and bruises here and there. Nothing you might not get on a Saturday night in a rough bar. The problem we have now is the rads have noticed us and are headed our way. Sean thinks they think we’re TGG and have their warhead. If that’s true, they’ll be coming at us in force. We’re pulling back to Ranger Hill, unless you have some other idea.”

  “Stand by.” Jack thought for several seconds, considering the few options available. “Hal, I’m sending the Dandos back to Ranger Hill. A couple more rifles might make a difference. Get the unit back there as soon and as safely as you can. Thirteen dug-in Rangers can handle a lot of rads.”

  “You’re not coming back?”

  “Not yet. We are confident we know which silo holds the intact missile. It’s Lima-Zero-Two. Someone needs to see how far along TGG are in recovering it. That’s me.”

  “What if they have it, the warhead? What then?”

  “We stop them, but first we need to deal with the rads and confirm Lima-Zero-Two is the right place.”

  “All right, Jack. You’re the boss. Be careful.”

  “Roger that. You guys have the tough job.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion. You’ll be by your lonesome, we’ll have a baker’s dozen worth of Rangers in fighting positions on the high ground fighting rads who can’t shoot straight. There’re times I worry about you, Jack.”

  “You and me both.”

  “One more thing, Jack. Mr. Vaquero, his hat, and his merry band were nowhere to be seen today. Maybe he got dropped, but I’m thinking now that lucky bastard might be checking other silos. If so, it’s not just TGG you need to worry about.”

  “I’ll add it to the list.”

  Hal laughed. “Safe travels. Daley, out.”

  Jack went back to the rest of the men.

  Stan pointed at the defaced squadron emblem on the wall. “The NFI paint, that’s a TGG thing, right?”

  Eric nodded. “Anything like that is false to them. Emblems, logos, even ads for old products, they consider them idols. Your stars would be idolatry to them. It means No False Idols. They slap N-F-I over the image, paint a slogan, recite the slogan, and it’s been cleansed.”

  Stan shook his head with an incredulous look on his face.

  “Yeah,” Marvin said. “That’s some seriously crazy bullshit.”

  “Hate to break up the party, but we have trouble brewing over Ranger Hill way,” Jack said.

  “We heading back?” Will said.

  “You and Stan are. I’m going to take a look and see what’s going on at Lima-Zero-Two.” He looked at Eric, John, and Marvin. “I don’t want to hurry you, but we need to leave soon. Do you know what you want to do?”

  “I’ll go to the Freelands,” Marvin said. His companions agreed.

  “On your own?”

  “We can get them to Ranger Hill,” Stan said.

  “There may be a fight going on when you get there. If not then, there likely will be one soon.”

  Will nodded. “If it’s too hot, we won’t be able to get in with or without our new friends. We’ll evaluate when we get there.”

  “Maybe we can help,” Eric said. “We’re not fighters, but we can be of some use.”

  Jack looked at the other two. They nodded in agreement.

  “All right,” Jack said. He saw Stan had placed a pair of rifles on the pool table that sat in the day room. Will had left those he carried up from the LCC there as well. Jack saw a 7.62x51mm Heckler and Koch, a pair of M16A1s, a Ruger Mini-14, and an SKS. The Ruger and SKS were much easier to learn how to operate than the others, the M16 and HK both possessing idiosyncrasies that gave them a steeper learning curve. With no training and little time to provide the three men with instruction or sight-in the weapons, Jack knew their proficiency level would be awful and choice of arm wouldn’t really matter.

  He led the three men to the pool table and let them examine each rifle. Marvin clearly knew how to handle a firearm safely, and the instructions he passed on to Eric and John had obviously taken. They took the matter seriously and handled the rifles with respect and care. Marvin favored the SKS, it being closest in operation to the .22 rifle of his youth. The other two preferred the M16. Jack didn’t dissuade them from their choice, they could be trained together and it would likely save time.

  The Rangers each took one man, the Dandos working with Eric and John because they also carried M16s, the A2 variant they employed being functionally the same. A few minutes was spent demonstrating how the weapons operated, how they were loaded and charged, and lastly they performed some quick dry-fire drills.

  “Will we be able to shoot these before we leave?” John asked.

  “We should do that,” Jack said. “I wish we had time to sight-in each of your rifles, but we don’t. We’ll give you a few shots at something close and that will have to do. Remember the drill, rear sight, front sight, target, all in one line. It should get you close.”

  “Why did these guys have so little ammo?” Stan asked as they concluded the impromptu shooting instruction.

  “The men going west to fight needed it. I don’t think much extra ammunition was brought east except for the linked kind the machine guns use, and there was not a lot of that.”

  The Rangers packed up what loose gear they had, Will stored the binders from the LCC in his rucksack, and they headed for the door where they entered.

  Once outside, they used an empty and rusting 55-gallon barrel for a target. At twenty-five paces, all three men were able to score hits with the handful of shots they took.

  “Not bad, all things considered,” Stan said.

  Will nodded in agreement. “It’ll have to do.”

  “You be extremely careful,” Jack said. “Make sure you get Ranger Hill on the horn when you get close. If things are too hairy, head for the Ranger camp west on the Marais des Cygnes.”

  Stan smiled. “Thanks, Dad. We’re pretty good at getting in and out of places without getting seen, Jack. We’ll get these guys through with no dents or scratches. You go low and slow up north. You don’t know what’s up there and you’ll be a long way fr
om help.”

  Jack laughed softly. “I’m pretty good at going it solo a long way from help.”

  The three Rangers laughed and shook hands.

  “Stay on the TROG, Jack,” Will said. “If you pass out of range of Ranger Hill, we might be able to relay.”

  “Will do. See you soon. Commo check in five minutes.”

  Will touched his hat in acknowledgement.

  Jack went north. A minute later, he glanced back and saw the cousins Dando and their three charges starting west. Will led the way with Stan at the rear. They’ll be okay I think. Let’s see if you can stay out of trouble this time, he thought.

  . . . . .

  18

  Partings and Reunions

  . . . . .

  Not long after the five men began their move west, Eric looked to the northeast and saw the distant figure of Sergeant Traipse heading away. “If we weren’t here, you would be going with him, wouldn’t you?” he said over his shoulder.

  “No,” Stan said. “He wants us with the rest of the unit. We’re stronger that way and his job is to put the unit first. Jack’s not stupid. He’ll be careful.”

  “He does okay by himself,” Will said.

  “But he’s better when he has us with him.”

  Will smiled. “Sure, that goes without saying.”

  Will and Stan decided to follow the same route that brought them to L-01. They had no real obstacles but the creek crossing, and they knew where it was.

  They reached it without incident. The three former Low Ones were confident they could clear the waterway. Will went first, followed by Marvin, Eric, and then John, who splashed into the water’s edge at the end of his leap. Stan brought up the rear as they agreed earlier, and as he tossed the gear across, he regretted making the deal with his cousin. There was movement in the flow of water, nothing indicating large creatures, but it was still disconcerting to Stan.

  Once the gear was across, he made his run at the creek, rifle in hand. He saw larger swirls of movement than before as he drew near, and with an extra jolt of fear induced adrenalin, he jumped. An olive mass with dark reticulated markings leapt from the water, its large jaws agape, arcing in the air at Stan.

  He brought his legs up as the creature’s jaws snapped closed with an audible and wet-sounding snap. Stan’s mid-air gyrations caused him to land badly, and he fell in a sprawl at the edge of the creek. He rolled onto his back as another huge fish lunged from the water and flopped just a foot away from the Ranger. Stan kicked and flailed, scrambling away.

  The beast snapped its jaws closed and opened its maw once more. Its rows of teeth flashed at Stan, then it sucked a large gulp of air into its gas bladder and slid back into the water. Stan lay there, ashen-faced, watching the water ripples from the monster’s parting flow downstream.

  “I’m not crossing another waterway in this place unless it has a big damned bridge,” he said. “Stay on the land, man. Stay on the land.”

  “We still have to cross the poles near Ranger Hill,” Will said.

  Stan gave him an irritated look. “Shit. Okay, after we cross that, then I’m done. That’s the last, got me?”

  “I hear you. Did you see the size of that thing?”

  “Will….”

  “I swear, it’s mouth wasn’t more than a couple of—”

  “Will.” Stan’s voice had an edge to it.

  Will smiled. “You ready to go, or do you want to wait and see if that thing comes back?”

  Stan said nothing. He picked up his rifle and stood.

  Will waved an arm. “Let’s get moving.” He led out, their three charges following.

  Stan looked at the creek once more and shook his head. “Stay on the land,” he muttered.

  . . . . .

  The Rangers had made the move from the woods to the north back to Ranger Hill with no losses. Beth Cooper turned an ankle and Jim Tanner caught a piece of copper bullet jacket in the cheek when a rad round had exited a nearby tree and came apart. Considering the amount of fire the Rangers took during the move, they thought themselves most fortunate.

  When the last of the Ranger unit traversed the tangled barbed wire obstacles on the northern slope and dropped into fighting positions atop Ranger Hill, they noticed improvements to the trenches and holes. Harold, Ed, Sid, and the few Rangers that held the hill while the others occupied the trees to the north had not been idle.

  The rads were moving toward them, but they were disorganized and slow. Even so, they came, in bunches and by singles, they ran from the tree line to the north to stands of trees and defilades in the relatively open ground leading to the hill. Some moved in the trees that edged the waterways to the east and west. However they came, the Rangers put fire on them. Isolated bodies became markers for the paths the rads followed.

  The rads’ fire was inaccurate, but constant, and the air over Ranger Hill buzzed and hissed with passing bullets. After a while it became clear the rads intended to mass their forces as close to the Rangers’ position as possible before launching an attack. The most obvious place was a defilade approximately three hundred yards to the north of the hill, but the trees along the two nearby waterways could also provide cover and concealment, as could a stand of trees less than fifty yards to the northeast of the defilade.

  Most of the rad fire came from the stand of trees and it was also the focal point for most of the Rangers’ fire.

  Sean and Tony shared a fighting position at the west end of the Ranger line that covered the north. The middle and right firing slits allowed them to put fire into the trees, with Tony and his scoped rifle performing the bulk of that. Sean fired sporadically, harassing those in the trees and in the defilade, but mostly he watched all of the approaches visible from their position.

  To their right was a position occupied by Jim Tanner, operating one of the unit’s two M60 machine guns, and Al Dunn and his Gunter Salas modified M14 equipped with scope. The machine gun drew a great deal of fire from the rads.

  The two sides exchanged fire for some time. Rads continued to come from the north and join with those already positioned in front of the Rangers despite losses.

  “They’ll be attacking soon, won’t they?” Baker said.

  Sean nodded “I’d imagine any time now.”

  “Should I switch to my AKM when that happens?”

  “If they get close, yeah. Until then, stick with what you got.”

  “When will I know?”

  Sean could detect Tony’s nervousness. “You’ll know,” he said calmly. “You’re a lot better shot than me. When you feel like you’d be better of with the Kalash, swap. Pretty simple.”

  Tony looked at Sean and saw the smile on his face.

  “Just shoot straight, don’t quit, and don’t panic. Get mean and we’ll get through it.”

  Tony smiled. “That simple?”

  “That simple.”

  . . . . .

  The trail Jack followed led to a confluence of two creeks, neither particularly wide, but not narrow enough to jump across. Jack found a crossing of sorts, a two strand ‘bridge’ consisting of a pair of one-inch steel cables stretched across the waterway one over the other.

  On the other side of the creek, among the decaying trunks of long-dead trees, was a largely intact skeleton and clothing fragments lying not far from a rusted-out double-barreled shotgun attached to a low metal post, a booby trap. The trap once guarded something long ago and took at least one life as shown by the bones. Jack searched the remains once across the creek, but found nothing that might identify the person.

  He moved on north. He could hear some interference through the earplug connected to the TROG. He stopped.

  “Ranger Hill, this is Traipse. Can you read me?”

  “Sergeant Traipse, this is Ranger Michaels. Read you clear with some static.”

  “Read you same. Situation?”

  “Stand by. Ranger Daley, are you on the net?”

  “Roger. Jack, we have rads coming from north. The
re’s a bunch of’em gathered in the low ground north and the trees near there, but they have a lot of open ground to cross before they reach us. They’ll be coming soon. We’re ready.”

  “Roger. I am near the halfway point to Lima-Zero-Two. I’ll do periodic radio checks as I go north. Good luck.”

  “Same to you. Daley, out.”

  . . . . .

  A whistle blew from somewhere to the north. Sean knew what it meant.

  “They’re coming,” he bellowed loud enough for everyone on the hill to hear him.

  Rads stood and charged from the defilade, more poured from the tree stand, while even more ran from the trees along the waterways on each side of the clearing.

  The Ranger response was almost instantaneous and simultaneous. Muzzle blasts erupted from the fighting positions on the hill and the rads in the vanguard began falling immediately, some before they’d taken a second step.

  Sean paused after firing a dozen rounds, knowing he’d scored with a majority of his shots. He checked directly north and found the rads were already wavering. He looked out of the leftmost slit in the position, down toward the steep slope to the banks of the river branch. Five rads ran along the far bank carrying a ladder. Sean put them under fire, dropping the lead man with his first shots. The rest stopped and pulled their weapons from their backs, two of them dropping before they accomplished their task. The last two managed a few shots before Sean’s metered fire ended the threat.

  He reloaded, then looked northward again. The attack was finished before it was hardly begun. Sean snorted. We should have let them get closer, he thought. We would have tagged more of them. It dawned on him his thought was a good idea. He checked Tony and found the newly minted Ranger was fine. He grabbed the handset of the TROG and called Hal Daley.

  . . . . .

  The sharp increase in gunfire ahead stopped Will in his tracks. The four men behind him knelt.

  “Sounds hot over there,” Stan said.

  Will nodded in agreement. “Let’s hold here for a bit.”

  The fire slackened quickly, a surprise to the Dandos. Will had heard the exchange between Jack and the Rangers on the hill. He expected the fight to be of longer duration.