“Tell me, Howie. How is it you left to approach a potential gunsmith and potentially recruit him, but ended up beating said gunsmith half to death?”
“Kid had it comin’.”
My honest and unrepentant response earns me no points from Marcus, and his glower darken into scowls as I stand at full attention before him. It’s the truth though, whether he likes hearing it or not, and I ain’t about to back down. “I’m sure some of the nearby boots caught some snippets of our conversation,” I say by way of explanation. “Junior wasn’t being all that circumspect.”
“So you pulled out a flashbang and assaulted him?”
“No. Well, yes,” I correct myself, adding in a little shrug. “But they drew on me first. The two older men removed their sidearms from their holsters and cocked their hammers, which constitutes an actionable threat of aggression. Bein’ a settlement wherein I can be assured a reasonable expectation of safety, I was well within my rights to defend myself using lethal force.”
Giving me a look, Marcus asks, “So you’re saying I should thank you for keeping things non-lethal?”
“No thanks necessary,” I quip, chancing a smile. Wrong move, because it sets the veins in Marcus’ meaty, muscled neck to throbbing, and I quickly back peddle to serious mode. “I figured killin’ ‘em would be a touch too far.”
“You broke one man’s hand,” Marcus begins, all calm and steady like he does. “Concussed another, and knocked four teeth out of that kid’s mouth.” Nice. Only saw three fly out, so I suppose the fourth was still hanging in there. “Don’t smile,” Marcus snaps, all fierce and furious out of nowhere as he leans in and gives my chest a good hard poke. Right on the bruise too, but I stand firm with little more than a wince. He catches it and belatedly remembers I took a Bolt to the chest only a few days ago, so his anger melts away into guilt. He don’t gotta though, as even I feel like I stepped over the line, and he reads it all from my expression before rallying back. “We got an Aberration army knocking at our gates, and you think this is a good time to start shit with the locals? This how your daddy teach you to do things?”
“…No.” Can’t help but look away. Not out of shame or contrition, no, it’s anger and frustration which got me unable to meet Marcus’ eyes, because I know I can’t measure up. “His way don’t work for me though. He’d ride into town with both hands on the reins all calm and casual as can be. No smiles, no glares, no scowls or frowns. Just neutral you know? Like he usually was, a blank expression that didn’t say nothing to no one. Them townies would look at him, and he’d look at them right back, and they’d all just know they was outmatched. That if they wanted to start somethin’, then he was gonna end it, and that there was a fact.”
I tried that to start, and got attacked far more often than I liked. If it wasn’t people trying to shoot me in my sleep, it was some Tom, Dick, or Harry who thought they could pull the wool over my eyes and get one over on me. No idea what it is about me that makes folks think I’m an easy mark, as I ride around in an armoured wagon with a Big Fucking Stick up top. My age I suppose, as most folks ain’t used to seein’ kids who can handle themselves, so I’ve had to get aggressive more often than most. Less since I switched over to using Aunty Ray’s method, though I still get warning shots when I approach towns with my arms out and to the sides plus a big ol’ grin pasted on my face.
Frustrating is what it is. More of me failing to meet standards and another reminder of how I still got a ways to go. Hate not measuring up, and hate falling short of Marcus’ expectations, but I ain’t entirely at fault. Gesturing back towards the bunker where I laid the three Vanguard Nationals’ out, I explain, “Tried to be civil with them. Even gave them an out after talks broke down. Told them thugs in no uncertain terms I was just gonna slap the kid around for havin’ a mouth, but they didn’t budge, so they had to pay a premium for makin’ me work harder.” Looking up to meet Marcus’ steely gaze, I tell him what he already knows. “They bullies, Marcus. They sense weakness, and they’ll pounce on it. I walk away, and that cements the image their bossman wants them to see, that we the hired help and soon to be victims once all the dust settles. They see us as patsies, here to help fight the Abby horde before layin’ all our guns and gear at their feet. Got everythin’ earmarked and ready to distribute once we’ve served our purpose, and now that little shit thinks he can lay a claim on Tina too?” Curling my lip and clenching my fists, I steel my resolve and show Marcus what I’ve become, a man ready and willing to unleash violence for the right reasons, a man no different from him. “After all that, Junior’s lucky he still drawin’ breath. So yea. He had it comin’.”
Unlike Conner, Marcus meets my gaze without flinching, because this ain’t the first he seeing it. Truth is, he knows better than most how much blood I got on my hands, as Meadowbrook is right there on the edge of No Man’s Land, and he’s never failed to check in on me every time I’m there. He also knows that the Accords ain’t enough, that Federal Laws ain’t enough, because if they were, there wouldn’t be any outlaws to begin with. Sometimes, we gotta step over the line to deal with folks who live their lives on the other side, because violence and death is the only response they understand and respect.
Marcus gets it. He’s just upset because he hoped I didn’t, and truth be told, my timing could’ve been better. “So how do we handle this?” he asks. Not because he doesn’t know. He just wants to see if I do.
“What’s there to handle?” I shrug, not at all concerned about the legalities. “I’m covered under the Accords.”
“You’re here representing the Rangers, and therefore you’re expected to adhere to the military code of conduct. Rules of engagement state do not engage unless engaged upon, and you were clearly the aggressor.”
“I don’t remember signin’ no contract,” I say, and before he can interject, I add, “Nor have I received any official written notice of conscription.”
“What about our prisoner?” Marcus asks, accepting my argument for now since it’ll hold up against townies. “Captain Jung classified you as a Federal soldier on deployment to justify his incarceration.”
“While at the same time suggesting my actions could also be covered under the Accords,” I reply, grinning to remember it. “Meaning my status as a Federal soldier is murky at best. Sasquatch shot Jay too, so you still got proper justification to hold him. If you gotta disavow me, do it. Legally, there ain’t nothin’ Vanguard National can do about it, except lie and put a warrant out for my arrest. If that happens, I let them know I got it all on recording and demand a joint trial in a Federal court, as is my right as a tax-paying freeholder of New Hope subject to Federal Law, a right the Rangers would be duty bound to see upheld.”
I don’t have it on recording, but even if they do have a video player, there are formalities to go through when authenticating a memory crystal for legal proceedings, and Independent Sherrif’s and Ranger Captains ain’t on the short list of acceptable parties. Means Independents really get the short end of the stick when it comes to legal proceedings with old world government factions, which is why they so gung-ho about Frontier Justice. Wouldn’t be an issue if they actually cared about proving crimes before they punished people for them, but it varies on the specific town and Sherrif.
“And if they press the issue?” Marcus asks, mostly to cover all the bases.
“Then we blow a hole in the wall and make like a tree.” Glancing around at our fortified perimeter, with sandbags and ditches aplenty, I add, “Or you know. Don’t. I still got them Molotovs, and Vanguard National all stay in the same building.” One with an expansive basement it seems, as there no way a hundred odd toughs and their gals can all fit inside the one singular building. No need to take a look though, as we’ll find out real quick if they got a second exit once we set the main one on fire.
“Good plan,” he says, before shaking his head. “Too bad though. I’m writing you up on charges for conduct unbecoming of a soldier. Your actions are covered under the Accords, but in clear violation of military regulation. Upon return, you will face disciplinary action under the Federal Uniform Code of Military Justice, and your punishment will not be light.”
…Tch.
Reading the disgruntlement right off my face, Marcus makes no apologies for leaving me high and dry. “You leave me no choice, Howie. We’ve got the first class of Ranger boots here, and I won’t have them learning from your bad habits. And they are bad habits Howie, behaviour your daddy would never have accepted. I understand doing what you have to do, but your actions could’ve jeopardized the safety of the entire town. Lives are at stake here, not just the lives of Vanguard National, but regular, hard-working people who are just trying to survive and your fellow boots too. Lives which will be lost if we’re forced to fight our way out, lives you came here to protect.”
I didn’t. I came here to protect Tina and Tina only, but saying so won’t earn me any points. Whole town can burn for all I care, and if I’d known then what I know now, I might well have kept my mouth shut and left Pleasant Dunes in the lurch. Ron wants to play stupid games, he ought to win stupid prizes, and having to deal with a teething Proggie all by his lonesome is what I’d call just desserts. Problem is, he’d have likely just cut and run, leaving the townies to fend for themselves, and I’d have felt terrible for it. That’s the problem with having a conscience. Makes you do stupid things, like leaving Junior still breathing when he deserves a Bolt to the head. Could’ve made it look like an accident from one of them thugs, and would’ve been better off forcing Ron’s here and now on our terms rather than his, because we can take Vanguard National in a head on fight. Don’t matter if we outnumbered; a few Fireballs will send thugs and townies alike scurrying for cover, and our guns can handle the rest. Out there in the open desert, where they get to pick the time and place to attack? Depends on a lot of things. The weather for one. How dialed in our outriders are for two. Most importantly, how good them Khaganate are at sneaking around, and I’d peg them as damn good considering I didn’t see hide nor hair of them on the way in until they robbed me of my catch.
All in all? Fifty-fifty odds at best if they attack us out there, which ain’t odds I’d willingly take. Any fair fight is a bad fight, as my daddy used to say. Here in town? Wouldn’t even need the whole Company of Rangers or any of the boots. Me and the three Captains could bring Vanguard National down to its knees in a half hour flat. Kill Ron and his top men, and the rest will crumble like a tower of cards. Same goes for Gunin and his Khaganate, since I doubt his people will have the balls to ambush us on the way out. We’d still have to fight off the Abby horde to save the townies. Wouldn’t have to hold the town though, especially if we get them all corralled up somewhere safe and take the fight to the streets. Rangers ain’t great at holding walls, because there’s too much area to cover. Funnel Abby into narrow kill-zones and a Strike Team could hold for hours, and clean house with twenty more shooters.
But Marcus ain’t wrong. I let my temper get the better of me. I should’ve walked away and looked for another opportunity to get even. Couldn’t though, not knowing Tina was right on top of the bunker and listening to every hateful word Junior was spouting. And I suppose I wasn’t in the most forgiving mood when I made the approach either, which is why I didn’t actually record anything. Didn’t want no one seeing how close to the edge I was, how close I came to squeezing the literal life out of Junior just to watch him suffer.
So I take my lumps as Marcus details our new arrangement, one which has me on a short leash while I’m here in town, and attached to the hip of a Ranger at all times. Will probably get a mark on my record which would make it difficult to become a Ranger later on down the line, but that’s no skin off my back. Some community service hours too, anywhere from 40 to 320 would be my guess. Maybe even 480 to make a full season if Marcus is feeling particularly ungenerous, but it won’t be too bad. Would mostly see me ferrying Federal goods at cost, meaning a pittance to cover food and maintenance, and maybe hard labour in one of the new forts going up south of Redeemer’s Keep. It’s what I deserve for riding to the aid of Pleasant Dunes, as no good deed goes unpunished after all.
Could be worse. Marcus had every reason to have me arrested and imprisoned next to Sasquatch. I refuse to call him Tank, because there’s no way that’s his real name, so Sasquatch fits just as well.
Seeing how I done knocked out their gunsmith, Marcus sets me to task assembling their gatlings with Conner to babysit, so it’s a good thing I was listening when Junior was going off about them. Would’ve figured it out eventually, but saves me, Conner, and Saheed a lot of time as we piece the weapons together right quick. Ain’t much conversation as we work, and I can see that Saheed is feeling mighty put off by the mood, and plenty grateful when Conner sends him away once we done. “We need to talk,” Conner says, wiping his hands on a rag while stopping me from following Saheed out the bunker.
“What ‘bout?” I ask, resisting the urge to reach for my medallion and wishing I had a way to activate it hands free. Chrissy could probably do it, meaning it’s technically possible, though I got no idea how.
Checking to make sure we aren’t overheard, Conner leans in and whispers, “I talked Wayne into a meeting. You, him, and me, the three of us sit down and hammer things out. Like men.” Stopping my pithy comment before I have time to voice it, Conner looks me dead in the eyes as serious as the grave. “I mean it Howie. Talk to him. For your own good. No one wants to see anyone get jammed up. All he wants is to settle things nice and quiet, then put it all behind us. No muss, no fuss. Alright?”
Seems Conner’s a believer now, which is unfortunate to say the least. Not just because he’s right, but because if two Rangers are saying it, then more will believe it, even if there ain’t a lick of proof. Doubt Noora talked in the last few hours, especially considering she went to sleep in her wagon right after our talk and was still there when I woke up. Even if she did talk, why would she talk to Wayne? Either way, I ain’t none too pleased about having to go through this again, and am in no mood to entertain Conner. “Got nothing to talk about,” I say, sticking to my guns and doubling down on innocent. “And nothing to settle up for.”
“Howie,” Conner begins, then grimace and switches tack. “This is your last chance,” he warns, showing his true colours. “I mean it man. You walk away from this, and you leave Wayne no choice but to make this ugly. Leave us no choice. I don’t want to see it happen, so own up to your mistakes, and we’ll settle things in house.”
Or they go and ruin my name on a hunch. Doesn’t matter if their hunch is right, or that nothing will come of it, legally speaking. Innocent until proven guilty don’t count for shit in the court of public opinion. If he’d come at me with this last week, I might’ve even considered it, but honestly, I’m beyond caring at this point. Might even make things easier if people start thinking of me as the second coming of the Yellow Devil. Heard firsthand how frightened that Ruskie Gunin was, so maybe that’s what I’m missing out on. A reputation, one to put the fear of God in outlaws and townies alike, enough so that maybe, just maybe, I won’t have to keep pretending to be the friendly, harmless Firstborn anymore.
“Tell Wayne to do what he gotta do,” I say, meeting Conner’s gaze without flinching. “I’ll do the same.”
The frustration bubbles over into outright resentment, and Conner struggles to find the words to give voice to his exasperation. “This won’t end well, Howie,” he says, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why he sounds so afraid. He really worried I’ll get jammed up on Wayne’s say so? “I’m begging you. Stop being stubborn and come clean so I can help you.”
“Help me with what?” I ask, mostly to buy time to parse through everything I know in a different light. “You think Wayne and them other Rangers are ready to go Frontier Justice on my ass?” That’s the only reasonable explanation I can think of, because Conner’s talking like he’s fearing for my life. Or there’s more to this than just skimmed Cores, because he doesn’t blink. “No, that’s not it. It’s something worse.” The telltale blink gives him away, as Conner never was any good at keeping a straight face, which is why I never turn down the chance to play poker with him. Well, that and my rustling jimmies sometimes help me avoid a bad read, but I don’t tell anyone that, but they’re quiet as a mouse right now. “What’s he got you mixed up in Conner?” Tilting my head and furrowing my brow, I add, “Maybe I ain’t the one who needs to come clean.”
All this time, I’ve been thinking this is was about off-loading goods Wayne skimmed from Company missions. Cores, Aberrtin, rare materials, that sort of thing, but now that I think about it, that wouldn’t be enough to make him reek of desperation. Sure, Wayne needs the money, but I can’t believe a single missed windfall would set him back far enough to act the way he has been, especially since none of the other Rangers from his Company have given me any grief over it. No one besides Conner at least, while the rest were just supporting their Lieutenant the way they supposed to. Even Reggie ain’t come at me yet, and he’s Wayne’s Number Two, meaning this is more about Wayne than the entire Company. Suppose that’s good news for me, except I feel like I’m missing something here, a single, pivotal piece to tie everything together and paint me a picture of what’s happening, but try as I might, I can’t figure out what’s got Conner all twisted up inside.
Stolen novel; please report.
So against my better judgement, I agree to go along with Conner’s meeting and follow back to camp, where Wayne stands ready and waiting on the outskirts, far away from prying eyes and ears. Contrary to Conner’s assurances though, Wayne don’t look like he wants to talk much, not with a face as sour as his. “Twenty grand,” is his opening statement, without so much as a how you do. “That’s what it’ll take to smooth this over, and not one dollar less.”
“If you say so,” I reply. “You accept payment in solid gold? It’ll take a few days for me to shit that much, and I’ll need your help sifting through the latrines, but it’ll be worth it, I swear.”
“You still think this is one big joke, don’t you?”
“Well obviously, because I don’t actually shit solid gold.” Giving Conner a look, I ask, “This what you mean by settling up? Bringing me here to be blackmailed? Besides, you think I got that kinda money just lying around? That’s seven years of Ranger pay.” And unless I get obscenely lucky, like three years or four years with my nose to the grindstone. That’s without accounting for food, ammo, and other expenses mind you. Ain’t every day you pick up a high value Spell Core after all, and most low value ones don’t sell for more than ten dollars a pop. Even a Third Order Barrage Core ain’t all that valuable, because the amount of technological know-how needed to get it working is absurd. Junior would blow himself to kingdom come just tinkering around, and I know better than to even try, because there ain’t nothing simple or intuitive about how them mortars work.
“It’s what you cost me, Howie,” Wayne says, looking me in the eyes with an uncharacteristic amount of confidence. “But I’m a gracious man. You can pay in installments, starting with the six grand bounty you picked up before all this and the cash you’ll get from that Mage Armour Spell Core. Should be another seven grand easy, maybe even as much as nine if the Marshal goes to bat for you. Call it twelve total for now, and I’ll give you until the end of the year to get me the rest, interest free.”
Even though I knew how much money I’ve made lately, it still fills me with pride to hear it. Twelve to fifteen grand in a month, or round about that. Will be a long time before I do that again, considering high-value bounties and Spell Cores don’t come around every year. “How generous of you,” I reply, cramming as much sarcasm into the words as I can, while also proud of how much money I’ve made these last few weeks. “A whole nine months to earn fourteen grand, and it’ll be fourteen because I done already spent the first six on guns, armour, ammo, and horses, and only got ninety percent of the Mage Core coming my way.” To be honest, I also got three grand I left with Aunty Ray, but I ain’t gonna ask for it back. “Refresh my memory though, because I don’t recall you saying. How exactly did I come to cost you twenty grand?”
“You know how, Howie. Time for games is done and over with.” Again, Wayne’s got more confidence this time around, with none of his sly smiles, indirect suggestions, and probing questions that he usually come at me with. “I know it was you. You know it was you. We don’t need proof or evidence, because that’s for the courts. You make me whole, and it ends there. You don’t?” Wayne’s eyes go wide in a goofy, exaggerated expression as he shrugs in resignation. “Then I have no choice but to share what I know.”
Which would be aggravating, but nothing I can’t recover from, and he knows it, so it doesn’t make sense why he’d be so serious about it. Seeing Conner’s apprehension though, I get the feeling Wayne ain’t talking about going to the authorities. “And your baseless accusations concern me how? You got nothing on me Wayne.”
“And you think that’s enough to keep you safe?” Leaning in close, Wayne narrows his beady rat eyes and says, “I’ve been playing nice so far, but the kid’s gloves are coming off. This is your last fucking chance here, one you’re only getting because of who you are. That money isn’t for me, Howie. That’s what I owe, and the people I owe it to won’t care about the courts or the Accords when I tell them you’re to blame. They’ll come for you Howie, and it won’t be pretty. They’ll carve you up and part you out, sell your organs to the highest bidder, some rich fuck who’s ruined their body with drugs, alcohol, or Aetheric Exposure and needs a new replacement.”
Well that settles it then. This ain’t about skimmed Cores and Aberrtin then, because if the twenty grand was supposed to go to the Company, that’s only one grand a piece. Hardly enough to make such a big fuss about, especially in front of three Captains. If it’s twenty grand that Wayne owes though, then things are different, because that’s a lot of cash for one man to scrape up, and doubly so when his wife’s got an expensive habit. Expensive enough to put him twenty grand in the hole? Guess so.
Hardly seems worth it really. Then again, I’d gladly saddle that debt and more for Chrissy, Tina, or Aunty Ray, so what do I know?
“Two things,” I say, shaking my head to show I ain’t buying it, but also to clear out any sympathy I might have for Wayne. “One, even if you do lay the blame at my feet, I doubt your debtors will care enough to come after me. Them rougher types don’t care about why you can’t pay, only that you haven’t, so I would worry more about your organs than mine.” My words ring true and I see it in Wayne’s apprehensive gaze, so I follow it up with, “And two, if you do lay the blame at my feet, then there’s nothing stopping me from bringing this to Marcus. He’s given you a free pass this far because he feels like he owes it to you and Tamara, but there ain’t no way he’ll stand by while you dump your troubles on me.”
Don’t know what it is that’s got me feeling the way I do, but seeing how I am at least partially responsible for Wayne’s current dilemma, I feel obligated to throw him a bone. “I don’t get it though Wayne,” I say, trying to sound as genuine as I can while considering my words carefully. “If someone’s got your small hairs in a twist and is threatening to bring the hammer down on you hard, then why don’t you just… take care of it? You a Lieutenant in the Rangers, so I gotta assume you know your business, and I know your boys will back you if you ask.” Shrugging, I add, “Hell, I’ll even help if you need it. Hire you on for a hunt and ‘accidentally’ stumble across a group of ne’er-do-wells, who we’d be obligated to gun down where they stand. Simple is as simple does, and wouldn’t no one think twice.”
Because who gives a shit about a bunch of drug dealing, organ stealing outlaws? Frontier would be better off without them anyways.
Wayne doesn’t reply right away, just hits me with what I can only describe as a petulant pout. “If only it were that simple Howie,” he says, and I can tell he’s thought about it too. For all his faults, the man is still a Ranger, and Rangers don’t got any quit in them. This though? This a battle he don’t see how he can win, and it’s eating away at him from within. Got plenty of questions eating away at me too, because now I ain’t so sure I reached the right conclusion, but don’t see what else it could be. He’s in it deep with a bunch of criminals, but is too afraid to come clean or take them out on the down low, that’s my read, but what am I missing?
Nothing that’ll make me take on a twenty-thousand-dollar debt though, no sir-ree, especially if I don’t even know what it’s for.
So on the off-chance he actually answers me, I ask, “What are you mixed up in, Wayne?” No such luck though, as he just gives me a look, telling me he ain’t about to give me more ammunition to run to Marcus with, but that ain’t why I’m asking. Partially, it’s guilt, but also because I wanna know what I missed in that wagon, since curiosity is a bitch. Nothing I can do if he ain’t willing to share though, and I done enough to try and set things right, so I offer a shrug and say, “Then I guess you gotta do what you gotta do. I ain’t payin’ no twenty grand for nothin’. Wouldn’t even pay you a dollar, because your troubles ain’t got nothing to do with me.”
Which ain’t entirely true, but I didn’t forced Wayne to take on whatever debt he owes, or work with criminals and lowlives. That’s on him. Me, I killed a pedophile rapist who drugged me, and they can’t even prove that, so I’ll deal with whatever may come. Doubt anything will come of it anyways, though I think I’ll avoid Meadowbrook until this all blows over. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Aside from whatever punishment Marcus got waiting for me, I got Basic coming up, and there’ll be plenty of work going down south this next year or two, what with three new fortresses slated to start construction in a month or two.
All thoughts which run through my head as I head back into camp, but I can’t get rid of the one intrusive thought that keeps coming back. Why was Wayne so confident this time around? Last time we talked, he was still trying to needle me in hopes of getting something out of me. Turned that back around on him and got punched in the face for it, but that doesn’t change the facts none. He wasn’t sure then, wanted to push my buttons and see how I reacted, and was like that these last two weeks, but today… Today he was sure. Maybe he done convinced himself, or maybe I ticked him off enough so he don’t care if he wrong. Could be he’s just so desperate to escape responsibility the facts don’t matter anymore. Thing is, no matter how I try to logic it, I can’t help but wonder if the reason Wayne’s so sure is because Noora talked, and I find myself making excuses to go check up on her at the wagon. I don’t, because I got nothing more than an inkling, and it’s not like she’d honestly answer even if I asked. Terrible timing is all it is, me getting that weight off my chest only to have Wayne show up like he did after the fact. That’s all it is, an unfortunate coincidence and nothing more, because Noora wouldn’t turn on me like that, and wouldn’t know enough to go running to Wayne even if she did.
The night is only just beginning as I settle back in once again, but it’s a long and eventful one. Two more Abby attacks take place under the cover of darkness, and both times they’re driven back with no small number of casualties. None from the Rangers or boots just yet, though they got a smattering of minor injuries. It’s the townies who take the brunt of the damage, dying in small groups here and there that’ll add up right quick. Got nothing to do with me though, as Marcus leaves me benched all night, and I suspect Captain Jung and Sergeant Begaye didn’t argue too much against it. Tina, Jay, Errol, and the other boots all take part in the defense at one point or another, but I’m stuck in camp tossing and turning all night between studying Spiritual Weapon’s Spell Structure and bouts of restless sleep plagued by doubts and uncertainties.
So much so that when Sergeant Begaye kicks me awake in the early hours of the wee morning, I have no idea what it is he wants until he says, “Gear up.” That gets my Cores Primed right quick as I hop to my feet, much to Cowie’s displeasure. Kissing his nose to quiet his grumbles, I lay him down next to Tina and smile as he pushes his way through the flock of sleeping kiccaws to snuggle up against her. The birds don’t seem to mind, just hopping up onto his flank to sit pretty and snooze, while Tina doesn’t even stir inside her bedroll. Bad habit that, sleeping so deeply on the battlefield, but she’s been going hard in the paint with the shooting and Spellslinging all night, while I’ve fully recovered from this afternoon’s slugfest and then some.
For good reason it seems, because I’m moving up to the big leagues.
Doesn’t take long for me to finish preparations, as I got most of everything I need. Or so I thought, as Sergeant Begaye insists on going through my kit to make sure I ain’t missing anything. “Leave your hat,” he says, which I gently throw to land neatly next to Cowie’s head as the Sergeant hands me a metal bucket of a soldier’s helmet. One that don’t fit, which gets him real sour. “Never seen a kid with a head as big as yours,” he grumbles as he leads me over to grab a new one, and for once, them words got nothing to do with my ego. I don’t see it though, as my head is perfectly normal sized. It’s my slim and compact build that’s undersized, and soon as I bulk up a bit, everything will be perfectly proportional.
Except my ears I guess. Those are kinda big, but what can you do?
“Where’s your bayonet?” The Sergeant asks, after I got my new helmet fitted in place.
“Back in the trenches of World War Two,” I quip, but he don’t laugh. “Who carries a bayonet these days?”
“Delvers,” comes the reply, and as much as I want to laugh about it, it actually makes sense once I stop and think about it. Dark tunnels and tight spaces means a quick poke with sharp steel ain’t all that absurd, but I don’t got no bayonet. Got a knife, but no attachment for my carbine, and Sergeant Begaye don’t wait for no explanations. Just hands me a Strelky with a fold out bayonet already attached, as well as a bunch of ammo clips and a second bayonet with a ring I can clip onto my Whumper. Shows he’s a man who prepares for every eventuality, much like my daddy and how I try to be, but Lord knows I’ve had to scramble and improvise more than once. “Darkvision goggles?”
“Fully charged with Aether to spare,” I say, tapping the goggles around my neck. We go through a few more things, but ain’t nothing else I’m missing. Finally satisfied, he gives me a nod of begrudging approval before bringing me to another Drill Sergent lurking in the shadows at the edge of camp, one by the name of Dixon. A short and stocky fella who don’t seem to think much of me, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just looks me over, then glances at Sergeant Begaye before launching into the subtle motions and muttered chant of a Spell cast on the sly. Still audible to me and anyone within arms length, but you’d think he was just flexing his wrist and stretching his arm if you weren’t looking too closely.
The Spell takes form around me, and though I can’t perceive it the way Tina would, I can still feel it work, sense how it circles around me and settles gently over my shoulders. There’s an impression of darkness about the Aether, one that doesn’t affect the physical world in any way, yet renders the early morning gloom to grow thicker around us. Different from how my Settle In Shadows Spell would do it, as the Aether doesn’t take the shape or form of shadow, but rather suggests that it does to anyone looking.
An illusion Spell, aptly named Cloak of Darkness, a First Order Spell I could never get the hang of. It’s only supposed to conceal the Caster though, which means stout Sergeant Dixon ain’t half bad if he can extend the effects to two other people. More of that familiarity that I ain’t so familiar with, because the feature don’t come standard, which means it’s beyond of the reach of most folks who learn it. No idea why, as every Spellslinger resonates with different Spells, and there ain’t no explanation for it. Even Chrissy and Tina got different Spells they familiar with, though that might be on account of how Chrissy favours what she calls ‘fun’ magic. Like Infestation, which I don’t get, as I been on the receiving end of that Cantrip before, and one time was more than enough.
Or Command, to really get her point across on those rare occasions she has a need to. She don’t mean nothing by it. It just happens is all.
As for me? Only familiarity I got worth bragging about is Mage Hand. Which to be fair is pretty standard, as most are only familiar with one to three Spells at most. Knowing how to use Divination Spells ain’t nothing to write home about either, because that’s just making use of the Spells as is. I’m just better at reading them than most, which don’t feel all that impressive really, as it’s no different from being able to do math. I understand Divination Spells the same way I came to understand the numbers, by going through them again and again under different conditions until the understanding became second nature. Should be possible for anyone really, or at least that’s how I feel, which is why I don’t take much pride in those abilities.
Under the Sergeant Dixon’s Cloak of Shadows, we slink our way over to the east side of town and up onto the wall, all without attracting any attention. Fact that there ain’t as many guards helps a fair bit, as most of the Ranger Spell mines are concentrated on this side, which means plenty of advance warning if Abby should come hurtling down the mountains. Which was what we expected, but got a whole horde streaming out into the desert to cut us off instead. Bodes poorly for any expected reinforcements, as I suspect Marcus didn’t build a staging camp just to babysit boots for a single night. Course, he never came right out and called it a staging camp, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it was, a place to gather up wagons and Rangers before setting out as a group to help reinforce Pleasant Dunes.
All that is neither here nor there however, as I’m thrown for a loop when Sergeant Begaye starts tying off a length of rope around a crenelation. Throws the rest down and is over the side without making so much as a peep, which is real impressive considering that’s six metres down without scraping any of his metallic gear even once. Me, I try to follow suit, but the strap to my borrowed Strelky ain’t as well fitted as the one on my carbine, and I do a bit of clicking and clacking on my way down. Enough to earn me a scowl from the Sergeant, who mutters, “Hope you can move quieter than that under dark. Sound travels in those tunnels.”
Too sheepish to say anything in my defense, I get to fiddling with my gun strap, while following Sergeant Begaye out towards the main path. Sergeant Dixon don’t follow us down and pulls the rope up behind us, but I can still feel his Spell settled loosely around me as we head up the winding path into the mountains. Not two minutes away sits a pair of saddled horses, and we hop on to hurry along off to our destination. Gives me time to wonder how they got the horses out without anyone noticing, but not enough to drum up the courage to ask during our fifteen-minute ride to the entrance to a mineshaft that looks like it’s been sealed up with Shatter Spells or Charges.
Waiting there to greet us are none other than the three Captains themselves, all geared to the gills and looking ready to kick ass. Marcus got himself his twin Judges, two bulky, pistol-sized, six-shooter Blastguns that’ll clear tunnels with a single shot, as well as a big and heavy Blackstaff Assault Rifle with a forty-round magazine. Tim’s replaced his M4 Gromph with a Strelky same as mine, as well as two 1911s on his hip and two Szass and Tam Model 45’s in a new shoulder harness I ain’t ever seen before. As for Captain Jung, she’s dressed to the nines with a Penetrating Merlin 45, the lever-action rifle I was thinking of getting for Sarah Jay, with the addition of a wicked nasty looking bayonet blade which measures a good foot and a half long at least. She’s also got a compact Burst Bolt submachine gun on her hip, as well as her Sturm and Kitiara Longsword, but the thing that really completes her outfit is the pair of bulky combat gloves she got on. They a nice pale shade of leather and slim enough not to get in the way of shooting or slinging, but sport a set of nasty looking spikes along the knuckles so she can show Abby what’s what.
Still think melee combat with an orc is a terrible idea, but for those rare occasions when you got no other choice, then Captain Jung got the right proper solution.
“Fancy meetin’ y’all out here,” I say, mostly to work off a bit of nervous energy, and Marcus gives me a smile out of consideration.
“Spells?” He asks, getting right down to business without any preamble, so I follow suit and put my game face on.
“Full capacity, and all prepped.” My answer isn’t enough it seems, as he waits for specifics, so I list them out one by one. “Detect Aberration, Detect Magic, Hunter’s Mark, Entangle, Grease, Expeditious Retreat, Misty Step, Find Magical Traps, Force Barrier, and Spiritual Weapon.” Ten Spells, with number eleven being no good under dark, so no sense bringing it up.
Marcus trades a glance with Sergeant Begaye, who frowns and asks, “I thought you said you prefer to go heavy?” The question ain’t an official one, which I can tell by his congenial tone. Ain’t nothing wrong with my loadout, they were just expecting different.
“I do, but uh…” Gesturing back at the town, I say, “Well, we had our talk a few days ago, but nothin’ came of it, so I started feelin’ antsy up here without any big booms in my back pocket.” Life is different when you know you only need two and a half seconds at most to clear out a room, as that’ll boost your confidence like nothing else.
Again, Marcus trades a look with Sergeant Begaye, who hits me with a dirty scowl while reaching into his pocket. Pulls out a bill and smacks it into Marcus’ waiting hand, who hits me with a grin and says, “Had ourselves a bet on how many Spell Structures you could hold. I said eleven, he said nine, and those other two didn’t even bet.”
“Knew it’d be high,” Tim says, shaking his head. “Didn’t think Marcus would win though. I need to step up before you catch up.”
Captain Jung gives me an appraising look and says, “Most with your skills only have seven, while people your age with four Spell Structures can be considered talented. I figured you for nine at most too.”
“Yea well,” I reply, feeling a hint of heat on my cheeks as I take in the attention. “I always did love learning new Spells, but it got real frustrating havin’ to switch them up every time I needed to actually do anything, so I been pushing for as many Spell Structures as I can for awhile now.”
“Enough compliments,” Marcus says, interrupting my moment of glory. “Kid’s got a big enough head as it is.” Giving my steel helmet a good firm knock, he adds, “I bet we even got the same size hat.”
No. That’s not possible, and I look to Sergeant Begaye for support, but he looks away and pretends he doesn’t notice while pulling out his pipe for a hit. Seems a bit irresponsible, smoking just before we go under dark, where the smell could easily give us away, but no one else says anything, so I keep quiet out of good manners. Catching my curious looks, Marcus throws his arm around my shoulder and says, “We about to go down and get right into the thick of things. Can’t blame a man if he needs a smoke to settle his nerves. You need a hit?” Waving at the Sergeant to pass the pipe, Marcus accepts it and holds it up to my lips. “Go ahead,” he says with a smile, urging me to try it out without outright forcing it on me. I ain’t much of a smoker, but I suppose if I’m about to get got, I might as well give it a try, so I put my lips to the pipe and take a big ol’ puff.
Of nothing but cold air.
“C’mon Howie.” Knocking me atop the head, Marcus’ fierce features bear down on me in heated disapproval. “You should know better. You about to head deep under dark, where the smell could easily give you away. Can’t believe you gave in to peer pressure so easily. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you to say no to drugs?”
“Wasn’t like he was wholly against tobacco,” I mutter, annoyed and confused over being tricked.
“Yea, yea.” Handing the pipe back to Sergeant Begaye, Marcus slides a cigar into my breast pocket with a big, boyish grin. “Take good care of that then. You and me will light them up in celebration after we get back topside.”
“Sounds good,” I say, distracted by the sight of Sergeant Begaye puffing on his empty pipe and blowing out rings of smoke all the same. A Conjuror’s trick, I suppose, though I didn’t know you could make smells with it too. Tricksy folk, Conjuror’s are, same as Illusionists, Enchanters, and Transmuters.
As for Abjurers and Evokers? They’re just plain scary, making Divination the only honest School of Magic there is.
“Serious talk though,” Marcus continues, and I shift to meet his gaze, one which is serious as the grave and got me all sorts of concerned. “You don’t feel confident, then say the word and we walk away. Don’t feel pressured to do down under just because we’re asking. I’m confident we can hold the town no matter what may come. This just gets us the win that much faster, but it isn’t necessary for this operation to succeed. Understood?”
“Sir yes sir,” I reply, snapping off a salute. “Still willing to give it a try though, and figure there’s no better team to do it with.” Glancing at Tim, I wink and add, “Well, I’d trade Tim for the Marshal, but otherwise, we set.”
Mostly a joke because Tim might well be the most pivotal member here. Man’s a top tier Illusionist who’ll be keeping us hidden from Abby until we’re ready for them to know we’re here. Wasn’t joking about this being a top tier team, as Marcus is a Transmuter who can turn himself into a one-man wrecking crew, while Captain Jung is a living weapon and one of the deadliest around. Don’t know much about Sergeant Begaye, but Sarah Jay’s description of his shenanigans has got me all sorts of worked up. They got a good mix of schools, and it’s not like they can’t use other Spells too, as it’s Ranger S.O.P to have every member capable of covering for three roles at the very least.
Then there’s me, who’s here as a Scout and nothing more. Got one job and one job only; lead the team to the Proggie and stand back while they take it out, a job I ain’t even sure I can do, much less do it well, so here’s hoping my skills are up to snuff.
So… if you really up there in Heaven daddy, then I’d appreciate a helping hand round about now.