No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
By
Derek Ward
A Ranger’s patrol was usually boring. Most of the time, it was just riding the vast stretches of land between the cities and towns, on the watch for bandits or Dark Towers’ forces that may have infiltrated into Imperial territory. It was demanding work, and the path to becoming a Ranger was one of the toughest in the Imperial Armed Forces. Only the Imperial Commandoes and Imperial Marine Reconnaissance were more rigorous. Maintaining constant vigilance with little or no human contact for days at a time – and sometimes harsh environmental conditions - was one of those things that could make or break a Ranger candidate. Most couldn’t make it past the Long Ride – the probationary solo patrol before officially becoming a Ranger. Those that did muddle through had even rougher patrols to tackle. After all, we endured the stress of our job because we knew that we were protecting the citizens of the Empire that couldn’t do it. Fortunately, the brass in Imperial Security, the internal paramilitary force to whom the Rangers belonged, were nice enough to allow the Rangers to customize their patrolling gear to allow for maximum comfort. It was one less irritant to distract a Ranger from his duty. For me, that meant instead of the combat fatigues that most soldiers were forced to wear, I wore denim cargo pants, knee-high brown leather riding boots, a tan colored light cotton shirt, leather gloves, and the traditional black Stetson hat. My pistol was holstered on my right hip, while my saber was sheathed at my left hip, and my retractable spear was in its holder on my back. I wore a dark green riding vest – sort of a combination web gear, informal uniform, and riding protection. Sewn inside the padding were high-strength plastic plates to blunt trauma wounds from any of the various mishaps that could happen on a patrol, from falling off the horse to small arms fire. Pockets for various tools, food, and ammunition were dispersed all over the vest. Embroidered in black over my left breast was STAHL – my family name. On the right breast was the sigil of the Rangers, a five-pointed silver star within a silver circle. Above the sigil were the three circles of a warrant officer, first-class. The vest looked onerous to wear in the warm and humid grasslands of the Tam Bay sector, but it had been designed by former Rangers. It was good stuff, as we said, one of our highest praises for a piece of equipment.
I had sallied out of Tam Bay three weeks earlier. My patrol circuit went in a wide band through the middle of the sector, starting in the southwest with Tam Bay, up through Black River, arching to Liberty Bell, and then back to Tam Bay. If everything went routinely, the whole circuit took about four to six weeks. Primarily, my orders were to check the magrail and accompanying fibop lines for any signs of sabotage or disruption, ensure that the free towns in the sector were following the rules, and to investigate anything out of the ordinary. The great plume of black smoke off in the distance fell into the last category.
I could see the smoke rising up from the grassy plain for a few kilometers. It couldn’t have been anything good. There weren’t any homesteads this far out of Tam Bay, and the magrail track was a good fifteen kilometers to the west of whatever was burning off in the distance. I had been hoping for a simple patrol before I took some leave. It looked like what I wanted had been screwed over again. I had been a Ranger long enough to almost anticipate it.
“Well, Commanche,” I said to my horse, “Looks like we’ve got to work to do.” Commanche was the typical Ranger horse. Intelligent but lazy, at least until there was a fight or folks needing help. Then, the horse was one of the most fearsome creatures on this dark land. Commanche made a token protest at the reigns, and then followed my turn toward the rising plumes of smoke.
The sweet smells of the wild grasses rose up to me as Commanche trampled them, galloping towards the smoke. As we neared the source, I reached back to the saddle holster and drew my carbine. If it was orcs or goblins causing the problem, they wouldn’t be for long. That was the main purpose of Imperial Security Rangers. Kill the enemies of the Empire before they had a chance to do damage. The sight and smells of what awaited me, however, shocked me.
The smoke was rising from a burning Prowler armored personnel carrier. The ground surrounding the burning vehicle was torn up with a few smaller fires burning nearby. The smells of death, burning flesh, burning fuel and plastics contributed to the horror of the scene. Bodies of soldiers were littered around the APC. From what I could see, it looked like the soldiers had managed to dismount and fight against whatever had killed them. Not seeing any sign of the force that killed the squad, I dismounted and let Commanche munch on some grass while I investigated.
The Prowler was the newest generation of APC’s for the Imperial Army. It held a dismounted squad of twelve soldiers and two dogs, and had a crew of four – driver, turret gunner, vehicle commander, and crew chief/medic. With its 12 mm machine gun and 30 mm grenade launcher, the Prowler was rated to be able to assist its squad in fending off at least a century of orcs or a few centuries of goblins. That was what bothered me. It was routine for Imperial Army units to bolster Imperial Security when the Army units weren’t on the front lines, but generally as heavy reserves. The Tam Bay sector, which had five territorial cities, ten allied towns, four free towns, and dozens of independent homesteads, was nearly five hundred kilometers from the border between the Human Empire and the Dark Towers’ territory. Since the Red Lake Campaign added several hundred kilometers of border, orc and goblin raiding parties have been able to slip in and cause more-than-usual havoc, but primarily in the northern sectors. In fact, the raids had seemed to become smarter than the usual general havoc that had been the rule since humans and the Dark Forces first encounter each other. Any force small enough to infiltrate far enough south to reach my sector without being spotted should not have been large enough to defeat a motor rifle squad. They could have opened a portal, but even those wouldn’t have allowed a large enough number of Dark Towers’ minions through that the squad couldn’t have fended them off. Even if they caught the soldiers by surprise, they shouldn’t have been able to defeat the squad and its APC. The soldiers just had too much firepower at their disposal. As I looked over the first body, I knew that no Dark Towers’ creature had killed the soldier. The bullet wounds were evident on the body. Bullet wounds meant that bandits were responsible for the slaughter. As I crouched near the body, I scanned the area again, taking in all of the major details. I didn’t like what I saw.
What bothered me was that none of the soldiers’ weapons had been taken, nor anything out of the APC. It just looked like the bandits had come across the squad, fought it out, and then left. From the tracks around the burning APC, the bandits had horses, so the lack of scavenging made even less sense. The rest of the motor rifle platoon wouldn’t have had time to race over here before the bandits had time to loot the bodies and flee. So, the bandits were either already loaded up with booty, or they had a bigger score planned. The last part worried me the most. What could be bigger than a dozen military-grade rifles, ammo, and grenades?
I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to find the psi-tracks. Ever since humans landed on this world, individuals began developing psychic abilities. Mine had manifested when I was still a teenager. I could “smell” emotions. Moreover, I could track a person based on their emotional makeup, their unique “psi-scent.” The instructors at the Psi-Academy called me an empathic hunter. I also had a few other abilities, but I didn’t use them much. Out of the simple need to maintain my sanity, I kept the full power of my psi-senses reigned in until I needed them. A little concentration, though, and the psi-world opened up to me. My mind felt the unique scent of soldiers and some other human scents, but none that I knew. I wagered that those humans were the bandits. There was something odd about their psi-scent, but I couldn’t decipher it. It didn’t matter in the short run, thought. If I ran across the bandits again, I’d know them. Unfortunately, that was the only information that my psi-tracking gave me. No unusual emotions or alien scents. I opened my eyes and let the psi-scents fade into the background. It was time to concentrate on the physical.
The horse tracks had come from and led back off to the north, which was the rough direction of the free town of Border. Of the four free towns, Border was definitely one of the more hostile to the Empire. Since its founding after humanity crashed on this planet, the Human Empire realized two things. First, it would need to expand in order to survive. Second, not everyone was going to fit in with the Imperial government and its ideas on the proper governance of human society. So, the Throne asked its discontent and enterprising citizens to emigrate outside the walled cities and form their own communities. Those communities that wanted Imperial protection from the Dark Towers’ forces, occasional aboriginal attacks, and human bandits paid taxes and wrote out a charter that guaranteed the basic rights of all subjects. Free towns, on the other hand, paid no taxes, were given no protection, and did not have to abide by Imperial law. There were a few exceptions to the last point. The residents in a free town could not assist the enemies of the Empire or those who commit criminal offenses against Imperial subjects. If it was found that either of those rules were true, either Imperial Security or Imperial Army forces could seize any and all property within the free town and impose military tribunals against all residents. Just to keep the free towns honest, the Empire sent its Rangers through the free towns every so often. I had been to Border a couple of weeks ago, and hadn’t seen anything out of ordinary. The residents were as rude as they thought they could be with me. It would have made me angry, but my grandpa had sat me down and gave me a long talk just after I had officially became a Ranger.
“These folks have been trying to get away from Imperial influence,” my grandpa told me, “That star on your chest makes you the Empire to them, with all the problems and dangers of dealing with the Empire. Of course you being there is going to upset them. Go with a gentle hand, and you’re less likely to make them even more ornery. Just don’t be afraid to bring down the hammer if they are breaking the Free Codes.” Grandpa had been a Ranger when the Tam Bay sector was still young, and he had been with them when they seized Black River when it was discovered that those people were harboring the Yu gang. The Yu gang had been behind dozens of attacks on homesteaders and allied towns. The Rangers rode into town in the dead of night, and by dawn, had the Yu gang either dead or in custody and the town seized. It was now the northern most territorial city of the Tam Bay sector. Now, I was wondering if the same fate was awaiting Border. It certainly didn’t bother me much, but it would have to wait.
My first duty at the moment was to my fellow soldiers. Imperial Security and its Rangers are under the Ministry of Defense, not Justice. We are soldiers, which allow us a lot of leeway when dealing with folks, especially those outside of the territorial cities. We go to the same boot camps that the dead soldiers in front of me attended and take the same Oath of Service. My Ranger training allowed me to remain calm and rational, but the soldier tradition within me demanded violent retribution. It also demanded that I ensure that all respects be paid to my dead brothers and sisters in the squad.
There wasn’t a communication airship available out this far, so my only option for direct communication with my headquarters was to tap into the magrails. There was a magrail some fifteen kilometers to the west, but that would make me unable to follow the trail before it went cold. So, there was only one option left, even if it was really distasteful. I got into my saddlebags, retrieved the flare gun, and fired a single yellow flare into the air. As I waited for a response, I began the solemn task of collecting dogtags and moving the bodies for collection. Ancient military tradition said that a soldier was buried where he fell, but Imperial soldiers didn’t dare. Too many things would ignore the sacredness of a soldier’s grave to forage what they could. The truly revolting part was that I had to do it also. Ammunition, grenades, water, and most importantly scrip, had to be taken from the bodies. I was going to need all of it during my patrol. The worse was taking of little trinkets. I had some small bags – known as grave bags – for storing all the little trinkets with each dogtag, but I still felt like a grave robber. It took me the better part of two hours to prepare the sixteen human bodies and the two corpses of the squad’s dogs, but I was glad I had when the party of aboriginees showed up.
The aboriginees were a race of nonhuman hunter-gatherers that were sometimes allies and sometimes enemies. They stood an average of a meter and half tall, but were easily a hundred kilos of furry muscle. They had the flat face of a cat, the muscular build of a dog, and the long whip tail of a rat. They were social animals like dogs, stealthy hunters like cats, and incredible foragers like rats. They could also be the most infuriating creaures on the damned continent.
“Ranger call?” the leader of the party asked in broken Imperial. Like all members of the party, he was a male. The aboriginees were had a patriarchal tribal organization. Tribes controlled stretches of territories and defended them from other tribes. Humans and their towns were considered part of the territory, so the tribe decided how it would deal with the humans in their territory. The Tam Bay sector had two tribes, the Stone Bone tribe in the northwest and the Swift Wind tribe in the southeast. Stone Bones were somewhat friendly, although they didn’t have a problem with its parties raiding human towns or homesteads. Swift Winds, on the other hand, were extremely respectful of human property, as long as humans respected the tribe’s claim to the natural resources of the land. The Duke of Tam Bay had long kept that informal pact, and Rangers enforced it. My problem was that I was in Stone Bone territory, and their response was never predictable. I spent almost as much time fighting their raiding parties as I did bartering and protecting the tribe.
“Yeah, I called for you,” I answered, “I need a message taken to the nearest Imperial. And I don’t want your tribe messing with the dead here.” The leader looked bewildered at my last statement. Aboriginees believed that the dead’s possessions were meant to be spread amongst those who could lay claim. Amongst their own dead, the aborigines had a complex web of inheritance that most humans didn’t even bother to figure out. Most aboriginal customs were difficult enough to keep up with. For the dead of non-aborigines, it was finders-keepers. That was, unless you paid the aborigines not to bother your dead.
“What price?” the leader countered. His response was good in that the party wasn’t interested in fighting for claim, but the aborigines were incredible hagglers. I didn’t have time to wrangle with price. I had to get moving to track the bandits that had attacked and killed the squad. The trail was already starting to go cold, and I couldn’t afford for it to go too much colder.
“I’ve got a couple hundred scrip,” I answered, “And that’s it. Two hundred in scrip for a message delivery and to not forage the bodies.”
“Want guns. Army guns. Good for stuff,” the leader demanded, his eyes glinting with desire at the stacked rifles.
“Not a chance,” I told him, “Army guns are not for the tribes, and you know that. With the scrip, you can go down to the trading post and get guns.”
“Not as good. Not kill as many bad things,” the leader said, his sing-song tone wavering with a slight anger. It bothered me that I couldn’t tell whether the anger was real or feigned, but I never could fully read the aborigines’ emotions. I could sense their emotions and use that to find the aborigines, even when they were camoflauged. Telling exactly what the aborigines were feeling just wasn’t possible. They were just too alien.
“Yeah, well your idea of bad things sometimes include Imperial subjects and Imperial allies,” I replied, my tone sure and even, “So no, I am not going to let you have Army weapons.”
“What about pistols and swords?” the leader countered, “Would like those.” I thought about that for a moment. Giving the aborigines the lighter weapons would allow them to face off with the occasional orc or goblin raid on a more even footing, but it wouldn’t give them a real advantage against a human armed with a rifle. Plus, the human-made weapons would be a status symbol for the raiding party. It made sense.
“A sword for each member of your party and five pistols total with two spare magazines and ammunition for each,” I said, “And a hundred in scrip.” The scrip wasn’t as good as real Imperial currency, but it would let the tribe by some of the goods they had come to depend on.
“Not a lot of bullets,” the leader complained. I was pretty sure that his annoyance was feigned. Unfortunately, my annoyance was not.
“You don’t need that many,” I retorted, “Unless you’re going after humans.” The leader twitched his whiskers in righteous indignation, but he relented. I selected the pistols and magazines as the aborigines chose their own swords. I checked each of the swords to make sure that none bore family markings. It wasn’t unusual for families to pass swords down generation to generation. My own saber had once belonged to my grandfather. My father’s gladius was being carried by one of my cousins who was serving in the Marines. After turning over the pistols to the leader, I wrote out a note detailing what had happened, where to find the bodies, and what I was going to do about the situation. I handed the sealed note to the leader, who passed it to an extremely thin aborigine. The thin aborigine tore off running at a speed that was truly amazing. Aborigines could outpace a horse with ease.
I mounted up on Commanche. I took enough time to watch the aborigines put out a guard on the site, and then I turned to Border. I took a moment and inspected the trail. The bandits were on horseback, at least six different horses that I could see in the dirt, but no footprints other than those from the soldiers. The bandits had never dismounted during the fight. That bit bothered me. I couldn’t see how an Army squad that had enough time to dismount its troops wouldn’t have been able to handle a half-dozen bandits, or at least take one of them down.
The trail was torn up – the horses had been galloping away from the scene. No blood or any odd gaits on the tracks, so it didn’t look like the horses hadn’t been injured. What kind of firefight had happened?
Commanche had already figured out that we were following the trail, and he followed the scents of the bandits’ horses, letting me concentrate on the enigma. Three main questions gnawed at me. First, why would bandits take on an Army motor rifle squad? Second, how had the bandits, who at most were a dozen strong, defeated said motor rifle squad without taking any casualties? Third, why had the bandits not looted the squad of its weapons and valuables?
Bandits, as a group, were vicious cowards – bullies with guns. They tended to travel the wide open spaces between the territorial cities, allied towns, free towns, and homesteads, looking for easy pickings among the convoys or legitimate travelers. Their entire goal was rape and robbery of those weaker than them. That said, bandits avoided stronger forces, like Imperial Security forces and the Army units that patrolled the plains. Occasionally, bandits made the mistake of tangling with Imperial forces, but it was usually just long enough for them to open up a little room, flee, and hope that the Imperials wouldn’t give chase. Very rarely, bandits would form larger forces for the purpose of attacking Imperials, in hopes of gaining some large bounty – special weapons, payoffs by the Empire to friendly aborigines and free towns, etc. – but most of these were broken up before or shortly after the party did its deed. Imperial forces come down with a hard hammer on those that dare attack its subjects and property. At the moment, I was the hammer.
The town of Border was maybe twenty kilometers from the site of the attack. Like most freetowns, it had been started by homesteaders that found Imperial rule too constraining. It was primarily a farming community, but had a paved road to the allied town of Freehold for trading purposes. Maybe a hundred souls resided in the town and surrounding farms. The town itself consisted of a main strip with the general store, pub, a tinker’s shop, the local bank, and the town meeting hall. Outside of the main strip, the town had an undertaker, a couple of churches with boothills, an “industrial park” with a slaughterhouse and tanner, a small mill, and twenty meter tall water tower that doubled as the town watchtower. Border had forgone even a basic town wall, instead settling on the battlement-style of town defense. Essentially, all of the major town buildings were fortified and supplied for defense against the occasional orc, goblin, or aborigine attack. It was more cost-effective for small towns than maintaining a proper city wall, as long as the townspeople could get everyone into the “battlement buildings” quickly enough.
The bandit tracks led north towards the town, but then veered to the east about two kilometers from the outskirts of Border. I retrieved my binoculars from my saddle bag and scanned around me. There was nothing that I could see on the east, but it was obvious that Border’s residents were aware of my presence. There were three riders heading out to me. My experience told me that the riders did not bode well. I drew my carbine from its saddle holster and laid it across my saddle horn. Commanche sensed my unease and perked up with the anticipation of a fight. He was definitely a Ranger’s horse.
I recognized the leader of the party. He was the tall, olive skinned, dark-haired Mitch McCollum. Mr. McCollum was Border’s head of the town council, as well as the town’s banker. Essentially, McCollum was the leader of Border. I thought that McCollum’s position was odd, but I never said anything. It wasn’t my business until I found something that made it my business. On his right was a man that looked like an almost carbon copy of Mr. McCollum. The rider was his son, McCollum, Junior, heir-apparent to all of his father’s position and power. The third rider I didn’t know by sight. He was shorter than the other two, with pale skin and whisps of blond hair poking out from under his dark brown hat. The McCollums were dressed in standard outfits of denim pants and light colored button shirts with leather boots and gloves. Not formal, but good for riding. Both had pistols at their hips, but that was standard practice. Their companion was wearing similar clothes, but also had a long, black denim duster that draped off of him. He had a civilian’s rifle in his hands. As soon as they were close enough, I began to feel the riders’ psi-scents. The McCollums’ were familiar, but with a stronger flavor of fear than I normally sensed from them. The third rider’s psi-scent I recognized instantly. He was one of the bandits. The selector switch on my carbine went from safe to single shot. This was about to become very interesting. I tried to look relaxed, but I had only a few moments before I had to decide whether to take preemptive action or not. My instinct told me to punch the third rider out of his saddle, but my experience was demanding patience. My experience won out, but instinct was ready with the carbine.
The three riders stopped a good five meters in front of me. I could feel the tension emanating from the McCollums, but the third was overly calm. That was a judgment call, but a fairly decent one. I have found most people outside city walls got a bit nervous when my brethren or myself came calling. This unknown was being as cool as an ice cube.
“Good day Ranger Stahl,” Mr. McCollum said in a welcoming tone that belied the emotions I was sensing, “What brings you to our fine town, again?”
“An Army motor rifle squad was attacked south of here,” I said casually, “I’m tracking the perps. The tracks lead up to here.” The McCollums fidgeted in their saddles. With an attack on Imperials leading to their doorstep, the possibility of Imperials seizing the town became a very possible. Unless, of course, they satisfied me that the town had nothing to do with it and weren’t harboring the bandits. Which, with the other man escorting them, seemed highly unlikely.
“Well Ranger, I can tell you that no bandits are residing in Border,” McCollum answered, “We are a peaceful town.” He was lying, but something told me not to bluntly call him out on it. There was something else in play, and I bet it had to do with the bandit riding with the two McCollums.
“McCollum, you gave me that same speech when I rode through here two weeks ago,” I told him, “Now the fact that the tracks head east from here may mean Border has nothing to do with them.” The McCollums eased noticeable. I turned to the third rider. “Who are you?”
“You’re a rude one, Ranger,” the rider answered, with an oily slick voice, “You should be more polite out here.” I felt the icy touch of mental fingers trying to feel their way into my thoughts. My psi-scenting was a passive action. Even strong psychics wouldn’t detect me sensing their emotions. This probe was an intrusive attempt to see what I was thinking. Honed reactions flew instinctively as my mental blocks came slamming down, and I looked at him with an evil eye. His eyes were wide as he tried to overcome the sudden shock that he was facing another psychic. I had maybe a second or two of advantage before he pulled himself together.
The telekinetic blast threw him out of his saddle and landed him a good three meters from his horse. He was winded and stunned, but I never hesitated. My carbine was at my shoulder. A single round tore through his chest, and the man slumped down. I whirled onto the McCollums, keeping the carbine trained on the younger McCollum. “Using psychic powers on an Imperial officer is justification for deadly force. You two are accomplices, and as such, just as complicit.”
“NO!” screamed Junior, “He and his friends have been holding the town hostage for the last week.” He was telling me the truth. There was no deception in his psi-scent.
“Spill it,” I demanded, never lowering the carbine.
“It’s true,” McCollum Senior answered, “A few days after you rode through, these men came in. They killed John Allister, the LDS elder, and grabbed several of the young women. They have them holed up in the LDS stake house. The bandits, they’re all psychics.” That sent a shock through my system, although I didn’t let it show. Psychics were exceedingly rare, and any discovered inside Imperial or allied towns were compelled to give two years minimum service in the Imperial Praetorian Brigade. Mainly that was to both indoctrinate the psychics, and to allow the Empire to use their powers in the furtherance of the Empire. It may sound cruel, but we live in a cruel world. I hadn’t done my stint yet, but I would have to before I could leave Imperial service. I personally thought many of the Praetorians luxuriated in their status, but they were loyal. The idea that several psychics had managed to join together to commit simple banditry was beyond basic comprehension. How had so many slipped through the various nets that the Empire used to catch and indoctrinate those humans gifted with psychic powers?
“Are they related to the bandits that attacked the Imperial army squad?” I asked, my voice still in the steady demanding tone that had been a long trademark of the Rangers.
“I think so,” Junior answered, “Some of them rode off east two days ago. We don’t know what they’re doing. We didn’t know they were going to attack an Imperial force.”
“Here’s my problem,” I told them, “Your town is holding people responsible for the deaths of Imperial soldiers. Now, on that pretext alone, I could order a seizure. That said, I don’t see that you were acting in concert with these people, just victims. That said, I also have no obligations to help you. Border is a free town. You’ve refused Imperial protection. That includes me. Now, I’m going to ride east to find out what’s going on, unless you decide to come under the Imperial banner.” The quandry left both men speechless. I didn’t envy them. They had lived their lives fighting Imperial control, but now, they needed the power of the throne. I could have just gone in and fought it out with the bandits in town without demanding Border become an allied town, but Rangers have an unofficial mission to bring the free towns under the Imperial banner.
“How do we fight psychics?” demanded Junior, not completely thinking as he advanced on me. Anger was clearly coming through, mostly from frustration. I was sympathetic to Border’s plight, but I couldn’t really do anything about it.
“A bullet through the heart tends to make most men die,” I answered calmly, “Just ask your travelling companion.” I motioned to the corpse of the bandit sprawled on the grassy ground. “Control yourself. Let’s be realistic. You can accept my help and become an allied town. Or, you can fight them on your own, retain your independence, and hope that I don’t find anything to the east that would change my opinion of your role in this situation.” The two men looked at each other silently for a long moment. I could tell from their emotions that there was something that they weren’t telling me. I wasn’t about to walk into an ambush, so I turned Commanche towards the east.
“Wait,” McCollum said, “There’s more. We’ll accept your assistance Ranger.” Junior looked and smelled outraged at his father’s decision. Senior just shot his son an authoritative look. “Please come into town with us.”
“Were the other psychics watching us out here?” I asked as they turned to return to Border.
“I doubt it,” McCollum answered, “They usually just had one of them guarding us, a couple more at the stake house to guard the women, and the other six or seven went off to the east.” That meant ten psychics were working together. What in God’s name had I stepped into? I needed to check my airship schedule and see if I could get a signal off to the Imperial authorities.
“How often do they rotate in and out?” I asked.
“They haven’t been back,” Junior answered. I began considering my options. Whatever was to the east, it was important. Important enough to take out an Army unit that may have come too close. I still had to deal with the two in Border, and I had no idea of how powerful they were. They would have to be dealt with first, before their allies came riding back in. I did have one advantage, I knew that they were psychic – and they didn’t know I was one. One of my instructors always said surprise was a weapon second only to something called a nuclear bomb.
“Tell everyone to stay clear,” I told the McCollums, “This might get messy.” They nodded and started to ride back. “Don’t try and back out of accepting my assistance, or I’ll seize this town.” Junior swallowed and Senior’s eyes narrowed, but they both nodded with solemn acceptance. It would be up to them to explain their actions to their fellow residents. My job was to rid them of a pair of bandits in town, and then take out the rest of the bandit gang.
I rode into town behind the McCollums. The main strip ran north-south, and these buildings were the main defensive buildings for Border’s defense. Running parallel to Main were Jones Street to the west and Oak to the east. Jones held the poor housing for the town and led north to the industrial area. Oak was where the wealthier citizens lived and where the churches were located. The LDS stake house was on the northern most lot on Oak.
It was in the afternoon as I walked into the bank. The residents looking to do business either scurried out of my way, or gave me the most poisonous looks I had seen in some time. I ignored them all, mostly because I didn’t blame them in the least. I had just forced them to ally with the government they had despised. It was going to take a generation, and maybe some Imperial Security forces, to keep this town under Imperial rule. Some of the residents would move on, some would stay, but they would all resent this day. All I could do was to recommend the level of Imperial involvement. If Border’s residents didn’t hinder me, or actively helped me, I was thinking of minimal involvement. Maybe some Ministry of Justice people and an Imperial Court. I put all of that to the back of my mind. It would wait until all was said and done.
“I need to get up to the roof,” I told McCollum, Senior. He looked at me and the gear that I was hefting.
“They said no one was to go on the roofs, and that they would know,” McCollum answered. Smart of them, but I never relied on just one plan.
“What about your back door?” I asked, “Can it be opened quickly?” He nodded, unsure of what I was planning. “Tell your customers to begin forting up. Everyone in either a storm cellar or in one of your defensive positions. I am going to try and save the girls, but it might get dangerous to anyone caught outside.”
“What about the girls?” asked Senior. I could feel the concern for them. McCollum may have been difficult with me, but he had a genuine concern for those that lived in Border.
“I will do everything within my power to keep them alive,” I answered, my tone conveying the pure power of a Ranger’s word, “You may not like it, but you are now under my protection, and I will stop all those who bring harm to any persons under my protection.” McCollum looked hesitantly relieved. The Rangers have a reputation, and depending on which side you’re on, it can be a comfort or a curse. Those who had cursed our name now had to deal with the comfort we bring to our allies.
McCollum led me past the teller windows, down a hall that led to a receiving and storage room. A single reinforced wood door led out of the bank and onto Oak Street. The stake house was north of the bank by about a hundred meters. I had hoped to sniper the two bandits from the bank’s roof, but now I was going to have to go for the direct assault. Speed was life in this kind of situation.
Rangers rarely wear the body armor that is issued to most military soldiers. It was just too heavy and hot for the hours of riding along patrolling an assigned circuit. Motor rifle soldiers spent a lot of their time in an air-conditioned APC, where it was much easier to handle the extra bulk. That doesn’t mean Rangers didn’t keep the body armor around for bad situations. The flak jacket (whatever flak was) was a short sleeved overcoat that draped down to below the crotch. It had steel plates sewn into layers of nylon and would protect the soldier from most things orcs and goblins could throw at the soldier, and even provided limited protection against small arms fire and shrapnel from artillery or grenades. The bracers were also nylon covered curved steel that protected my forearms. Grieves around my shins were of a similar manufacture and a steel helmet completed the basic armor. The whole thing weighed about twenty kilos and breathed okay – if you were in an air-conditioned APC for the majority of your patrol, or wearing it for a short period of time. Still, it would give me an extra advantage. My pistol was holstered on my right hip, and my sword was sheathed at my left. Swords were primarily used when ammunition had been expended and it would take too long to reload – primarily when fighting orcs or goblins, but I had used it too many times fighting bandits to forgo belting it up. My few grenades were still locked up on Commanche, but I had taken out a single distraction device, more commonly known as a “flash-bang.” It was a nice little way of knocking the bandits off-balance without having to worry about friendlies being killed. Carbine slung and flash-bang in hand, I grabbed the knob to the door.
The trick of throwing the flash-bang was giving it just enough telekinetic push. At most, I could throw the little device ten or twelve meters. I had to make it ten times that distance. Too much or too little push and the flash-bang would do little but announce a psychic’s presence. I tossed the flash-bang, throwing a small force behind it to push it along.
As soon as I pushed the flash-bang, the two bandits turned towards me. They had felt me use my telekinesis, and they now knew a psychic was in the area. That was the bad news. The worse was that one of them caught the flash-bang and wrapped it in a force cocoon. The other launched himself at me, a pistol in hand. I threw up a barrier and let the carbine drop on its sling. The sword was drawn as the bandit came rocketing into the barrier.
The feedback of his powers hitting mine stunned us for both a moment. I recovered first, thanks to long hours of training that I endured at the Imperial Psi-Academy. I didn’t have time to enjoy my small respite because the second bandit opened up with his rifle. I hastily threw up another shield, but I could feel one of the rounds slam into my flak jacket. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to my chest. It hurt badly, but I had been hurt worse, and there were lives on the line. With my sword in hand, and protected from the rifle fire by my barrier, I staggered over to the first bandit. He was still stunned from hitting my barrier, but he still managed to weakly bring his pistol up. The saber neatly removed the hand holding the pistol, and a second slash decapitated him. The rifle fire abruptly stopped as the body of the first bandit slumped over. I looked up to see what had stopped the rifle fire. The second bandit had scampered away. I guessed that seeing his comrade brutally killed took the fight out of him. Still, I had to track him and finish him. I fully opened my mind to the psi-scents – and was hit with the vile odor that came from those of the Dark Towers. I could still smell the other bandit, and I could tell he had fled east. The almost unbearable pungence emanated from the stake house. I transformed my telekinetic barrier into a battering ram and slammed the doors of the stake house open.
The horror of the scene beyond the doors was familiar, but still evoked pure terror in me. I could feel my body wanting to flee, but I couldn’t run. All godly vestiges of the church had been eradicated, and only the hastily painted runes on the walls and floor of the stake house remained. The six women were naked and bound, arranged around a large red circle painted on the floor. They were alive, but the fear coming from them was intense. It was what whoever drew all the runes and the circle wanted. He would need the womens’ fear to boost his magic power. There were some scientific explanations of how magic worked on this world, but I never understood it beyond the fact that it did work, and the Dark Towers were very good with it. Thank God the elves were better – and they were on our side, somewhat. I recognized the arrangement as one needed to open a portal. A portal this size could bring in a few hundred orcs without a problem. With trepidation, I probed the room. Although the rank stench of the Dark Towers permeated the stake house, it didn’t have the unique flavor recently used magic. My best guess was that this portal hadn’t been opened yet. Finally it was too much. I ran out of the stake house and began wretching into the manicured bushes that surrounded the once-holy building. Pain shot out from my chest, lingering fear ran through my body, and my mind was still a bit foggy from the psychic feedback of hitting another psychic’s powers. It was enough for me to want to just lie down and pass out. That would have to wait because there was more work to do.
The residents began to come onto Oak. Some shied from the body of the decapitated bandit, but most continued towards me. Questions from the residents began bombarding me, but all I could do was point them at the door to the stake house. As soon as the residents peeked in, the screams began. The scent of horror was too much for me, so I staggered back through the door to the bank. McCollum Junior looked at me in wide-eyed shock as I stumbled into the back room. I needed to clear my head of the pain from the gunfire and psychic feedback. Bad things were still afoot, and they weren’t going to wait for me to get some sleep. The Dark Towers were now involved, and that changed things dramatically. I grabbed my saddlebags and walked out to my waiting horse.
Commanche was agitated. There had been combat, and he hadn’t been involved. I had a feeling that he would have a chance. The rest of the bandits would be back, and they knew that I was in town, and ready. I just wished it was true. I had no idea how I was going to take on at least seven or eight other psychics, plus whatever Dark Towers’ forces were with them. I needed help, and more than what the citizens of Border were going to be able to give me. Junior had followed me out, and looked at me a little fearfully as I cleaned the blood and bits of gore off of my sword blade.
“I need a rider,” I told him, “I need you to get the town council to get everyone inside and ready to defend this place. Battle’s coming.”
The streets of Border were empty. Everyone and everything was locked up and secured. Residents were on rooftops and at windows, armed with a motley assortment of civilian rifles, some old military assault rifles, and a single machine gun. It didn’t seem like much, but it was all we had. We had been waiting for the past four hours, and I could tell the population was getting restless.
“Where are they?” demanded Joey Rico, the eldest son of the general store owner. We were on the roof of his father’s store, looking out to the east. I had seen some movement in the past few hours, but it was far in the distance, and I couldn’t tell if it was human. The sun was getting closer to the horizon. Dusk would be when they would attack. The dark ground and light sky provided enough cover to move a large group of bad guys.
“They’ll come when they come, son,” I answered, “Just relax and be ready. You’ve been in fights with orcs and goblins before.”
“Yeah, but what about the psychics?” he countered, the nervousness creeping into his voice.
“That’s what I’m here for,” I assured him, “Just take out any of the bad guys that you know, and if the psychics attack, just keep firing at them. They’re not Praetorians.” Joey nervously chuckled at the comment, but he tightened his grip on his rifle. Then the war horn bellowed through the night. It was starting.
Out of the horizon came the horde. It was probably at least two hundred orcs and twice as many goblins. About right for a simple portal. The orcs were formed in solid ranks of five wide, but the goblins were unorganized mass swirling around the orcs. The unorganized mob of goblins meant that there were no hobgoblin overseers keeping control over the vile things, which was both a good and bad thing. Good in that I didn’t have to deal with the devious bastards, but bad in that uncontrolled goblins had a tendency to be unpredictable. The horde was still over five kilometers off, but were steadily approaching, accompanied by the deep bass of the marching drums. Occasional blasts of war horns pierced the darkening scene as the horde came towards us. I could feel the growing anxiety and fear from the Border residents. They had seen raids before, but the horde approaching us was probably larger than any they had seen before. It was a larger force than I had seen in the Tam Bay sector in some time. After a tense hour, the horde reached two kilometers out. I opened up my psi-senses fully.
The full repugnance of the inhuman creatures slammed through me as if I had opened a tin of spoiled milk. I pushed through the initial blast of vileness, and was relieved that I didn’t sense the unique smell of a magic wielder. I could smell the psi-scent of the bandits amongst the pungance of the orcs and goblins. They were using the bandits to keep the creatures in line instead of orc mages. Psychics I could handle, but dealing with magic was tricky at best. My senses erupted as some of the residents opened fire.
“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” I yelled, thrusting my senses back to their normal level of awareness, “WAIT UNTIL THEY’RE IN RANGE!” I could hear the command being repeated by the older residents. At least some of them remembered their training from conscription. Rifles gave us a better reach, but the bad guys were nearly two thousand meters out. Only heavy precision rifles had that kind of reach, outside of vehicle-mounted weapons.
I felt the icy touch of a psychic probe around my head. Without concious thought, my mind slammed down its defensive block. It was like shining a mirror back into a spotlight. The bandit knew exactly where I was located. He launched himself into the air, rifle in hand. The bandit was a tad over fifteen hundred meters from me, well beyond the range of my carbine. He yelled down to his comrades, and I realized what he was doing. The bandit wasn’t calling me out. He was acting as a spotter for his comrades on the ground. As he hovered about eight meters off the ground, the horde reached one thousand meters.
Goblins began vanishing from sight as they plunged into the hidden pungee pits. The swirling mass of goblins began panicking as the pain-laden shrieks rose from the spike lined pits. With no hobgoblins to control their dimunitive, chaotic cousins, the goblins refused to advance any further. Goblins, by nature, needed a great deal of coercion to get them to do anything beyond what they felt like doing. I could feel the psychic energy lashing out at the goblins as the bandits tried to reform the goblins and continue the advance.
“Okay Joey, tell your dad to begin,” I ordered, keeping the disorganized horde in view. I heard Joey scamper across the wood roof of the general store and yell down to the men on Main. A few seconds later, I heard the whoosh of the frag barrel as it was hurled over me towards the horde. It amazed me that the residents of Border had built a trebouchet, much less one that could be erected in less than twenty minutes and fling small barrels out to a bit over a thousand meters.
The barrel was a small wooden keg filled with two things – a half-stick of dynamite and nearly two kilos of ten-penny nails. The school teacher, Ms. O’Hallaran, had done all the necessary mathematics so that the fuse would hit the dynamite when the charge was a good ten meters off the ground. My part in this was two-fold. First, I began firing at the floating bandit to keep him from snagging the barrel before it detonated. At a thousand meters, hitting him would be difficult with the carbine, but the bullets were meant as a distraction, not to actually knock him out of the sky. Secondly, I needed to telekinetically nudge the barrel to have it detonate where it would cause the most damage. That task was more difficult, but it was something I had practiced. Granted, that was mostly with hand grenades and similar sized objects, but the principle was the same. Range was going to be a problem. The extent of my telekenesis was about two hundred meters, and at that range the most I could muster was the strength of a strong finger tap. There is a good reason that Imperial educational system promotes strong math skills. Humans need them far too much in our world.
As the bullets began whipping around him at supersonic speeds, the floating bandit threw a psychic blast at me, hoping to trigger all of my pain receptors in my brain. Again, my mind block repelled the psychic invasion, but it needed most of my available psi-strength to defend against the powerful psi-blast. I cursed as the barrel soared out of my reach.
“You are so my new best friend,” I quietly murmurred to the floating bandit as I watched the barrel descend and detonate over a mass of goblins. We needed that barrel to hit the orcs, not the goblins, but I just didn’t have the strength to fend off the psi-blast and direct the barrel. The blast was visible in the fading light, but it was the sudden gaping hole in the mass of goblins that showed me what the lethal rain of iron had cut out of the horde.
“Joey, I can’t direct the fire,” I said as I reoriented my carbine on the floating bandit, “Tell them it’s landing about ten to fifteen meters to the left of where we need it.” As the teenager conveyed my firing instructions, I took another couple of shots at the airborne bandit. Between the psi-blast and the fact he had managed to keep himself aloft for almost ten minutes, I knew he was far stronger than most psychics. By the same token, so was I. I wanted to keep his attention on me and misjudging my exact strength – or more to point, my endurance.
The second barrel flew over me, arching towards the columns of orcs. I fired another few rounds at the floating bandit, but he just threw up a barrier to deflect the bullets. Then his comrades threw up a massive barrier over the orcs as the barrel exploded. The rain of nails fell harmlessly over the protected orcs. A few orcs on the very edge of the barrier fell to shrapnel, but not nearly enough.
As a third barrel swooshed above me, a human stepped in front of the horde and released a telekinetic blast at the ground in front of the horde. The light wood concealing the remaining pungee pits shattered. I could sense a myriad of psi-blasts, and watched as the swarm of goblins began reforming into a protective screen around the far more dangerous orcs.
Shouts of dismay and fear came from the other rooftops. The horde had shrugged off the first line of defense while only losing maybe a hundred or so goblins. Joey came up beside me. “What do we do now?”
“Tell them to keep firing, but they are going to have to shorten range and wiggle around a bit. Rapid-fire,” I answered, making sure that I kept using a calm and steady voice. I could feel that many of the defenders were close to panic, and any faltering by me would send them over the edge. The veterans were doing their best to keep their comrades calm. Only five hundred more meters, and the small arms would come into play. Time crawled onward as the trebouchet threw barrel after barrel. They were getting one off almost every minute, and managing to adjust range and direction with every load. It was an impressive display, especially for a crew that wasn’t made up of professional soldiers. The bandits managed to keep the orcs mostly covered, but goblins were being shredded left and right. Maybe another sixty or eighty fell as they marched alongside the orcs. It was taking more psychic blasts to keep the dimunitive creatures in some semblence of order.
An explosion from behind rocked the general store, almost knocking me off my feet. Fear, panic, and pain filled my psi-senses as I heard the collapse of the trebouchet. I heard Joey start screaming for his father. My mind raced. What had happened? How had they managed to destroy our artillery? I had to push the questions to the back of my mind as I watched the horde begin charging.
“HOLD THE LINE!” I yelled as some of the defenders began to go to the aid of the trebouchet crew, “PREPARE TO FIRE!” The few veterans repeated the orders. The line of rooftop defenders was mostly intact as the horde reached the eastern outskirts of Border – and within range of the rifles.
As the columns of orcs began smashing into the few homes that scattered the eastern limit of Border, the defenders opened fire. Thirty rifles and the machine gun fired almost simultaneously. The bandits had erected a barrier, but only a few rounds bounced off them. The other rounds were directed at small casks near the houses. The mines erupted, throwing out a wave of ten-penny nails and a cloud of ground glass. The sudden trap caught the bandits off-guard, but they managed to deflect most of the nails. Maybe fifty goblins, twenty orcs, and a bandit were felled by the speeding nails. The glass cloud floated around the barrier, and it was the cloud that caused the most havoc amongst the horde. As the defenders continued to fire, the ground glass began blinding exposed goblins and orcs. The goblins began to break, and I felt as though the town might actually throw back the horde. Those hopes were dashed as I watched the still-floating bandit begin to telekinetically create a small whirlwind that lifted the tiny glass particles away from the horde, raining harmlessly on the trampled ground. A raging anger swept through me. With pure instinctual rage coursing through me, the carbine was at my shoulder with the selector switch thrown. With an almost primal desire, I felt the trigger depress, sending a stream of bullets at the bandit.
I don’t know why he wasn’t aware of what I was doing. The amount of raging frustration and anger should have shone like sunlight through a telescope. His only reaction was to turn his head as the first of fifteen 6.5 mm anti-personnel bullets punched into his body, fragmenting and rending the flesh. I felt his psi-scent fade to a ghost and saw the body plummet to the ground. My rage spent, I realized that my carbine’s bolt was locked open on an empty magazine. I also saw the two bandits launch off the ground at me.
I didn’t raise a barrier, reserving my psi-strength for any mental attacks. The empty rifle was allowed the drop on its sling, as I drew my pistol. The two bandits opened fire with their rifles, sending me to the roof of the general store. I heard as their bullets riccocheted off the low wall, and sensed their rage as they rocketed up. Of the two, one had a tighter reign on his emotions. Using the two distinct psi-scents as aim points, I pointed the muzzle of the pistol at the looser bandit. They both roared over the low wall. It took them a moment to aim their weapons to where I had taken cover. I only needed a moment. I squeezed the trigger.
Two ten millimeter bullets slammed into the less-experienced bandit’s leg, nearly amputating the limb. He screamed in pain and shock and plummeted the eight meters to the hard ground. As I had expected, the bandit hadn’t used a full coverage barrier. The more experienced bandit was surprised that I managed to take out his comrade, but he recovered enough to block the bullets I fired at him. He triggered a burst at me, but I had already scampered out of the way.
I gathered my telekinesis, and formed a strong barrier. I didn’t have time to trade blows with the bandit – I needed to finish the fight quickly. The sounds of gunfire being exchanged and bellowing orcs meant the town was being swarmed by the horde. A simple running jump collided our psi-barriers, causing a massive psychic feedback eruption. The difference was I was only thrown hard onto the wood roof of the general store and slightly winded. The bandit was slammed into the ground some eight meters down without anything to soften the hard-packed dirt.
It took a good moment for me to wobble back up and look out at the battle. The last three bandits were exchanging fire with the defenders. I could see some of the defenders had already been killed. The orcs and the goblins had swarmed through the town’s streets and began to siege the defensive buildings. I heard additional gunfire coming from the opposite side of Main, but it was sporadic. The wreckage of the treboucher was gathered, and impromptu battering rams formed. I was still a bit weak from the psi-feedback, but I had to continue the fight. I had given my word to the residents of Border, and a Ranger keeps his word, at all costs.
The first problem I needed to deal with was the last three bandits. They were the most dangerous to the defenders. I replaced the magazine in my carbine and took a quick moment to gather up my last reserves of psi-strength. I leapt off the roof, using my telekinesis to slow my descent. As my boots hit the dirt, I saw a glint of steel out of the corner of my eye. I ducked reflexively and could feel the rush of wind as the battle axe passed scant centimeters above me. I swiveled to my right and triggered a burst into the orc. The bullets sent it tumbling back, but the unique staccato of a military carbine drew the attention of every creature around me. I quickly threw up a barrier around me as several orcs and goblins tried to swarm me. It wasn’t a strong barrier, but it was enough to give me about a half-meter of clear area around me. I looked down Oak Street at the remaining bandits.
The three bandits had thrown up individual barriers and were using them as cover as they exchanged gunfire with the defenders atop the bank building. The bandit nearest me was excited and anxious – and had concentrated his barrier as an umbrella towards the defenders. I crouched down, ignoring the creatures hammering at my own barrier. I had to concentrate. With some difficulty, I managed to open a five-centimeter slit in my barrier. With the sight picture almost perfect, I gently squeezed the trigger.
The bullets lanced through the bandit’s side. A surge of pain and shock bloomed from him, and then the dark absence as he dropped to the ground. Both of the remaining bandits turned almost simultaneously towards me. The one farthest from me must have been using a similar umbrella-style barrier anchored to his front, because he was quickly cut down by several shots from the bank rooftop.
A powerful telekinetic blast lifted me off of the ground and tossed me back a couple of meters. The creatures that had been around me were scattered, but getting back on their feet. I was stunned from the blast striking my barrier. My mind urged my body to get up, and fearful that it couldn’t respond fast enough. Then came two of the most beautiful sounds.
The first was a cacophony of screeching howls. The goblins and orcs all paused as the unique sound reverbated through the street. I smiled as dozens of aborigine warriors of the Stone Bone tribe began flooding the street, slaughtering the goblins and orcs with a frenzied attack. Then came the deep hammering sounds of a Rhino’s autocannon. The final bandit was cut to pieces as the heavy 20 mm rounds pentrated the bandit’s barrier with contemptuous ease. Off in the distance came the deep staccato of Army assault rifles and SAWs. My reinforcements showed in force.
I began to get to my feet. There was a battle raging, and I needed to join it. A gloved hand grabbed my shoulder and gently pushed me back to the ground. I looked to where the hand had originated, and I saw an infantry officer with the dual bars of a captain on his epaulet. “Easy there, Ranger. MEDIC!”
“I’m fine, sir,” I protested, “Just a little winded is all.” The captain kept his firm hand on my shoulder. He must have worked with Rangers before to know exactly how stubborn a group we could be.
“We’ll just let the medic decide that,” the captain replied with a humored tone, “Do we understand, Warrant?” The infantry captain had definitely worked with Rangers before, because his comment made sure that I was aware of our relative ranks. I saluted, and he began moving down the streets, calling out orders to the Imperial soldiers and Stone Bone aborigines.
The medic did a quick once-over, and the clapped me on the shoulder. I was good to go. With carbine in hand, I moved from Oak and back onto Main, where the majority of the fighting was happening. The street melee was an example of how humanity had survived its war with the Dark Towers. The some hundred and eighty orcs that had survived through the march into town had been reduced to about fifty or sixty by the Imperial forces and aborigines. The goblins had either fled or been cut down by aborigines. The small creatures had an overwhelming fear of the aborigines. The orcs were trying to find whatever cover they could find from the fusillade of small arms and vehicle-mounted heavy weapons.
A green flare streaked across the sky, and the infantry scattered. From the north and south edges of Main, Rhinos wheeled in, training their turrets on the remaining mass of orcs. The street was filled with the deep thrumming as four 20 mm autocannons began scything down the orcs. In less than a minute, the fifty or sixty orcs were dead or dying. The Battle For Border was over. It was time to count the dead, mend the injured, and hopefully rebuild the town.
I rode up to my commander’s office in Tam Bay on my new horse. Commanche had stood his ground when some goblins found the underground stables. The horse had stomped at least four into the ground before being hamstrung. Fortunately, aborigines found the stables before the goblins could kill Commanche. He was alive, but the vet said he would never be able to endure the long patrols of a Ranger and his horse. So, with regret and sadness, we put Commanche out to pasture and to stud. Rangers breed their horses carefully, and Commanche was a fine example of what a Ranger’s horse should be. So was his brother, Seminole, whom I now had assigned to me. The two had similar temperments, although Seminole was a bit more malicious.
My travelling clothes had been replaced with my formal uniform. My boots were polished and half-covered the black riding breeches. The single red stripe down the sides of the breeches denoted that I belonged to Imperial Security. A black Sam Browne belt was where I kept my holstered pistol and sheathed saber. My collarless tunic was the blood red of Imperial Security and was adorned with my medals on my left breast. The silver five-pointed star within a silver circle service sigil of the Rangers was proudly displayed on my right breast. My epaulets had the single gold diamond of a warrant officer, first-class. The shoulders were reserved for the Tam Bay’s station flash on the right and the Imperial Security crest with tabs for Light Infantry School and Psi-Academy on my left. As per tradition, Rangers eschewed the red beret of Imperial Security’s formal uniform for the black Stetson that was our service’s trademark.
My commanding officer was Captain Haskell. She was in charge of all the Rangers in the Tam Bay sector, and we had a healthy respect for her. Rangers, by long tradition, always started out as warrants, and only those with demonstrated ability received commissions. To get to captain in the Rangers was a feat few could boast. I had spent the better part of a month after the Battle For Border getting used to Seminole and helping with negotiations between the Duke of the Tam Bay sector, the residents of Border, and the Stone Bone tribe. I couldn’t follow half of the proceedings, but all of the participants felt relieved having a Ranger on hand. I had been recalled to Tam Bay itself once the charter for Border’s alliance to the Empire had been finalized.
Capt. Haskell’s office was a Spartan affair, with only a desk full of reports and a chair behind the desk. Her dark eyes gave me an odd look as I came into her office. She has an ominous darkness to her emotions. Something was bothering her, and that gave me pause. I removed my hat and braced at attention. “Reporting as ordered, ma’am.”
“Well Ranger, you’ve managed to accomplish quite a bit,” she said in a pleasant alto, “Are you sure it was simple human error that caused the destruction of the trebouchet?”
“Yes ma’am,” I answered, “The crew was working too hard to keep up with the advance of the orcs. It looks like someone lit a barrel too early and it went off when they were loading it into the sling.” Nearly a dozen people had been killed by the explosion. All told, twenty-two Border residents died to defend their town.
“Your idea to send out improved plans for trebouchets to all allied and free towns is seeing some resistance,” the captain said, “That said, Duke Enfield seems to be backing it – at least for the allied towns. I don’t think you’ll see any recognition for that suggestion, and probably for the best, considering how controversial it is becoming. I see you’ve already added your gold chit for your actions in Border to your salad bar.” I nodded in response. Properly called Distinguished Service Medals, “chits” were for exemplary – but not above and beyond – service in the commission of one’s duties. Silver were for non-combat and gold was for combat duties. “Capt. Jurgens, the commander of the task group that rode in, had recommended you for a bronze star, but…”
“We’re Rangers, ma’am,” I finished for her, “This is what we do.” As with the Praetorian Brigade, commando battalions, and marine landing forces, Rangers had higher expectations from its members. What I had done in Border was part of my listed duties, but I had not done anything above and beyond my duties. By long-standing tradition, I was only entitled to a chit, not to a smiley star. Still, as they say, it was an honor that someone nominated me for the honor. Considering the traditional rivalry between Army and Imperial Security forces, the fact that an Army officer would even consider putting my name forward for such a decoration flattered my personal honor and professionalism. “Would you please convey my appreciation to the captain of his high regard for my conduct?”
“Not necessary, Ranger,” she answered, with a humorless smile. “Rather than risk insulting the new allied town of Border by seeming to not properly reward you for your actions in defense of the town, you are hereby promoted to Chief Warrant Officer in the Imperial Security Ranger Division.” She handed me a small, black, velvet jewelry box that would hold the two gold diamonds of a Chief Warrant Officer. I was very shocked by her pronouncement and it took a great deal of difficulty for me to open it. I was very young to be a warrant first-class, mostly due to the edge my psi-abilities gave me, but chiefs were veteran Rangers who were responsible for assisting in the training and maintaining of the Rangers in the sector. Chief Ward was the chief for the Tam Bay sector, and he wasn’t likely to receive a commission. “There is a catch, unfortunately.”
“Yes ma’am?” I managed, still stunned by promotion.
“With the discovery that psychics are being recruited by the Dark Towers, the Praetorians are in need of soldiers that have experience fighting other psychics,” the captain began, “So, you’re being immediately transferred to the First Battalion of the Praetorian Brigade. I know that you’ve been delaying your stint with them, but as they say ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’”