Ranger Dawning

  RANGER DAWNING

  By Richard Ford

  Initially Published in ‘Deconstruction of Falling Stars’ Edited by Richard Ford

  Babylon 5 names and characters are trademarks of Warner Brothers

  ©2009 Warner Brothers

  Best of the Best

  The first shockstick hummed past Vance’s ear. As he ducked he anticipated the second one. Randell wielded a weapon in each hand, and he damned sure knew how to use them. Vance was convinced his opponent had gotten faster since they last faced one another.

  As expected, the second shockstick flashed forward, forcing Vance backward and slightly off balance. Randell pressed his advantage, moving in tight, giving Vance little room to manoeuvre. He raised both shocksticks, preparing a double blow for his smaller opponent. Vance ducked low and spun, twisting his body behind Randell, whose weapons hit nothing but air.

  Vance was now behind his opponent with the time he needed to strike. First a right, then a left pounded into Randell’s kidneys. The force of those punches would have been enough to bring down anyone, but Randell had two huge advantages. Built like a Sharlin warcruiser, big and graceful and tough as hell, he was also heavily padded, headgear and all. The fast and powerful blows knocked Randell forward, almost forcing him to drop one of his weapons, but the large man managed to keep his footing. He spun to face Vance, lashing out with one of the stinging shocksticks. Vance jumped back a safe distance, a sly grin crossing his face.

  He hopped from one leg to the other, locking eyes with his opponent and allowing him time to recover. Randell breathed heavily, trying to regain both his strength and his composure. Vance moved forward, taking the initiative. Randell braced himself, waiting for the attack. The strike came in low, Vance feinting left then sidestepping to the right, easily avoiding Randell’s clumsy block. His right came forward, hitting Randell just below the ribs. It would have been a staggering blow if not for the body armour. Randell might have dropped with all the wind blown out of him, but the force of Vance’s fist just knocked him two steps back. ‘Tai sing kyun,’ thought Vance. His unarmed combat tutor had made him speak the names of each martial arts move as he performed it--a habit Vance had long ago tried to drop, but old habits died hard. He always enjoyed wing chun though.

  As Randell’s counterstrike swept down, Vance dropped to one knee and rolled away. In a single fluid motion he regained his feet, again hopping from one leg to the other. Randell shook his head, provoking another smile from Vance, as though surprised at his own agility.

  Vance closed before Randell could regain his breath. Randell adopted a defensive posture, keeping his knees bent and both shocksticks in front of him. Vance was low, all the time keeping his eyes on the stinging weapons. When Vance was close enough, Randell stepped toward him, this time thrusting forward with the shockstick in his right hand. Vance easily deflected it and moved close to his opponent. Grabbing Randell’s body armour at the collar, Vance flipped him.

  The bulky padding made the already hulking Randell even less manoeuvrable, an easy victim for Vance’s throw. The words ‘koshi nage’ flashed through Vance’s mind as Randell landed on his back. He suddenly remembered aikido was less of a favourite discipline.

  Randell struggled to his feet. Vance leapt clear in case his opponent tried any dirty moves. Experience taught him that Randell was not opposed to attacking his adversaries unawares. As he once again hopped from the ball of one foot to the other, Vance revelled in the spongy security of the mat beneath him. It felt comfortable and familiar. He felt truly at home here.

  After giving Randell the time to stand and retrieve his weapons, Vance prepared for another attack, quickly deciding his moves. Just before advancing, he glanced up at the wall behind his opponent. The glowing clock read 11.45, nearly chow time. Smiling at Randell, Vance decided they’d had enough for one day. Somehow Randell sensed what was coming and, determined not to be embarrassed further, he screwed up his face in anger and charged. Vance had little opportunity to react to the unexpected attack. Weeks of daily beatings must have left Randell pretty sore, in more ways than one. It now appeared he’d reached his limit.

  The first blow came in high. Vance could hear the hum of the shockstick, like a pesky insect. Driving the flat of his palm upwards, he hit Randell in the forearm before the attack struck true. The shockstick flew from Randell’s grip. Instantly, Randell’s other weapon came flying in at head height. Vance ducked, forced to bend backward as Randell quickly reversed his strike. Randell’s fury fuelled his exertions beyond anything Vance had seen from the big man. Another swipe, then another thrust, was followed by a backhand attack. Each time Vance found himself straining to avoid the humming baton. The attacks, driven by Randell’s anger and frustration, were ultimately predictable. As Randell came in with his final swipe, Vance caught his wrist. With his other hand, he plucked the shockstick from Randell’s grip and, using his left leg as a solid brace, kicked out with his right. Randell sailed backwards and, even before he hit the ground, Vance shut off the shockstick and the annoying sound it emitted. Randell hit the crash mat with a sickening thud, his padded armour accentuating the noise. He bounced almost a foot into the air, then finally came to rest. ‘Kesa geri,’ Vance thought. Now, karate he loved!

  Randell lay still for several seconds. Vance knew he wasn’t hurt physically, but the humiliation was probably worse than ever. He approached gingerly, holding out a hand of friendship to his sparring partner. Randell was staring at the ceiling of the gym, not blinking, his face expressionless. ‘I’m glad we do this when the training hall’s empty,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s eat, big guy,’ replied Vance as he heaved his hulking friend to his feet. ‘We’ve just got time to hit the showers.’

  ‘Good idea. Only you haven’t even broken a sweat. Again.’

  Vance didn’t answer, not wanting to add any further damage to the pride of his already wounded buddy. They stepped off the raised combat area and headed for the shower room, Randell struggling to extricate himself from the bulky body armour. As Vance started to help him, the main entrance to the gym crashed open. A stern figure entered, wearing the severe green of EarthForce military. The swooping eagle on his arm, along with the crisp envelope in his hand, alerted Vance that the man was part of the courier corps. Despite his lack of military rank, the man’s serious demeanour brought a certain tension to the relaxed atmosphere of the gym.

  Vance and Randell stiffened as he approached, standing to attention as was required in formal military situations. The courier marched up and stopped before them, saluting curtly. Vance reciprocated with a salute of his own; Randell’s was a little slower as he fumbled with the headgear and shocksticks in his padded mittens.

  ‘Corporal James Vance?’ asked the courier, unsure which was the correct recipient of his envelope.

  ‘I’m Corporal Vance.’ The courier wasted no time in thrusting the envelope forward. Before Vance could thank him, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

  Vance stared at the manila envelope. For several days he had waited for this envelope--with the stamp in the corner picturing a black silhouette of a wolf’s head staring at a crescent moon. Randell could see it too, and Vance heard his friend breathing in his ear. He glared at his red-faced and greasy-skinned sparring partner.

  ‘Well, are you going to open it, or do I have to take it off you?’ asked Randell.

  ‘You could try,’ replied Vance, inserting his thumb beneath the lip and tearing the envelope’s crisp brown edge. The white paper within bore the same wolf and moon insignia. Vance took in every detail as his eyes scanned the page. Then he hesitated before reading. This wasn’t like him, but the weeks of pent up frustration, of waiting for this one communiqué, made him hesitate.

  ?
??To Corporal James Vance,’ whispered Randell slowly, craning his neck to read the letter over Vance’s shoulder. Vance turned and stared at him, making his annoyance clear. ‘Sorry,’ said Randell, stepping back.

  ‘Since you’re so interested.’ Vance held the letter up like an ancient herald about to announce an edict from the king. ‘To Corporal James Vance. In response to your application for membership to the Razvedchik Regiment, we are pleased to announce that after reviewing your recommendations, you have been accepted for a probationary period of no less than three months.’ Vance paused, soaking up the news. As he read further, a smile crossed his face. ‘We are also pleased to note that your physical and mental test results were classed as “exemplary”, and you are the youngest officer ever to be accepted to the regiment.’ At this, Randell gave Vance a dig in his arm. ‘Your official commencement as a member of the regiment will take place on the 14 March 2259. If you have any remaining leave with your current EarthForce unit, we suggest you take it before your training begins. You will most certainly need it! Yours, Major Kyle Winchester, EarthForce Special Operations Command.’

  ‘Well, what do you know,’ said Randell. Vance looked up to see him beaming with pride, as though Randell had just gained the promotion. ‘Standards at the Razvedchiks must be dropping if you’re an “exemplary” candidate.’

  ‘They just know quality when they see it, my old friend.’ With that he landed a punch on Randell’s arm. The thick padding absorbed most of the blow, but the look on Randell’s face suggested it was still painful. Vance ducked away as Randell made a wild swing. He backed off, beckoning his friend forward. Randell flung his padded helmet, but Vance easily avoided it as he ran toward the showers, grinning all the way.

  At the packed dining hall, an endless procession of khaki uniforms queued, ate and chatted beneath the room’s high ceiling. The smell of freshly hydrated freeze-dried rations wafted across the crowd, and Vance breathed deeply as he entered. Never one for gastronomy, he saw the food purely as a functional necessity, the more nutritious the better. The smell still excited him though, meaning so much more than just a healthy meal. To Vance the smell meant he was among his people. In a way, the mess hall was the boiler room of the army, the engine that drove EarthForce, and one of the reasons they were the best in the galaxy. Vance felt proud to be a part of it.

  He picked up a tray and joined the end of the dinner line, noting that several faces looked up from their meals, nodding to him in congratulations. Good news travelled fast. You couldn’t keep a secret in this kind of environment, and despite occasional rivalries, the success of one soldier was the success of the entire company.

  Vance picked a meal of rubbery chicken, corn and boiled potatoes, then sat down at a vacant table. Within seconds Chavez and Weekes, fellow corporals who had been with him since the beginning of his basic training, slid into the plastic seats opposite him.

  ‘So Vance moves into the big time,’ said Chavez, his sarcasm barely masking his envy.

  ‘Yeah, I’m surprised you’re eating here,’ added Weekes. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting some practice at eating your corn covertly?’ Vance stuffed his mouth with a huge pile of potatoes, smiling as he chewed. Gracing them with an answer was not even a consideration. Besides, he knew they were both jealous as hell.

  ‘Make the most of those portions, Jimmy boy. In the Razvedchiks you’ll have to survive on half a canteen and a tube of toothpaste,’ Weekes continued. Vance tried to increase the size of his smile, chewing all the while.

  ‘And poor old Randell. What’s he gonna do without you to look after him? Guy struggles to dress himself without his buddy Vance. How’s he gonna cope?’ mewled Chavez.

  Vance swallowed hard and looked straight into Chavez’s eyes. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ he said, glancing over the man’s shoulder. Chavez seemed to pale visibly, then he slowly turned. Weekes followed his gaze. Randell stood directly behind them, clutching his tray, piled high with an assortment of starters, mains and desserts. His look showed none of its usual jovial demeanour.

  ‘Any room?’ he asked quietly. Chavez and Weekes almost leapt apart as Randell squeezed between them. ‘Take no notice, Vance. These guys could never make it; that’s why they’re goading you. Besides, they probably don’t know about your “exemplary” test results.’

  Weekes whistled a low trill that made Randell glance at him, eyebrow raised. Weekes kept his eyes firmly on his food tray, and Randell shook his head. ‘I reckon they’d love to apply too. They just don’t have the stones.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Chavez, ‘we was only kidding. Congratulations, buddy. I’m sure you’ll do great.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Weekes, ‘well done. When’s the party?’

  ‘Well, they did suggest I use my leave before training begins. How about a trip to Mars? Some R&R with a long-legged Martian lovely might be just the celebration I need.’ Vance beamed at the thought.

  Chavez stared open-mouthed. ‘Er, I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up with news. Riots? Terrorists? Mars ain’t exactly a holiday camp these days.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Weekes, ‘and apparently the recycled air makes your skin go funny.’

  Vance laid down his fork, looking seriously at Chavez and Weekes. ‘Are you sure you’re both EarthForce officers and not spies for the Little Girl’s Brigade? Where’s your sense of adventure?’

  Adventure’s one thing,’ replied Chavez, ‘but EarthForce ain’t real popular on Mars right now. We’d be walking targets as soon as we landed. How about Wyoming Rec Dome? I hear it’s wild this time of year.’

  Vance began to dig into his meal once again. ‘You ladies go to Wyoming if you feel like you deserve a week of sewing with your grandmas. Randell and me are going to Mars. Right, Randell?’

  His question was met with silence. When Vance looked up, Randell was digging into what looked like reconstituted trifle. He was conspicuously silent. ‘Just me then, I guess,’ said Vance, as much to himself as to the trio sitting in front of him.

  The four of them ate quickly in silence for several minutes. If you didn’t finish by the time the mess officer shouted the dismissal order, that was just tough. A voice suddenly drifted across the canteen. To Vance it was like a zephyr of fragrant air wafted past the stale-smelling food and tickled him in a sensitive spot. ‘James Vance, I want a word with you.’

  Randell looked up and reddened noticeably. Vance girded himself, taking a quick mouthful of water to ensure no stray corn skins covered his teeth, then he turned smoothly. Jeany had a tall athletic build, but her face was sweeter than a baby’s doll. Her yellow hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that bounced as she walked. Despite her cute appearance, Vance knew she was as tough as shoe leather when it came to close-combat fighting, and she fought dirty to boot.

  ‘You were planning to leave all this time, and you never told me?’ Jeany sounded hurt, but Vance knew she was only feigning. Nothing had ever happened between them--indeed, there was nothing between Jeany and any guy in the platoon, but it didn’t stop them all from wishing.

  ‘Jeany,’ said Vance, trying his best not to look flustered, ‘do you think I’d leave without saying goodbye to my favourite girl?’

  Jeany replied with a playful dig into Vance’s shoulder. ‘Few drinks in the mess hall tonight? I promise I’ll wear that khaki number you go wild for.’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ said Vance.

  ‘Me neither,’ agreed Chavez, almost inaudibly.

  ‘See you then,’ smiled Jeany. Four sets of eyes watched her walk away, ponytail bobbing jauntily against the back of her head.

  ‘Corporal Vance.’ A harsh male voice interrupted whatever lascivious thoughts reeled through the soldiers’ heads. Vance turned, still wearing his doe-eyed expression. His grin melted at the sight of Sergeant Decker’s battle-scarred face staring down at him. ‘Major wants to see you in his office. Stat. Hop to it.’

  Vance didn’t finish his meal or ask the Sergeant the reason. You never questioned
Sergeant Decker. He quickly emptied the remains of his meal into the swill bin and headed for Major Cleaver’s office.

  The solid oak door to Cleaver’s office stood in stark contrast to the rest of the EarthForce base’s harsh steel plating and rivets. Cleaver imported the door and hired an authentic carpenter to hang it the old fashioned way. Its unique design announced Cleaver’s individuality in relation to the one-size-fits-all style of the rest of the complex. Rumour said Cleaver had the door put in just to give his office a real air of authority, and to make entering it a more intimidating experience. As Vance waited in front of the finely marbled wood, he had to agree.

  ‘Enter,’ a deep voice, as solid as the oak door, bellowed from within the Major’s office. Taking a deep breath, Vance opened the intimidating door. The interior of the Major’s office was as impressive as the entrance. Certificates of office decorated the walls alongside trophies awarded for the regiment’s achievements, both socially and militarily. Various reprographs of the Major shaking hands with assorted dignitaries lined one side: one with President Santiago, another with a Centauri that Vance didn’t recognise, several more with representatives of races he’d never seen before. On either side of a huge oak desk stood two standards: one representing the Earth Alliance, the other EarthForce itself. The green EarthForce standard bore several campaign insignias, but the one that stood out the most was at the bottom. It simply read: “Minbari”.

  The most impressive sight of all sat behind the desk. Major Cleaver’s shock of grey hair was all Vance could see as he stood to attention. He waited for several seconds as the Major finished reading a blue-tinged letter. Vance couldn’t make out the symbol at the top of the paper, but it looked alien.

  ‘Sit down, Corporal Vance,’ said the Major without looking up. Vance hesitated slightly at the totally unexpected invitation, wondering if it was a trick. After sliding carefully into the seat, he sat straight and rigid, uncomfortable with the entire situation. He took some comfort in the knowledge that this would be over soon. The Major obviously wanted to congratulate him on his recruitment to a Special Forces unit and send him on his way.