The Rifleman - Ch.26 (Patreon)

Chapter 26

Problems.

“They are a four-man group,” Wesley told the assembled soldiers as they stood outside the bunker and looked over the empty expanse of sand at the still-burning fires slowly dying away and leaving charred corpses and smoke in their wake. “They are tight, well-coordinated, and strong.” He swallowed, “I haven’t known them long, just a single mission that lasted only a few days.”

“That bear-headed fella has a lot of hate for you,” Sara noted. “You fuck his mother or something?”

“Honestly, all I did was show them trust,” Wesley insisted. “They weren’t used to that… and he is one paranoid dickhead.”

“Go on,” Peterson said.

“Okay, well, the team is led by Mace, who is Mister Paranoid. He’s their tank and their main damage soak. He’s strong and quicker than you would expect but very overconfident and tends to focus only on what is in front of his face.” Wesley went on to explain the incident with the boar boss and how Mace hadn’t noticed his melee or healer go down. “His favorite attack is an overhand strike with both maces at once. I’ve seen it one-hit-kill some enemies.”

“Does he have some form of health regeneration?” Mental asked. “He didn’t seem that armored.”

“I would think so,” Wesley said. “It was never mentioned, but if he didn’t, then I have no idea how he survived before the healer, Pru, joined.” He sighed. “Which brings me to Pru herself. She’s a good healer but a bit slow at dodging. I think she has only fought with Mace in front of her to cover and protect her. I’ve never seen her attack anyone, so I can’t say if she can fight or not, but her heals looked powerful.”

“Looked?” Sling-Hand-Ben asked. “The didn’t feel that powerful in person?”

“No idea,” Wesley said with a wince, “She never healed me.” Not wanting to be unfair, Wes did mention the final battle and how she had offered to heal him that time… but he passed.

“Bitch,” Split sighed. “Still, if she can’t dodge, then she doesn’t matter, right?” She grinned and flicked the string on her bow, making it ring like a harp. 

“Honestly, probably not,” Wesley admitted. “She never seemed the brave type, so I expect her to turn and run the moment things go south.” Swallowing hard, he went on to the two members who really mattered, “Alber is the one to watch. He’s fast, like scary blink-and-you’re-dead fast. I’ve only known him to miss a strike once, and that was when he wasn’t expecting me to summon my shield behind me.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Peterson said. “Explain that bit.”

So, he did. In the end, he ended up explaining the whole running issue with Mace and how it all ended. It was just a simpler way of explaining it all, given the number of times he was forced to backtrack to answer a question the first time he tried. 

“Wow, you really know how to make friends, don’t you?” Mental laughed.

“I do seem to have a knack of late,” Wesley admitted. 

“And you really think he is the biggest threat?” Peterson asked. “What about the fourth member?”

“Pris,” Wesley said sadly. He had really gotten on well with the ghoul at first. “She is a summoner, and she has a copy of me.”

“How,” Ben’ta asked.

“She’s a ghoul,” Wesley replied. “She was injured, out of food, and I had nearly lost my arm. So I cut it off and let her use it to heal.”

“Rookies,” Peterson laughed. “Never give your body parts to a summoner.”

“Yeah, and they can get creative about how they get them, too,” Sara laughed and made some really graphic movements.

“Seriously?” Wesley asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Split nodded, “They only need, like, a small sample of your essence.” 

“Essence?” Sara snorted.

“Enough,” Peterson said with a half-smile. “You really let her eat your arm?”

“She was bleeding out,” Wesley said simply. “What was I gonna do?”

“Not let people eat you?” Mental said simply. 

It was a point Wesley felt he couldn’t quite argue with… but he knew he would do it again. 

Peterson scribbled a note on some paper he had in one pocket and handed it to Ben. “In his hand, got it?”

Ben nodded and ran back toward the town.

“Captain!” Neil came sprinting in from outside the bunker, his face white. “The group to our left collapsed! They, they ran.”

“Everyone Up!” Peterson sighed. “Time to fight for our lives again. Ain’t it grand?”

Wesley found himself chuckling along with the others as he ran up the stairs and out into the last rays of light. 

Neil had been right. 

The group assigned to guard the left flank of the sands was running for it, several of them coming this way while the rest ran for the town. It didn’t look like many of them were going to make it. The fleeing soldiers were being chased down by familiar-looking wolf-men.

It seemed like Peterson was right about there being other camps of them, and one had apparently been used to break the unlucky soldiers on their flank. 

“Orders?” Mental asked with a growl. 

Wesley realized the man probably knew the people dying down there.

“Wes, I hate to say this,” Peterson sighed. “Only a Tier Four can get there fast enough.”

Wesley just nodded.

“Cap-” Ben’Ta started to say, but a sharp look from Peterson cut her off. 

“We’ll come along behind as fast as we can; buy us some time.”

“Got it.”

Wesley dropped his pack, unslung the M1, and took off toward the fleeing soldiers.

As he ran, Wesley realized that this was the second time he was running as fast as he could toward a battle. That was probably not a great sign for his survival, but he was willing to go with it. 

The Lancasters had never been exactly the killing kind. Over the years, they had become doctors, lawyers, and a hundred other things, but one thing they had always had was a respect for life—all life. Even Wesley had hung up his rifle after killing a single deer.

It had come as a surprise to him, then, when he seemed to have a talent for it—not just the shooting skills, which were hard-won from years and years of practice. He had the knack of looking down a sight, seeing a living, breathing creature, and pulling the trigger. 

Even now, that part of himself scared Wesley.

The thing is, the thought of allowing others to die scared him more. 

Wesley slid to a stop, raised the rifle, and fired six rounds. Two wolves fell, and a third shrieked and began to limp away.

Wesley was already at a full sprint again, and the first fleeing soldiers were starting to run past him, their faces white and eyes wide with fear. 

A wolf leaped from one side, snarling, and Wesley rolled under the attack. He came up into a firing stance and fired three bullets into the creature before it could leap again.

It fell dead, and he sprinted on, attaching his newly repaired bayonet. It would make his shots less accurate at range, but he was rapidly running out of that. 

A soldier in front of him went down, a snarling wolf on his back, and Wesley hip-fired four bullets into it and jumped over the corpse, landing on the far side and sending off another seven shots at whatever he saw with fur on it. 

A quick Reload and an Improved Flare fired into the sky, and the enemy was on him in numbers.

Ducking under a slashing claw, Wes brought the rifle up under the wolf-man’s chin, the bayonet stabbing into the brain before he fired. The head vanished in a spray of gore as Wesley kicked a snarling wolf in the jaw and blocked another set of claws with the butt of the rifle. 

Swaying under attacks, firing the rifle the moment it lined up with a target, dodging side to side, and parrying with the bayonet filled his world. He took wounds here and there, but they were all taken care of with Emergency Heal. The world narrowed down until all that existed was the next bullet, the next snarling face silenced with a knife or rifle butt. 

When things got too bad, he popped a shield and leaped clear with his Were-wisp. 

Time had no meaning in the melee, and soon, his mind emptied completely. 

He didn’t even notice that his backup had arrived until a glowing green arrow neatly decapitated the wolf-man in front of him.

He gasped and thought returned as he heard a shout of challenge from his comrades, Sara’s pike dancing like a snake as she moved past him. 

Like coming out of a trance, Wesley looked numbly around him as Mental appeared, laying about with his much-modified truncheon. 

Ben’Ta appeared, the center of a dance of steel that carved a path through the retreating wolves and half-wolven soldiers. 

Looking down at his blood-drenched form, Wesley felt a tear fall from one eye as he realized something in him had changed. It was spelled out in chalky letters that were writing themselves over the corpses around him.

Title Gained!

Wolf’s Bane:

When wolves prowl in the dark of the night, seeking the flesh of men, they know only one fear.

The Soldier stands alone before them and smiles.

All damage against Wolves, Werewolves, or Half-Wolven is increased by 50%

A howl sounded above the battle, and Wesley raised his eyes to see a massive Werewolf in leather and steel armor standing across from him, claws and fur stained with blood. 

Wesley racked a fresh bullet into the chamber and smiled bitterly.

///////////

His bayonet stabbed forward, missing the arm by inches as he felt them part his Gorger vest, the first thing to ever do so, but they failed to do any major damage. 

The beast howled, and he backed up a step, drawing it in to attack again.

Wesley quickly learned it was too fast to hit from range, so he tried to keep it at bay long enough to make a mistake. 

Taking another step back, it lunged, and his bayonet stabbed deep into the thigh. Wesley fired, the bullet digging into the tough flesh much better at point-blank range. As it stumbled, he twisted the blade, pulled it out, and batted one arm wide with the butt of his rifle before digging the bayonet into the shoulder and firing, blowing one shoulder out completely and leaving the arm to hang uselessly.

Then, he backed away, firing constantly into the chest of the massive creature as he gained a little space before it healed.

And heal it did, just like the last two times he had managed to damage it. The first time, the surprise almost cost him his life. Wesley had only managed to turn to the side, taking the blow intended for his neck on one shoulder, which was still healing. 

The wolf grinned with bloody jaws as it climbed to its feet again.

“You are going to die,” It growled and lunged, putting everything into the attack.

Wesley cast My Shield and  Jolt twice each, summoning a thick shield that buzzed and cracked. 

The werewolf hit it full on and rebounded as the spell failed, body wracked with sparks. 

Wesley walked forward, casting Reload and putting in a fresh clip before he aimed and emptied the entire thing into the head and chest. 

Nothing remained of the head, and a gaping v-shaped hole ran from shoulders to stomach.

“Play dead,” Wesley said, instantly regretting the corny line and desperately hoping it actually wasn’t playing.

The remaining enemy forces let out a single howl and ran. Wes watched them go, rifle hanging from limp arms, before he reached down and looted the corpse. 

He was surprised when he saw a pair of insignias in the loot.  

Sargeant’s Stripes

Requires Tier Six

Requires Class: Rifleman

(Details Hidden until Tier Six attained)

“Figures,” Wesley sighed and slung his rifle over one shoulder before turning and limping back toward the rest of his squad.