THIS IS NOT A WORK OF FANFICTION. FANFICTION, BY DEFINITION, IS FICTION THAT IS BASED IN THE WORLD OF ANOTHER AUTHOR'S WORK. THIS PIECE OF FICTION DOES NOT IN ANY WAY TAKE PLACE IN THE WORLD OF WALKER, TEXAS RANGER. FOR MORE INFORMATION AS TO WHY THIS ISN'T THE SAME WORLD THAT WALKER TAKES PLACE IN, PLEASE READ ON TO FUTURE CHAPTERS.
THE FOLLOWING WORK IS CANON. IT IS THE CREATION OF KENT EDWINS AT FICTION PRESS. ANY SIMILARITIES WITH REAL LIFE PERSONS, PLACES, MEDIA, OR EVENTS ARE COINCIDENTAL.
Ranger Judson Gage hit the ground running.
The new blood nervously crawled, following Gage to their destination over the hill. It was important, they knew, to stay covered as long as possible. The enemy had night vision, and they couldn't take any chances.
Gage stopped just before the top of the slope, and turned on his back. He ruffled carelessly through his front pouch. Trivitte looked up at him, and noticed that his wind-blasted blonde locks were sticking out over the hump.
Trivette could also see the big black mechanism hovering over the slope.
"Gage!" he shouted, before ducking his head down.
The machine fired, sending a bright red laser straight past Gage's head, taking a few hairs on the way. A lucky miss.
"Stop being such a god-damned show-boat and get your helmet on!" Trivette shouted. "You're in charge of eight lives right now! At least look out for your own!"
The party scrambled down, burying their heads in the dirt. They knew what was waiting for them over the hill. The communist droid was there, floating through the sky like a bloodthirsty hawk, and its lasers would take their heads off if they gave it the chance. One hair- one unconscious movement- was all it would take.
Gage had made a stupid mistake, and he knew it. He slumped down, and put his helmet on. "That's insubordination, Trivette. Watch your fucking mouth.
"Now, can anyone of you mama's boys tell me what comes next?"
On of the trainees lifted his head. "EMP grenade, right?"
"That's right. EMP stands for ElectroMagnetic Pulse." Gage lifted the grenade from his pouch. "One of these will disable the droid long enough for us to cross over the slump and surround it. Now, who wants to stay back and throw the grenade?"
Angela Firewalker, the new units only female member, lifted her head. "I'll do it."
Gage paused. "You… can't. I'm sorry. Someone else?"
"Wait- why can't I-"
"Shut up, I'm in charge here. I'll pull the pin."
In one fluid motion, Gage had pulled the pin, tossed the grenade over the slump towards the droid, and ducked back down behind the hump. A scolding red laser zipped over his head, and hit the earth below him, sending a frenzy humus and topsoil into the stratosphere.
"That was damn close!" Trivette yelled. "Damn close! This isn't a game, Gage!"
"MOVE!" Gage hollered.
The party crouched upwards and dove over the hill. Quickly, they took routine positions surrounding the droid. Just like the simulation, Gage thought.
"Now," he began. "Wait for it to activate. You'll know by the red star that lights up in the core. Then, fire. Don't be scared. Remember, when it comes back on, don't move, and aim for the core."
For a split second, everything was calm. Then, Angela Firewalker noticed the core was about to light up. It hadn't yet, but something, maybe her Cherokee instincts, told her it would soon. Without permission, she fired.
Then, the droid turned on and started spinning frantically. The trainees fired at it from all directions, but couldn't hit the core. Then, the lasers started.
"EVERYONE GET DOWN!" Gage hollered. "IT'S TOO LATE, I'M ACTIVATING THE KILLSWITCH!"
A laser landed right in Gage's leg. He heard a loud crash, and started to feel himself turning numb. Everything was getting dark. His eyes shut.
Not just bright lights- beautiful, blinding ones. Gage, against his better judgment, looked up.
The droid was gone. Instead, in its place, a quad cab DodgeRAM with Hide-A-Way strobe lights high beaming from its front and tail was parked. It looked like someone had fired a flair into the midnight sky.
The door opened, and an aging Ranger stepped out of the driver's seat. He was holding a Colt 1911 .45 ACP in one hand, and a Taurus PT92 in the other.
"Sloppy work, Gage," he said. "Good thing your father isn't around to see this one."