Monthly Archives: November 2011

Dispatches From the Lone Star Front: Profile of an Early Texas Ranger

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It got an email last week from Jason Waltz, informing the contributors of Home of Heroics that he was discontinuing adding new material to the site.  Between work and family obligations, not to mention trying to publish the books on the Rogue Blades Entertainment schedule, Jason said he was exhausted and simply couldn’t devote the time necessary to maintaining the site.  As regular readers of this blog are probably aware, I was one of the contributors to Home of Heroics, with a quarterly column entitled “Dispatches From the Lone Star Front”, featuring heroes from Texas.  It was in a different vein than what I do here, focusing on history with little or no fantasy aspect.  With Jason’s blessing, that column will continue here, although I don’t know if it will be quarterly, more frequently, or just when I find something interesting to write about.  Reader reaction will help me decide.

Adventures Fantastic would like to wish Jason and Rogue Blades Entertainment all the best.  Home of Heroics will be missed; the contributors are still around and blogging on other sites, so if you enjoyed the work of any of them, look them up if you haven’t already.  Now, here is the most recent Dispatch from the Lone Star Front that would have been posted at HoH if things had been different:
Jack Hays
There are a number of qualities that are commonly used to describe heroes.  One of them is courage.  John Coffee “Jack” Hays had that in spades.
Hays was one of the first Texas Rangers, seeing most of his service during the days of the Republic, before Texas joined the United States, and then during the Mexican War.  He was renowned for his bravery, cunning, and his leadership.  He was called “Devil Jack” by the Comanches. 
The Rangers were formed to protect the Texas settlers, both Anglo and Tejano, against bandits and hostile Indians.  The Comanches were the primary tribe hostile to the settlers, and they were traditional enemies of the Lipan Apaches.  Naturally, the Rangers, and Hays in particular, allied themselves with the Lipan.  Hays’ Lipan scout Flacco is reported by Walker Prescott Webb to have said, “Me and Red Wing not afraid to go to hell together.  Captain Jack he brave; not afraid to go to hell by himself.” 

More than once Hays stood his ground against superior numbers and prevailed.  One incident was at Enchanted Rock, now a state park north of Fredricksburg.  Enchanted Rock is a large lava dome, visible for miles, and a perfect spot to scout out the surrounding countryside.  This was what Hays reportedly did one day in the fall of 1841.  I say “reportedly” because Hays never confirmed the story.  On the other hand, he never denied it, either, and he was usually quick to correct any inaccurate stories about himself.  True or not, it’s a great tale.
Hays had left a group of surveyors on the nearby Pedernales River.  He was armed with two revolvers, his rifle, and his Bowie knife.  The only ammunition he had was what was in the guns.  Near the top, he found himself pursued by a party of Comanches.
Enchanted Rock
Now Enchanted Rock is not an easy climb, although from a distance it can appear to be.  I know; I’ve climbed it several times and hope to again with my son when he’s a little older.  The rock is fairly smooth and round in most places, and it’s easy to slip. It can also get bloody hot in the Texas sun, as the rock reradiates the solar energy it absorbs, but like a parking lot does.  There are boulders and small caves on one side (not shown in the photo), but mainly its a steep hike with little to no handholds.
Hays managed to hide in a crevice and holdout until his men were able to rescue him.  The Comanches were notorious for their tricks, and they tried unsuccessfully to get him to waste his ammunition.  The Comanches eventually tired of these tactics and rushed Hays.  He fought off the first rush and was preparing to make his final stand with just his knife when the survey party, alerted by the shots, rode to his rescue.
Hays also changed frontier warfare forever once the Colt Paterson five-shot revolvers were introduced.  In June 1844, Hays and fifteen Rangers were approached by a few Comanche riders.  The Comanches attempted to get the Rangers to follow them.  This was a standard Comanche trick used to lure overeager settlers into a trap.  Hays and the Rangers had used the same trick themselves and didn’t fall for it.
Colt Paterson revolver
When the Comanches saw that their ruse wouldn’t work, they retreated.  Hays and his men weren’t fooled.  As short time later, they saw the full Comanche war band, between 60 and 70 braves, waiting for them on a rise.  The Rangers charged, but as soon as they were down in a ravine and shielded from the sight of the Comanches, the swept up the ravine and emerged on their enemies’ flank. 
Standard practice at the time was to fire only some of the rifles, keeping the rest in reserve.  Armed with the new pistols, Hays ordered his men to fire all their rifles.  They then charged the Comanches. 
Even though they were caught off guard by this approach, the Comanches vastly outnumbered the Rangers and encircled them.  The Rangers formed their own defensive circle, dropped their rifles, and drew their revolvers.  Each Ranger had two.  The Rangers charged again.
Up until this point, firearms had had limited effectiveness against Comanches because of the buffalo hide shields they carried were hard enough to deflect bullets when angled properly, and most bullets were fired from rifles shot at a distance.  This tactic didn’t work against the Colts, which could be fired more than once without reloading and be fired accurately at short range.
The Rangers killed at least 20 of the Comanches in the first charge, but the Comanches were not deterred.  They charged again, and again their numbers were decimated.  Only about 20 of the Comanches were left.  Their leader was trying to convince them to attack again when Hays asked if any of his men had a loaded rifle.  He then ordered Ad Gillespie, another renowned Ranger (who had been wounded in the fight), to dismount and shoot the chief.  Gillespie did, putting a bullet through his head.  The remaining Comanches decided running like hell was the better part of valor and fled.
Weapons don’t make heroes.  Courage does, as the life of John Coffee Hays demonstrates.  But weapons can sometimes ensure the hero lives to tell the tale.

Here We Go Again: Realms of Fantasy Folds

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At the risk of sounding like Yogi Berra, it’s deja vu all over again.  On Wednesday, William Gilchrist of Damnation Books announced the folding of Realms of Fantasy.  Gilchrist stated that the company was losing money on the magazine, and that the October issue (which shipped late) will be the last.  The magazine is currently up for sale.

I’ve been distracted by things the last few days, including but not limited to NaNoWriMo, so I only saw the announcement this morning.  While I wasn’t greatly impressed with what I’ve seen of the magazine lately, I hate to see it go and hope someone picks up the torch.  I’ll post further thoughts sometime in the next few days, once I’ve gotten some family obligations off my plate.

NaNoWriMo: Excerpt One

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The first three days of NaNoWriMo have been productive.  I wrote 2,000 words the first day, a little over 2400 yesterday, and just under 1600 tonight, bringing my total to slightly over 6,000.  This is a good pace, and it will come to a screeching halt tomorrow.  I’ve got commitments tomorrow night which will keep me away from the computer.  There’s always the weekend to try to catch up and gain a little cushion.

I’ve written what amounts to three chapters introducing three of the main viewpoint characters.  I’ll introduce a significant fourth viewpoint character later in a flashback, whose present whereabouts will be a mystery for a while.  None of the three characters I’ve introduced have any idea where they are or how they got there when we first meet them, nor do they know anything about the nature of the planet they’re on.  Discovering that will be a major portion of the storyline.  I don’t have a working title yet, still kicking a few ideas around.

Anyway, here’s what will probably be the first chapter, in rough draft form with little to no editing.

Lieutenant Jacob Vasquez dangled over the river, trying to convince himself to let go of the branch he was hanging from.  There were enough rocks below, and the drop was high enough, even with this planet’s slightly lower gravity, to make such a course of action potentially fatal.
He looked back down at the base of the tree for inspiration.  Three creatures from a nightmare clawed the trunk.  They were as tall as large dogs and just as wide.  Short black fur covered their backs and eight legs, fading to grey on their undersides.  Square heads protruded from the bodies, connected directly to the torsos without benefit of necks.  One looked up at him, opened a mouth filled with needle sharp fangs, and gave what Vasquez could only think of as a cross between a yodel and a whine.
The call was answered from within the forest, and two more of the things scurried from the trees.  They moved incredibly fast for their size. 
One of the newcomers made a threatening noise at one the creatures already there, and received bared fangs in response.  The one that had yodeled ignored the arrival of the two and began clawing its way up the trunk. 

Fortunately the short, stocky legs weren’t suited for climbing, or Vasquez would have already been torn to pieces.  He’d spooked them while hunting and had barely been able to outrun them.  There were no branches low enough for him to grab without stopping on any of the nearby trees, and that would have been fatal.  He just managed to scramble up this tree.  It hung far enough out over the narrow gorge that he thought he could make the jump to the other side.  Unfortunately, his foot slipped on the smooth wood and he’d only managed to catch himself because he straddled the branch as he lost his balance instead of slipping over the side.
Still, he’d fallen almost completely off the branch before he could get a secure grip.  Now he hung from the branch, his inner thigh throbbing from the impact when he fell.  Vasquez doubted he could make the jump now, even if he could regain the running start he’d lost.
The beast attempting to reach him slipped off, but another immediately took its place.  This one was heavier, and the impact when it hit made the trunk shudder.  Vasquez felt himself drop as the branch bounced.  He managed to hang on, but his palms were growing increasingly sweaty.  Soon the decision of whether to jump would be taken away from him.
He tried again to lift himself so he could wrap his legs around the branch, but his hands began to slip.  He dropped his lower body as quickly as he dared.  Evens so, he almost lost his grip. 
The tree shuddered again as another of the beasts attempted to scale it. 
Vasquez looked down.  Heights didn’t bother him, never had.  He wasn’t afraid of falling or of the sudden stop at the end.  But he wasn’t a fool, either.  There were too many rock directly below for him to think he could survive the drop.
The tree shuddered again, and Vasquez swayed.  That gave him an idea.
As carefully as he could he switched his grip so that he was facing the animals and began to slowly work his way further out onto the branch where the rocking of the tree would have a greater amplitude.  A gust of wind blew their scent to him.  He tried not to gag; the things smelled like milk that had been left out in the sun for a week.  Lifting his feet he began to swing slowly. 
When the next impact came, he was ready for it and used the momentum imparted by the animal’s attack on the tree to increase his swing.
His fingers began to slip again.  The next swing out would have to be it.
Vasquez extended his body and felt the barkless wood slide past his fingers.  Then the air was rushing past him.  Everything slowed down.  It seemed as though he were falling in slow motion.  The world tilted and the river rose into his field of view.  The rocks and breakers grew larger as he closed the distance to them.  Somewhere above him, the beasts set up a chorus of their weird yodeling.
One particular rock, with a jagged edge, seemed to draw him closer.  At the last minute Vasquez tucked.  He didn’t know the depth and wasn’t foolish enough to make a head-first dive into the churning water.  He hit curled into a ball.
The air had been warm and muggy.  The water was like ice, and the cold coupled with the impact almost took Vasquez’s breath away.  His back grazed the rock, and time resumed its normal flow. 
The current was stronger than he’d realized.  It pulled him under, bouncing him against the bottom, slamming his body into rocks, the cold sucking his strength away.  Vasquez didn’t know which way was up.
He broke the surface, gasping and nearly swallowed a mouthful of water.  Then he was pulled under again.  His lungs burned and his vision began to go black around the edges. 
Then just as he saw the surface coming closer, the river dropped over a small fall and sent him plunging into a small pool.  The flow of water over the drop pounded him, forcing him under.  Vaquez managed to get his feet on the bottom and pushed off, uncertain of the direction he was heading.  The current caught him again.
This time it slammed him into a rock, washing him up onto the surface of a flat stone.  He managed to drag himself up out of the flow the water and lay gasping in the sunlight.  This planet’s star was red, and gave less heat than he was used to.  Still, it was better by far than the water.  His muscles ached, his exposed skin was covered with abrasions, and he knew when he took off his coveralls he would be painted with bruises.  A lump was rising on the back of his head.  He gently probed the knot with his fingers.  The skin was tender, causing him to wince, and when he pulled his hand away, his fingers were bloody.
Vasquez laid back, drawing air deep into his lungs.
After an indeterminate time, he tried to move.  His body was stiffening up.  If he stayed on the rock much longer, he would have to spend the night there.  The thought was not reassuring.  The two nights he’d spent on this planet since he’d awoken had not been cold, but he knew on the water the air would feel chill.  Despite the risk, he had to try to make it to the shore.
He climbed to his feet, his sore body protesting with every move.  Careful not to slip, he looked around. 
He was closer to the far shore than the one he’d jumped from.  That was fine by him.  He’d never be able to outrun whatever those things were if he encountered them again.  There was another rock just past him.  The water flowed through the gap between it and the one he stood on a rapid pace, accelerated through the channel by the weight of the water coming down behind it.  Normally he could make the leap without any problem.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  Still it was better than going back in the water and trying to swim.
From there he thought he could make it to the shore.
Vasquez took a step back, braced himself in as much of a runner’s starting stance as he could, and took two steps.  On the second step he pushed off as hard as he could.  He hit the rock and slipped, his feet slid into the cold water.  He managed to grab an outcropping with his right hand while he flailed about with his left.  The current began to pull him off the rock and around the edge.  His fingers were starting to cramp, and he was certain he was going to lose his hold when his left hand found purchase.  The additional leverage allowed him to brace his feet against the side of the rock.  It was slippery, but there was enough friction for him to begin to climb out of the water.
He did so mostly by crawling across the rock.  Eventually he managed to get clear of the water and stand up.  He was only about three meters from the shore, which consisted of a small beach.  Shrubs and bushes formed a barrier between the beach and the rocks beyond. 
Vasquez opted to jump rather than wait for his strength to come back.  He was afraid it wouldn’t before dark.  He landed in the middle of the water, and the current took his feet from under him before he could find his balance.  He ended up on a sand bank and pulled himself onto the damp sand further up the beach on his hands and knees.
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the cliffs on the opposite side of the river.  He didn’t have the means to start a fire nor the strength to go far up the slope. 
Vasquez climbed to his feet and staggered into the bushes.  Once inside them, he was able to walk mostly upright, and used the branches for support until he was far enough from the river that the air felt warmer. 
He collapsed into a pile of leaves and took stock of his situation.  Somewhere in the river he hand torn the fingernail from the middle finger of his left hand.  He hadn’t felt it in the cold water, but as he began to warm, the pain began to be noticeable.  Nothing seemed to be broken, just bruised and scraped. 
Hunger gnawed at his belly.  He’d not dared to eat anything since he woke up leaning against a tree two days ago, alone and without any survival gear.  He had no idea where he was, and until he knew if the local foliage was safe for his biochemistry, he’d prefer not to experiment.  That option was fast being taken away from him by time.  Vasquez had used the last of his strength getting out of the river and making his way to where he presently lay.  He’d have to eat tomorrow.  So far, nothing in the water he’d been forced to drink had made him sick, but he knew he couldn’t count on that not changing. 
He began to shake and knew it was more than the lingering chill from the river.  Shock was setting in again.  Some part of his mind wasn’t surprised.  He was supposed to be on a starship, on a mission to investigate some anomalous signals out on the edge of human space.  The trip was supposed to take a year and a half.
How he’d gotten on this planet, without any memory of being awakened from coldsleep was a mystery he had no immediate means of solving.   At the moment all his energy and dwindling mental resources were devoted to surviving.
As darkness fell, Jacob Vasquez slipped into shock.

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

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Well, I got 2,000 words done today.  That’s not counting tomorrow’s exam that I wrote this afternoon.  If I can get between 1500 and 2,000 words completed every day, not counting any revisions, then I should make my goal, which is the minimum 50,000.  Since this is my first year to participate, I’ll have a better feel for what is a reasonable goal next year.  I know I won’t be able to match that number every day, but if I shoot for it, I’ll get closer than if I don’t.  I plan to write more than that on weekends and over Thanksgiving. 

So far, so good.  I won’t post a word count every day, but I will from time to time.  When I get a good chapter done, I plan to post it as a sample.  I’ve got several different viewpoint characters on different parts of the planet when the novel opens that will have to be introduced, so I’ll pick the introductory chapter I like best.  Tonight’s chapter isn’t quite done, so I figure at the rate I’m writing, a chapter every couple of days is what I’m most likely to get done.