The Return of the Roaring Rangers

The Return of the Roaring Rangers

Mark A Davis

237

The black helicopter hovered high over the countryside.  Below it a massive helicarrier suddenly came into view -- a flying ship the size of a small aircraft carrier.  It simply faded into view, as if by magic -- or perhaps more to the point, as if some sort of high-tech cloaking device had been temporarily turned off.

Grandpa Anarchy, earth's oldest superhero, rode in the back of the helicopter surrounded by heavily-armed young men and women in black military garb.  Their uniforms had American flags on them -- but no other indication of what branch of the military or what government agency they worked for.  Grandpa was dressed in his usual rumpled gray suit with the silver anarchy symbol stitched over the left breast.  He glanced out the window and  said, "Great.  Another invisible helicarrier flying around overhead.  How many of these things have you types got up here anyways?  You'd think you'd have traffic jams...."

One of the soldiers grinned.  "Actually, three months ago we almost collided with...."

There was cough from up front.  The soldier straightened up and looked straight ahead.  "That's on a need-to-know basis," he said.

"And I don't need to know," Grandpa replied.  "Sure.  Got it.  Is this a D.O.L. thing?  You know -- Department of Superhero Licensing?"

"That's on a need-to-know basis," the soldier repeated.  Grandpa just sighed.

They landed on the helicarrier and Grandpa was escorted into a conference room.  There was a long, black table with a highly-polished surface, more than a dozen comfortable leather chairs, and a box of donuts.  There were doors at either end of the room and also a strange portal in the middle of one wall -- a large, circular opening with carved steel plates that overlapped to form what was clearly a door that dilated like an iris.  Grandpa's respect for this secretive group went down a notch.

Here also he found a young girl of about fourteen already seated.  She was tall, rail-thin, and with long black hair in ringlets.  She wore blue spandex with a large U on the chest, and was smoking a cigar.

Grandpa's eyes narrowed.  "Unpossible Girl?" he said.  Grandpa Anarchy put his hand over his eyes.  "Good Gravy!  I was hoping that thing where you became a fourteen-year-old girl was just a dream...."

"Hey, Grandpa!" the girl exclaimed.  "Nope, it's still me!"

"Or that it would have worn off by now....."

  "You mean, I'd get over it, sort of thing?" she asked.

"Well," said Grandpa, "we are dealing with an all-powerful alien entity."

"Nope."  The girl puffed on her cigar.  "You should maybe drop by the new headquarters in New York once in a while.  The new place is pretty fantastic -- although we don't have any irising doors like this one, did you check that out?   Anyway Circuit Girl and Geothermal Jenny have been asking where you've been."

"I've been busy," Grandpa replied.  "And irising ain't a word."

"Oxford English Dictionary respectfully disagrees," Unpossible Girl said.

Grandpa sat down at the conference table.  Several important men in military outfits filed in and sat at the far end.  They looked like five-star generals -- except their uniforms did not identify themselves as affiliated with any known branch of U.S. service.

"Greetings, Mr. Anarchy," one said -- this was a middle-aged black man with a scar over one eye.   "My name is  General Blackstar.  I am in charge here."

"So you're the bastard who decided to wake me at five AM with no warning and fly me to the middle of nowhere for a clandestine meeting on an invisible helicarrier?" Grandpa asked.

"I do apologize," said the General.  "I realize the situation is a bit unusual...."

"Unusual, nothing!" Grandpa yelled.  "This is the third time this month!  I'm getting sick and tired of it, lemme tell you!  So what secret military organization am I talking to this week?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Anarchy," "We like to keep our secrets close to the vest.  I doubt you've heard of our organization before, but we call ourselves T.A.S.S.E.T. -- the Tactical Agency for Secret Surveillance, Evaluation, and Termination."

"New one on me," Grandpa said.  "So secret only a few people in Washington know about you?"

"Actually," said the general, "nobody in Washington knows about us.  We're that secretive."

"How do you get your funding again?" asked Grandpa.

The general frowned.  "Frankly, Mr. Anarchy, these days there are an estimated 1,500 government organizations and over 2,000 private companies in the United States that do work in counterterrorism, homeland security, and intelligence.  Nobody in Washington can keep track of it all.  Even we have no idea how many other ultra-secret organizations like ours exist.  Keeping T.A.S.S.E.T.  a secret is the easy part."

"Secret surveillance?" Grandpa asked.

"Acronyms are hard," said the general.  "We considered saboteur surveillance, but...."

"Tasset?" Grandpa continued.   "That one escapes me....."

'It's a part of medieval armor," the scarred general said.  "It's a kind of skirt thing that hangs down from the breastplate and protects the upper thighs."  Grandpa just stared at him, and he threw up his hands.  "Look, all of the good acronyms were already taken -- S.H.I.E.L.D., S.W.O.R.D, A.R.M.O.R., H.A.M.M.E.R., S.C.I.M.I.T.A.R....."

"I've never heard of any organization named S.C.I.M.I.T.A.R.," Grandpa replied.

"They are possibly one of the other organizations like ours that we don't know about," said the general.  "Or maybe they don't exist."

"Great," said Grandpa.  "I'll probably be talking to them next week then."

"But that's neither here nor there," the general said.  "Don't you want to know why we've brought you here?"

"Oh," said Grandpa, "I already know that part.  You've got some new superhero initiative and you want me to be a part of it.  Trust me, I've been through all of this before.  It's always the same."

"This," said the general, "will be different.  Sgt. Anarchy.  We're bringing back the team."

Grandpa Anarchy frowned.  "The team?  What team?"  Then the light dawned as he recognized the significance of the Sgt. Anarchy reference.  "Wait.  You don't mean....."

"Indeed we do," said the general.  "I'm bringing back the Roaring Rangers."

There was a long pause.  Grandpa said, "Wait.  Do you mean Sgt. Anarchy's Roaring Rangers?  My elite World War II combat unit, tasked with countering Nazi German supers?"

"Yes, of course I mean Sgt. Anarchy's Roaring Rangers!" snapped General Blackstar.  "What in blue blazes did you think I meant, the Twilight Guardians of Magical Fairyland?"

"Hey," said Grandpa, "don't go speaking ill of the Twilight Guardians of Magical Fairyland.  I've worked with those people, they're all stand-up heroes, even Tinkletoes the Troll.  Point is, general, World War II ended over seventy years ago.  I don't see the point of bringing back the team -- I mean, are any of these guys still alive?"

"What are you talking about Grandpa?" said Unpossible Girl.  "I'm still here."

"You don't count!" Grandpa snapped.  "There weren't no fourteen-year-old girls in the Roaring Rangers."

"Now, don't be like that, Grandpa!" Unpossible Girl said.  "Nobody's saved your life more than me!"

"I remember a four hundred pound man that saved my life a few times," Grandpa replied.  "What do you weigh?  A hundred pounds?"

"I"m six foot one and a hundred and twenty-five," said the girl.  "I've got the build of Vashti Cunningham."

"Whoever that is," Grandpa muttered.  "Anyway, even if I count you, the American Screech Owl is dead, and all those other guys -- 'Shadow' Grimshaw, 'Tank' Czajkowski, 'Four Eyes' Blumstein, and 'Triple' Juniors -- if they're not all dead then they're in their nineties at the Happy Valley Nursing Home...."

"Why, Sergeant Anarchy," a frail, raspy voice called out.  This was followed by a fit of coughing, and then, "I'm so glad (cough, wheeze) that you remember me!"

The circular door dialated open, revealing a massive armored robot or perhaps the largest suit of high-tech armor known to man.  "Robert Czajkowski, at your service," the suit said, and inclined its head.  This was followed by another fit of coughing.

"Tank?" Grandpa replied.  "What'd they do to you?  You a robot?"

"Not at all," the other replied, then fell into yet another coughing fit.  After a moment he stopped coughing and tapped the side of his armored head.  The faceplate rose up, revealing a man who was -- as Grandpa had predicted -- so old he ought to be in a nursing home.  Oxygen tubes were connected to his nostrils.

"Nice to see you again, Sergeant," he said.  "And... Unpossible Girl?"

Grandpa stroked his chin.  "Yeah okay, it's a nice suit of armor," he said, "but I don't expect a ninety-five-year-old man to make it through a single battle."

"You're older than that, Grandpa," said Unpossible Girl.

"I'm different!" Grandpa snapped.  "I've been given super-soldier serum!"

"I've survived  this long," said Czajkowski.  "And it's CyberTank now."

The man in the armored suit stomped to one side.  He did not try to sit down --  the suit clearly weighed north of a thousand pounds, if it weighed an ounce.  The iris closed, and then a new voice said, "Remember me, Sergeant?"

Grandpa sighed.  "Are we going to go through this for each member of the team?"

The door dilated open again.  Standing there was a rather young looking dark-skinned man whose most distinguishing feature was that he had three arms and three legs.  "Junior 'Triple' Juniors, at your service!" the man said.

Grandpa looked him up and down, then turned to the general.  "Nice try, but this ain't Triple Juniors," he said.  "Too young.  Also we called him that because of his name -- Junior Juniors Jr.  Not because he had  three arms and three legs."

"Technically these days I'm Junior Juniors Sr.," the three-armed man said.  "I passed the name on to my daughter -- bit of a family tradition you understand.  Actually I've always been Junior Juniors the fifth, strictly speaking.  As for the extra arm and leg -- just a side effect of my experimental age rejuvenation treatments."

Grandpa's eyes narrowed.  "Okay, but what good does a three-armed, three-legged man do us in a fight?"

"Are you kidding?" Triple Juniors exclaimed.  "I got three fists, Sergeant!  You only got two!"

This was the sort of logic for which Grandpa had no answer.  "Fair enough," he said with a nod.  Meanwhile the fancy circular portal closed, and a new voice spoke.

"Remember me, Sergeant?"  The voice had a subtle but oddly synthetic quality to it.

"Murderbot 147?" Grandpa asked.

The door slid open, revealing a seven-foot terminator robot.  The metallic man was all chrome and polished steel, with an American flag welded to his chest.  Titanium armor and cables shaped his arms, legs, and torso, vaguely resembling human muscle, but blue eyes glowed in a silver skull that was in no way human.  The creature stared at them and raised a hand.  Grandpa tensed, clenching his fists.

"Hello again, Sgt. Anarchy," the robot said.  "And Unpossible Girl.  I am Harold Grimshaw."

"No you ain't," said Grandpa.  "Harold "Shadow" Grimshaw was human.  You're a robot."

"You are technically correct," said the robot.  "Harold Grimshaw's meat body lies nine point seven feet below the ground.  Yet I possess all of his memories, so in a very real sense, I am what remains of Harold Grimshaw.  I am Shadowbot."

Grandpa placed a hand over his eyes.  "Great," he said.  "Now we've got a ghost in a machine?  We already got one of those in the New League of Two-Fisted Justice -- Girlbot 9000, robot with the soul of former hero Freem Beam.  All we need now is for Daniel 'Four Eyes' Blumstein to show up as a zombie...."

The generals exchanged looks.  From the closed circular apeture, a voice like the sighing of the wind groaned, "Saaaaar geeeeeeeant... reeeee memberrrrrr."

The stench of rotting flesh filled the room.  As the apeture opened, Grandpa spun on General Blackstar.  "NO!" he exclaimed.  "By the devil!  I ain't teaming with no danged zombie!"

Bone showed through patches of the zombies face.  It wore thick glasses, but one eye was missing.  "Liiiiiviiiing chaaaalleeenged, puleeeeze," the zombie moaned.

"This New Roaring Rangers team," said General Blackstar, "will be an elite superpowered unit fit to take on today's super powered villain threats."

"Funny," said Grandpa.  "I sort of thought that was the job of the New League of Two-Fisted Justice.  This is a bad idea, General Blackstar.  A really, really bad idea.  Sorry, but I'm not your man -- you can find a different super soldier sergeant to lead your freak team."

***

'Three Eyes' Blumenstein scanned the ground below with the aid of a night vision monocular.  Below the ridge, jack-booted soldiers in black uniforms patrolled the perimeter of a military compound.

"Siiiiiiiiix," the zombie called out in a voice that was half-groan, half-sigh.

"Roger that," Sergeant Anarchy replied.  He clung to the side of the mountain dressed in military fatigues and clutching a rifle.  "Roaring Rangers!" he barked into a comm unit.  "Everyone in position?  We'll let Cybertank and Shadowbot go first, then once they've raised a ruckus on the far side of the base, the rest of us move in.  Got it?"

As they lay in wait, Unpossible Girl said, "What made you change your mind, Grandpa?"

"Are you kidding?" Grandpa Anarchy replied.  "That out there is the Hatra organization, led by the Nazi Sorceress Fraulein Hatra.  All General Blackstar had to say is that we'd be fighting bona fide Nazi villains that we faced during the war.  I ain't punched an actual Nazi in ages!"

FINI