Missions

STORY ONE: ASSEMBLING THE TROUBLESHOOTERS

September - November 1877

By the fall of 1877, Colonel Augustus "Gus" Brennan had built an empire. Cotton plantations, ghost rock refineries, steamboat lines plying the Mississippi, and a controlling stake in the Black River Railroad—all of it paid for in sweat, blood, and Confederate gold. He'd survived the war, survived Shiloh, survived losing his left hand to Union artillery. He'd adapted to a world that kept getting stranger, where ghost rock powered impossible devices and the dead sometimes refused to stay buried.

But by mid-September, something was hunting him. And unlike the obvious threats—rival rail barons, Union spies, Apache raiders—this enemy struck from shadows with methods that defied explanation.

The Pattern Emerges

It began at Brennan's main Black River Railroad depot in Dodge City. Night guards found equipment destroyed in impossible ways: iron twisted like taffy, wood charred but showing no signs of fire, tools scattered miles from where they belonged. The guards reported only "cold feelings" and "shadows that moved wrong." Local law enforcement investigated, found nothing, and suggested vagrants or sabotage. But Gus knew better. This wasn't ordinary destruction.

Then came the competitor who knew too much. A rival shipping company began undercutting Brennan's bids with uncanny precision, intercepting his best routes before he could announce them publicly. Gus suspected a spy in his organization and launched a quiet investigation. He found nothing. No leaks, no bribes, no telegrams to competitors. Yet somehow they continued to know his plans before he made them public. That was when Gus began to suspect something beyond mere industrial espionage.

Three ghost rock shipments vanished in early October. Complete disappearances—no bodies, no wreckage, no trace. Wagons, drivers, and valuable cargo simply ceased to exist somewhere between Dodge City and his Memphis refineries. Investors grew nervous. Competitors whispered about Brennan losing his edge. And Gus knew that conventional solutions—more guards, better routes, tighter security—wouldn't stop whatever was taking his shipments.

By mid-October, one of his most profitable ghost rock mines near Dodge shut down completely. Miners refused to work, claiming the tunnels were haunted. Reports of voices in the darkness, shadows that moved independently, equipment that operated on its own. Gus offered double wages. The miners still refused. Production stopped. Profits evaporated. And the mine sat idle while whatever lurked in those tunnels grew bolder.

The Breaking Point

The final incident came in late October, in Dodge City itself. Something supernatural manifested in one of Brennan's establishments—too public to ignore, too weird for the law to understand, too dangerous to leave unaddressed. The details varied depending on who told the story, but the result was the same: people died, property was destroyed, and conventional authorities were helpless.

Five incidents in two months. Each one escalating. Each one defying normal explanation. Seventeen separate reports sat on Gus's desk by late October—seventeen problems that lawyers couldn't solve and money couldn't buy off. He sat alone in his Memphis office one night, mechanical hand resting beside a glass of Kentucky bourbon, and faced the truth he'd been avoiding: his empire was under attack from forces that operated beyond the natural world.

The law couldn't help—they didn't understand what they were facing. The Pinkertons asked too many questions and charged too much for uncertain results. The Texas Rangers had bigger problems. And whatever was targeting his operations was growing bolder with each success.

Gus needed something different. Not investigators who would file reports. Not politicians who would negotiate endlessly. He needed fixers—people who could handle problems in the grey spaces between law and outlaw, natural and supernatural, acceptable and unthinkable. He needed troubleshooters.

The Memphis Solution

The telegram went out on October 27th, addressed to Captain J.R. McEntyre, Texas Rangers, Austin. The message was economical, as Gus's military training had taught him to be: "Need your services urgently. Situation in Disputed Lands requires immediate attention. Come to Memphis by fastest means available. Will explain in person. Your old comrade needs help. Brennan."

John Ross McEntyre. They'd served together early in the war, before Gus's promotion and J.R.'s transfer. A good officer, competent and loyal. More importantly, someone who understood that survival sometimes required flexibility in methods. Someone who'd seen strange things in the Weird West and lived to tell about it. Someone Gus could trust—and trust was rarer than Confederate gold these days.

J.R. arrived in Memphis on November 3rd. They met in Gus's study—fire crackling in the hearth despite the mild weather, premium Old Dominick whiskey waiting in crystal glasses, evidence of the supernatural attacks organized on the desk. Two old soldiers, one now an industrialist and one still serving the law, both understanding that the world had changed since Gettysburg and the Reckoning that followed.

Gus laid out the situation with military precision: the pattern of attacks, the supernatural elements, the inadequacy of conventional responses. Then he made his offer. "I need you to assemble a team, John. People who've seen the weird and survived. People who can be trusted. People who understand that sometimes the threats to good business aren't found in ledgers or board rooms, but in the shadows where things that shouldn't exist wait with malevolent patience."

The pay would be generous—double what the Texas Rangers offered. The work would be dangerous but purposeful. The base of operations would be Dodge City, right in the heart of the Disputed Lands where Union and Confederate interests collided daily. And the mission would be simple: protect Brennan's empire by any means necessary.

J.R. accepted. Loyalty to his former commanding officer, debt of honor from when Gus had saved his life during the war, and the promise of work that mattered more than routine Ranger patrols. By the end of that November meeting, the foundations of the Troubleshooters were laid.

Recruitment

J.R. took a leave of absence from the Texas Rangers and spent November recruiting. Using Brennan's extensive contacts and resources, he sought out specialists across the frontier—people with particular skills, particular experiences, or particular desperation that made them suitable for work in the shadows.

A gunfighter who'd faced the supernatural and lived. Someone with abilities that defied natural law—blessed by God, touched by spirits, or driven by mad science. A tracker who knew the frontier's hidden places. A talker who could negotiate or deceive as circumstances required. Wildcards with unique skills or knowledge that might prove invaluable when facing the unknown.

Each recruitment was different. Some came for the money. Some came for purpose. Some came because they were running from something worse. But they all came, drawn by J.R.'s reputation, Brennan's resources, or simply the promise of work that acknowledged the weird truth of the world they lived in.

By late November, the team had assembled in Dodge City. Different backgrounds, different skills, different reasons for being there—but all of them capable, all of them willing, and all of them desperate or skilled or crazy enough to work for Colonel Brennan in the most dangerous town in the Disputed Lands.

The First Test

Before Brennan would commit fully to funding this operation, the Troubleshooters needed to prove they could work together. J.R. selected one of the outstanding problems from Gus's list—something dangerous enough to test their capabilities but not so catastrophic that failure would destroy everything.

The specifics varied, but the pattern was the same: investigate a supernatural threat, develop a plan, execute it despite the odds, and deliver results. No excuses, no endless reports, no political maneuvering. Just competent people handling an incompetent situation with whatever means necessary.

They succeeded. Not perfectly—there were injuries, close calls, mistakes that nearly proved fatal. But they succeeded. The threat was eliminated. Brennan's interests were protected. And most importantly, they proved they could function as a team when it mattered most.

Established

By the end of November 1877, the Troubleshooters were official. A small office in Dodge City. An expense account funded by Brennan's Memphis operations. Access to resources, contacts, and information throughout his commercial empire. And the understanding that they would be called upon when conventional solutions failed—which, in the Weird West of 1877, happened more often than anyone wanted to admit.

Colonel Brennan had his discrete problem-solvers. J.R. McEntyre had his team. The Troubleshooters had their purpose. And Dodge City—already one of the most dangerous towns in the Disputed Lands—had just become home to people who specialized in handling problems that existed beyond the boundaries of normal law and order.

It was December when the telegram from Irving Backlund arrived. A desperate father seeking help with a "delicate family matter." A missing son, a mysterious cult, and a situation that local law wouldn't—or couldn't—address.

The Troubleshooters' first real mission was about to begin.

STORY TWO: THE SUMMONS

December 14-19, 1877

The telegram arrived on a cold December morning in Dodge City, delivered to Colonel Brennan's office with the urgency that expensive priority service guaranteed. The message was brief, the desperation barely concealed beneath formal business language: Irving Backlund, president of one of Colorado's largest mining operations, needed help with a "delicate family matter." His son Christopher had vanished two years ago, only to be found among a religious cult calling itself the Church of the Holy Flame. The law wouldn't intervene. Time was running out. Christmas was approaching.

For Colonel Brennan, the request represented opportunity wrapped in urgency. Backlund Mining supplied ore to his ghost rock refineries. The Black River Railroad expansion into Colorado Territory depended on political connections that Irving Backlund possessed in abundance. This wasn't just a favor for a business associate—it was an investment in future prosperity. More importantly, it was the Troubleshooters' first major contract beyond Dodge City, a chance to prove their worth beyond local problems.

The Briefing

Gus called the Troubleshooters to his office that afternoon. The mechanical hand rested on his desk as he explained the situation with characteristic directness. A wealthy industrialist's son had joined a cult. The father wanted him back. The law considered it a family matter, not a criminal case. But Irving Backlund was convinced something sinister lurked behind the Church of the Holy Flame's peaceful facade, and he was willing to pay well for the truth.

"Irving Backlund is one of the wealthiest men in Colorado," Gus explained, sliding expense money and travel documents across his desk. "An alliance with him opens doors for all of us. Get to Denver. Find out what's going on with this Church. Bring the boy home if you can. But gentlemen—don't start a war with these people unless you have to."

The orders were clear. The timeline was tight. Christmas was only eleven days away, and Irving Backlund wanted his son home for the holiday. The Troubleshooters had their second mission, and this time it would take them far from the familiar streets of Dodge City into the mountains of Colorado Territory.

The Journey West

They departed Dodge City on December 15th with winter settling over the plains and mountains ahead. The choice of transportation came down to speed versus independence: the Union Blue Railroad could get them to Denver in three days, traveling through Union territory the entire way, or they could ride horseback through Kansas and into Colorado, maintaining their freedom but adding an extra day to the journey.

Each option carried its own complications. The railroad meant sharing close quarters with strangers, navigating Union jurisdictions that made some Confederate veterans uncomfortable, and depending on schedules that didn't account for the Weird West's tendency toward unexpected delays. But it was faster, more comfortable, and protected from the December weather that threatened snow at any moment.

Riding horseback meant independence—no schedules, no crowded cars, no questions from curious fellow passengers about why six armed individuals were heading to Denver in mid-December. But it also meant exposure to early winter storms, potential encounters with bandits or worse in the Disputed Lands, and the simple exhaustion of days in the saddle through increasingly mountainous terrain.

Whichever route they chose, the journey served a purpose beyond mere transportation. For three or four days, the Troubleshooters had time—time to talk, time to plan, time to understand each other beyond the urgency of immediate danger. Some had worked together during their first mission in Dodge City, but this was different. This was travel into unfamiliar territory to face an unknown threat on behalf of a client they'd never met. Trust wasn't optional anymore.

Stories and Speculation

Whether gathered in a railroad passenger car or around a campfire beneath December stars, the conversations during those traveling days revealed the people beneath the professional facades. Personal histories emerged in fragments—where they came from, what they'd survived, why they'd accepted J.R. McEntyre's recruitment offer. Some shared freely. Others revealed themselves more carefully, testing the waters of companionship with people they might have to trust with their lives.

But the Church of the Holy Flame dominated every strategic discussion. What kind of organization could convince a young man to donate his entire inheritance and sever contact with his grieving father? What did Lady Cynthia Carstairs preach that inspired such devotion? And why did Irving Backlund suspect something more sinister than simple religious fervor?

Information came in pieces. A newspaper article about the Church forming in Denver three years ago. Rumors from other passengers or travelers about the compound near Derry's Ford. Whispered speculation about Lady Carstairs herself—beautiful, charismatic, mysteriously ageless according to some accounts, though such claims seemed more gossip than fact. Every scrap of intelligence was catalogued, analyzed, turned over in discussion as the miles rolled past.

The facts they could confirm were limited but troubling. The Church had seventy to eighty members. They lived in a fortified compound. They maintained armed guards led by a known gunslinger named Edgar DuChamp. Members donated everything they owned and cut all family ties. And despite investigations by worried families, local authorities found no laws being broken—just people who'd joined willingly and refused to leave.

The Shadow of Winter

The weather grew colder as they traveled west and north. Kansas gave way to Colorado Territory, and the mountains appeared on the horizon like promises of challenges ahead. December in the Rockies meant snow, meant temperatures that could kill the unprepared, meant complications for any operation that might require quick movement or extended surveillance.

If they traveled by horse, the weather became immediate and personal—wind that cut through heavy coats, the threat of storms that could strand them in exposed terrain, the exhausting work of maintaining horses and equipment in conditions that grew harsher with each passing mile. If they chose the railroad, the weather remained a spectacle outside the windows, a reminder of what they'd face once they left Denver's relative comfort for the smaller town of Derry's Ford and the mountains beyond.

Christmas was ten days away when they left Dodge City. Nine days when they crossed into Colorado Territory. Every sunset brought the deadline closer, and with it the pressure to move quickly once they reached Denver. Irving Backlund wanted his son home for Christmas. Whether that was possible—whether it was even advisable—remained uncertain. But the timeline was set, and the Troubleshooters understood that speed might matter as much as strategy in the days ahead.

Mile High City

Denver appeared on the horizon on December 18th—a city of thirty-five thousand souls, prosperous and growing, the wealth of Colorado's mines visible in its architecture and energy. It was a different world from Dodge City's rough frontier pragmatism. Denver had culture, refinement, the trappings of civilization that money and aspiration could buy. For some of the Troubleshooters, it represented a return to familiar urban environments. For others, it was jarring transition from the open plains they knew best.

They checked into rooms Colonel Brennan had reserved—comfortable accommodations that reflected Gus's understanding that first impressions mattered when meeting wealthy clients. A message waited for them: Irving Backlund requested they come to his office the following morning. The Backlund Building, seven stories of red brick in downtown Denver, seventh floor. Nine o'clock sharp.

They had an evening in Denver before the real work began. Some used it for reconnaissance, visiting libraries or newspaper offices to research the Church of the Holy Flame. Others prepared equipment, checked weapons, or simply rested after days of travel. A few explored the city's saloons and gambling halls, gathering the kind of information that came more freely with whiskey and cards than from official sources.

But everyone understood that the morning would bring answers to questions they'd been asking since Dodge City. Who was Irving Backlund, really? What had happened to his son Christopher? And what would they find when they finally confronted the Church of the Holy Flame in the mountains beyond the city?

The Weight of Expectation

That night in Denver, with the meeting with Backlund looming in the morning, the Troubleshooters faced a truth that Colonel Brennan's briefing had made clear: this mission mattered. Success meant a powerful ally in Colorado, profitable relationships that could sustain their operation for years, and proof that they could handle complex situations beyond Dodge City's familiar streets. Failure meant lost opportunities, damaged reputations, and possibly a young man's life if Irving Backlund's suspicions about the Church proved accurate.

They'd traveled three or four days from Kansas to Colorado. They'd bonded as a team, planned their approach, gathered what intelligence they could from limited sources. They'd learned to trust each other through the small intimacies of shared travel—watch rotations, campfire conversations, the silent understanding that developed between people facing uncertain danger together.

Now they waited in a city that felt simultaneously welcoming and alien, preparing to meet a desperate father who'd called on strangers because he'd exhausted every other option. Somewhere in the mountains beyond Denver, seventy-five people lived in devotion to a woman called Lady Carstairs, and among them was Christopher Backlund—a young man who'd chosen faith over family, isolation over inheritance, and a mysterious church over the father who loved him.

The Troubleshooters would learn the full story tomorrow. But tonight, in the Mile High City with snow beginning to fall and Christmas eight days away, they could only wait and wonder what they'd truly been summoned to face.