A/N This is for my dear friend LovefortheStory who has a birthday today.

Dear Love, I sincerely hope that this day and the year ahead bring you nothing but happiness, good health and of course - love. :)

This fic will be a handful of chapters long. Expect an update at least once a week if not more. Enjoy & Happy Birthday!

President Frank Blanchard reads the rumpled letter one more time, his brow furrowed with worry. This isn't good.

It's not good on a lot of levels – but the most concerning one to Frank is that he will be a dead man if his plan doesn't fix things.

"Shit," he mutters to himself, tucking the folded letter back into his pocket when he hears approaching footsteps.

His Generals have arrived.

Monroe comes through the door first. He's wearing his Texas officer's uniform, having recently returned from his latest border patrol mission. Judging by the smile on his face, the trip was a success. "Hey Frank," Monroe says with a mock salute.

Miles stomps in behind his best friend. He is disheveled and dressed in street clothes – all except for his own Texas uniform jacket, which hangs crookedly on his lean frame. Miles looks grouchy and exhausted. The rumor about Miles is that he and that Matheson woman are having some problems and that he's taken to drinking a lot more than usual – which, Frank knows, is really saying something.

Miles doesn't wait for an invitation. He flops down in the chair opposite Blanchard. "What do you want? It's late and I want to go to the bar."

Frank waits till Monroe sits as well. It's not the first time the two Generals have been summoned to the Texas capitol since the Patriot War had ended, but it has been a while. Miles looks like he'd rather be somewhere – anywhere – else. Monroe looks bored and a little bit curious. Blanchard focuses on Monroe as he begins to tell his story.

Ten minutes later, both of his visitors are paying rapt attention. Miles is even leaning forward, his gaze fixed on Frank. "So Ed Truman had a brother?" Miles shakes his head in disgust.

Blanchard nods. "Yep, and he's an even bigger piece of shit than Ed ever thought about being. Name is Harry."

"Seriously?" Bass chuckles. "You're sending us after Harry Truman?"

Blanchard chuckles indulgently, but clearly he's heard the joke before. "Yeah, well this Harry Truman isn't worth a damn and sure as hell couldn't have filled the shoes of the former US president he got his name from. Truth is the best part of Harry P. Truman was probably the bit that leaked down his Mama's leg."

Miles scrunches his nose. "Thanks, Frank, for that mental image."

Bass leans back. "So Little Truman is a douche like his brother was? No surprise there. What's any of this got to do with us?"

"Well, in addition to being a douche, we think he's attempting to rebuild a Patriot network."

"Are you serious?" Miles scoffs.

"Yeah. We think he's trying to gather like-minded idiots who believe that the wrong side won the war."

"Are there even many of them left? I thought they were all dead or in prison." Bass says.

"Some of 'em just ran off like the little pussies they are. And now that they've had time to lick their wounds, a few want a re-match."

Miles sighs. "And what do you want us to do about it?"

Blanchard hands a map across the desk. "Need you two to go undercover."

"Undercover? Not to sound like a pompous ass, but people know who we are." Bass motions back and forth between himself and Miles. "We aren't exactly wallflowers."

"Around here, yeah. Everybody knows you. Back East, yeah, they know you too." Blanchard stands and leans over his desk to point at the map. "But not in Arnette, Texas. Nobody there is gonna know you. Well, they may know your names, but not your faces."

"Where the fuck is Arnette?" Miles asks.

"Western border of the old Texas state line. A day's drive from El Paso. It's a small town filled with some of the dirtiest and meanest motherfuckers you might find anywhere."

Bass quirks an eyebrow. "That bad?"

"Think New Vegas but worse. The Western Texas penitentiary was in Arnette and when the blackout happened, some of the guards let everyone out so they wouldn't starve to death. A handful of the cons have run the town ever since. We think Harry is looking to that group for some fresh blood."

"Why is Little Truman recruiting ex-cons?"

"Why not? They're not afraid to fight and will do anything for the right price."

Miles waves off the conversation. He's heard enough. "Fine. What do we do, and when we get there?"

Blanchard leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his full belly. "I had a Ranger on Truman's tail. Been following him around for weeks without incident. My Ranger followed Truman into Arnette and then sent word to me that Truman is telling folks he's gonna stay there for a while. He's holed up in an old boarding house and spending a lot of time playing cards at a local watering hole."

"So, what's the problem?" Bass asks.

Blanchard chuckles nervously. "My Ranger got in too deep. Need you to go in and act as backup. Maybe even perform a rescue if needed."

"Is he being held prisoner?"

"No."

"Why doesn't he just leave?"

"Refuses," Blanchard says, shaking his head. "Very dedicated to this mission. Stubborn ass."

"So you're sending US in to babysit a rookie who doesn't know well enough to get out of trouble?" Miles is unimpressed.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"We are still fucking Generals, aren't we?"

"Yes, of course. This isn't some shit job. This is important."

"Fine. What's our cover?"

Frank nods at Bass. "You ever tend bar?"

"No."

"Well, you're gonna learn. It's easy. Pretty sure the Lone Star only serves whiskey or moonshine. Not like you gotta learn how to make cosmos," Frank chuckles. "You'll be fine."

"The Lone Star?"

"It's the biggest bar in Arnette. Been around since way before the blackout. Originally it was a hangout for the prison guards. One of them is still running the place. He's a friend. Name is Rufus. He knows you're coming."

"Okay, so Bass is tending bar. What am I doing?" Miles asks.

"You get to be his number one customer."

"Huh?"

"A drunk. That's your cover. You have to act like a drunk."

For the first time since entering Blanchard's office, Miles smiles. "Now, that I can do."

"Not so fast. I need you to act like a drunk, not BE a drunk. Got it?"

Miles sighs. "Fine. I can do that."

"The Lone Star is where Harry is hanging out. It's where he plays cards and drinks and picks up whores. We think it's where he's making contacts as well. Pretty sure he's using the Lone Star as a home base for his new rebellion."

"So, what are we supposed to do while we're there?"

"Watch out for Joe. That's the Ranger's name: Joe Benjamin. Rufus gave Joe a job also. Keep an eye out for Joe and watch Truman when you can. Three sets of eyes are gonna be better than one."

Bass looks thoughtful. "Why us?"

"Joe asked for you by name."

"Who the hell is Joe Benjamin?" Bass asks. "I don't remember anybody by that name."

"I think you'll know him when you see him. Just go to the bar and ask for Rufus. He'll fill you in on the rest." Blanchard says.

Bass and Miles stand. Miles folds the map and tucks it into his pocket. "When do we leave?"

Blanchard remembers his worry from before. Time is of the essence. "Now is good."

A week after their late night meeting with Blanchard, Bass and Miles arrive on the outskirts of Arnette, Texas. They pay a farmer to keep their horses. Miles sits down with the farmer and his wife for a late lunch and Bass heads into town.

They had decided to go to the bar separately on the off chance that anyone might be paying attention. Nobody is. Just as Blanchard had warned, Arnette is not a nice place. Bass walks down the main street of this seedy shit hole and takes in the activity. There's a lot of it.

The street is busy with people milling about. Bass sees hookers leaning out of second story windows. One calls out to him. He nods but not in a way that will make her think he's coming back. Under the canopy of a long-abandoned gas station, he sees three guys beating the shit out of a fourth while people watch. A heavily muscled black man is leaning against an old light pole while a red headed woman in a short skirt gives him a blow job.

Bass averts his gaze. Blanchard wasn't kidding. This place is worse than New Vegas. Bass sees the two story building with a huge silver star painted above the door. This is clearly the Lone Star. "Aren't they clever?" He mutters as he steps over a guy who has passed out on the sidewalk.

He opens the door and is enveloped by a pillowy cloud of cigarette smoke. He squints his eyes until they can adjust to the hazy darkness within. The scarred oak bar is long and takes up one side of the room. Murky bottles line the shelves behind it, and old, faded bar stools are lined up in front. Most of the room is filled with crowded tables and raucous drunks. Nobody is paying attention to the front door at all. All the eyes in the place are focused on the stage in the back. A brunette with huge tits is dancing and the fellas are lapping it up.

Bass ignores the stage and heads to the bar. He catches the eye of the bartender. "You Rufus?"

"Depends on who's asking." The man walks over and looks down at Bass suspiciously. He is a giant of a man, barrel chested and broad shouldered. His biceps are probably bigger than Bass's head. He's bald but has a stringy gray beard that hangs to his belly.

"Name is Jasper. Frank sent me to help out."

Something flutters across the bartender's eyes and then he nods slowly. "Welcome to the Lone Star, Jasper. When can you start?"

"Where's Joe?"

"Oh, you'll see Jo soon enough. Come on back here and I'll show you around."

Bass follows Rufus behind the bar and Blanchard was right. This won't be very difficult. He serves whiskey to a guy with a bolo tie and turns to clean some glasses when Rufus calls him over to the end of the bar closest to the stage. "Come on down here, Jasper. You don't want to miss this."

The stage is lit by flickering candlelight and some hanging Japanese lanterns. An old red curtain opens to reveal a woman with her back to the crowd. She's wearing a black dress that is skin tight and short. It shows off very long legs and a perfectly sculpted back. She has on a top hat although Bass only notices the hat as an afterthought. He's not looking at her head.

Someone has begun to drum a slow steady rhythm to go along with the lone guitar. It's a primal thumping sound and the girl on stage begins to shake her ass to the beat. It's sexy as hell and Bass is having a hard time focusing on anything other than the gentle sway of that perfect ass.

"Hey man, can I get a drink or what?" Miles has settled onto a barstool.

Bass nods absently, his eyes still on the stage. "Yeah. What do you want?"

"Whiskey," Miles answers before turning to take in the stage.

They both watch as the girl in the black dress pulls the top hat off her head. As she does, long golden curls spill down her back. The crowd goes wild.

Miles frowns. "Uh…" He sounds suddenly very uneasy.

Bass makes the same realization in the split second before the girl turns to face the crowd. "Holy shit, that's –"

Rufus interrupts smoothly. "That's Jo. Jo Benjamin – just the person you've been looking for."

Bass can't stop staring. When the beautiful girl Rufus calls Jo glances at the bar, she catches Bass's eye. Her expression is unreadable, but she nods imperceptibly before continuing her dance.

Miles is no longer facing the bar. His knuckles are white against his drink.

"Let up a bit there, Mister, or you're gonna crack that glass," Rufus says.

"Yeah, sorry." Miles looks at Bass and his rage is palpable. He speaks in a harsh whisper. "Blanchard sent Charlie after this Truman asshole, alone? What the hell was he thinking?"

"At least she asked for us to come help."

"Yeah, that doesn't help."

Charlie finishes her set and comes over. She's grinning. "So glad you boys finally made it. I've been worried."

Miles and Bass both look at her blankly. What kind of undercover assignment is this, anyway? They exchange a look. Charlie ignores their confusion and lets herself behind the bar, walking right over to Bass and wrapping her arms around his waist. "It's been too long. Don't I at least get a kiss?"

Bass can feel her body, firm and warm against his own. He's never seen Charlie dressed like this and to say he's enjoying the view would be an outrageous understatement. Unfortunately, he also feels the daggers shooting from Miles. Bass leans down, pressing his lips to Charlie's ear. "What's going on?"

"Play along. I'll explain later. Right now, I need you to make everyone here think that I'm your girlfriend. Can you do that?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then do it."

Bass briefly imagines all the different ways Miles might choose to kill him. Then he looks down into her beautiful blue eyes, and he can feel her breasts pressing against his chest, and a whole lot of pent up need comes rushing to the surface. He dips his head down and kisses her. It starts out almost chaste, but she grabs his ass and yanks him closer. Bass gets the hint.

This is supposed to be a heated reunion kiss.

Bass tosses the bar rag he'd been holding aside and digs his fingers into her hair. He angles her face under his and kisses her like a man would kiss his woman after some time apart. He bites her lip and sucks at her tongue. He delves into her mouth, exploring greedily. She responds with an urgency that brings his cock to attention.

"Excuse me, but I need another drink. Or fifty." Miles speaks through gritted teeth. "Barkeep? Can you stop sticking your tongue down her throat long enough to get me a refill?"

"Yeah, of course." Bass grabs a bottle and starts to pour, watching as Charlie disappears into the crowd.

Miles shakes his head. "I already hate this assignment. Let's find this Harry Truman and kill him so we can all go home and life can go back to normal."

Bass nods, but the truth is that the last thing Bass wants is for things to go back to how they were before.

A/N: A quick thank you to Romeo for giving me a beta assist with this chapter. You rock.

Thanks to all who are reading. Please leave a comment if you have a moment. Another chapter will be up within the week. Thanks all. :)