The harsh desert sun sears the Arizona ground, scorching the land of all life and water aside from the occasional cactus or wild grass. The air is bereft of wind, and the lack of moisture in the atmosphere soon cause the Courier to become hungry, thirsty, and tired; a seemingly permanent side effect of living in the wasteland. Yet it is not so. In fact, as Atticus wipes the sweat that seeps out from his thick closely cropped dark hair, he smiles. It is a rarity in that it is wide and full and completely authentic.
For Atticus is hunting. And his prey is plentiful.
In the service of the New California Republic, and partially in the service of his own anti-Legion agenda, the Courier has lead a probe deep into enemy lines, several miles east of the Colorado and the Hoover Dam. His only other companion in this endeavor is Craig Boone, another ex-military NCR sympathizer with a chip on his shoulder. Their mission, officially, is to survey as much as they can of the Legion's home turf, and to report back to the Dam. Unofficially, they're going to fuck up as much of the Legion as they can find before they head both fronts, the mission is going well. Several dozen patrols and small camps, mostly comprised of deserters of the recent Second Battle of Hoover Dam, have been eliminated with extreme prejudice.
Atticus absentmindedly chews a wad of Coyote tobacco as he gazes through the scope of his hunting rifle, looking for any sign of movement or life. Behind him, Boone does the same in the other direction. It isn't long before they find another contact, as their position was strategically placed for an ambush. This is their third contact this week.
A patrol of half a dozen explorers march with machetes at their sides, hunting rifles at their shoulders. Their leader, a Veteran Decanus, walks with a noticeable limp. Remnants from the Dam. All of them carry large packs filled with what we could only guess at.
"About 350 yards off... the sun's in their eyes... rifles aren't scoped. Easy pickings." Atticus reports, even though he knows that Boone has made the exact same observations. You always communicate with your spotter. Boone responds in turn by grunting in a vaguely affirmative way, and also by rocking back the bolt of his rifle, loading a magazine of .308 full-metal jacketed rounds, and rocking the bolt forward again. The Courier does the same. They both wait until the wind and elevation is just right... and then they fire within a heartbeat of each other. Boone opts for a clean headshot and succeeds, dropping the Decanus immediately. Atticus, using a cunning yet morally debatable tactic, shoots through the hip of one explorer. The bullet travels onward, and then destroys the knee of another. Both men fall to the ground, crippled and in such pain no Legion training could suppress. The remaining legionaries drop to the ground, though unfortunately for them there is no practical cover within forty feet. Two again are dispatched with steady torso spots, and the third springs up and starts to run in a vaguely serpentine pattern. Atticus toys with the idea of letting him live to tell his friends about this, but then he drops him with a shot through his neck, severing his spinal cord and practically decapitating him.
After doing a peripheral scan of the area, the duo move towards the dead legionaries. Working quickly and efficiently, they check the dead for water and ammunition. As Atticus cuts open the large pack of one of the legionaries, an explosion throws him forward over the dead body. After drawing his Ranger Sequoia and turning around, he realizes that a dreadful mistake has been made. The legionary whom Atticus had shot in the hip, that had presumably died of shock and blood loss, apparently had had enough time before he expired to plant a trip mine under the body of the fallen Decanus. When Boone turned the dead officer over in order to check his pack, the mine had exploded, pieces of shrapnel tearing through his light customized combat armor and embedding themselves in his stomach.
Boone falls onto his back, trying to cope with the pain, fumbling for something to stop the bleeding with.
"Fucking Legion!" is all that Atticus can make out before snapping into desperate action. Pulling out his medical kit and several bottles of purified water, he cuts away Boone's armor with a combat knife, exposing the wounds. Taking several deep breaths, Atticus forces himself to wash his hands with a bottle of water, doing his best to prevent infection. He then flushes out Boone's stomach with more water, jams the needle of a Med-X canister into his neck, and starts an IV directly from himself into Boone. Testing by Dr. Usanagi previously discovered that the Courier had an O blood type, meaning that he could safely give blood to any human.
Carefully probing at Boone's tissue reveals some good news. Most of the shrapnel was stopped by the layer of tough muscle that lay under the thin layer of yellow fat of Boone's stomach. However, one particularly angled shard had wedged itself between Boone's abdominals and might possibly have tore into Boone's large intestine. It was impossible to know how large the fragment was.
If left in there, the shard would eventually become infected or be pushed even deeper into Boone. However, if the shard was removed, it might do irreparable damage to his intestines.
Boone groaned and shifted weakly, signaling that the Med-X was wearing off. There was no more in the kit, as it was designed to be light and minimal. Instead, Atticus pulled a flask of whiskey out of his pack, and pressed it into Boone's hands. An unorthodox alternative, but possibly just as effective.
"Drink it all, and quickly." Boone did as he asked, his pale face straining to lift his head up. As the last drop of amber liquid was drained and the flask dropped, Atticus made a decision and seized the shard with his tweezers. With his other hand steady on Boone's shoulder, he firmly drew out the fragment, which proved to be only a few centimeters long. As this was happening, Boone gasped and went limp. Checking to make sure that Boone hadn't collapsed out of shock, and double checking that there was no more shrapnel left in his stomach, Atticus deftly bound the wound with a healing poultice and a wide bandage. Over this he covered Boone with his bedroll kit and radioed the Dam for support. He was informed that a squad of Veteran Rangers were to escort them back to NCR territory, when they arrive in several hours. Oliver was ever the fan of overkill.
Atticus drew his rifle close to him, and began his long watch.