It was a bright autumn day and Private John was watching the fields with his binoculars. The NCR had just built this town and they were a lot farther than protocol permits. Twelve houses were built at an exceedingly fast rate and the saloon/supply store was just now being set up. There were 20 people moving into this town, including John and the sniper he spotted for. Scrapper. Scrapper was an odd man, never was a ranger but handled a sniper rifle better than some of the veterans. He was around 40 or 50 and had gray streaks in his dark red hair. They watched the fields and moved positions every half an hour. Once it was light out a town sentry would be posted while John and Scrapper slept. The major stuff only happened at night anymore.

John set his binoculars down to get a drink out of his canteen. Scrapper fired. John jumped, "What the hell was that?" Scrapper snorted, "Mole rat. Don't getcha panties inna bunch. There's a whole bunch of em out there and i jus thought i'd scare em a lil." John sat back down. The old man never told him how he got his nickname, or about the long scar on his right eye. Somehow though, Scrapper was still an amazing shot. The only thing changed was that he actually needed John. John hopped out of the little shack they used as a sniping position and said, "I'm going for a walk. You want anything?" The old man mumbled, "Bring me back some whiskey son. I'm almost out." John nodded and headed into the ramshackle little town.

A cool breeze swept by John as he was walking. It was one of those special nights where it wasn't to hot and wasn't too cold. A perfect night for the townspeople to get out and celebrate. The windows in houses and the salon were shining brightly into the "street". Everyone here was happy, they had food, they had water, and they had solace. Far away from most of the major NCR outposts the only downside was raiders, and John would protect this town with his life. He had a chance to actually do something, something much more exciting than pushing papers and guarding dinky little outposts that no raider would even bother attacking. This was real, this night was real, this night was beautiful.

The saloon doors swung open and a few drunken men staggered out singing some old world song about setting the world on fire. They stumbled down to a nearby house and went inside. John had thought about that song thoroughly. It was almost serendipitous, that such a song would be on the radios when the bombs fell. For they actually set the world on fire, and just for war. It's not like the war and violence had been kicked out of humanity with that event. It was still there. The Enclave, Caesar's Legion, The Brotherhood of Steel, The NCR, and all the other factions that lay sprinkled about the American Wasteland squabbled constantly for power, and power breeds war. And war, war never changes.

Gunfire sounded off from Scrapper's direction. Not that of a sniper rifle, but that of a machine gun. John pulled out his hunting rifle and quickly turned around. Fiends, dozens of them. They were running across the fields, shooting into the town. John could barely make them out, but a few of them started dropping and he knew it was Scrapper. People started pouring out of their houses, men carried their firearms and shot randomly into the barbaric mass. Even as they fell, there were still to many. They entered the town's boundaries and the townspeople scattered. John pulled out a frag grenade and threw it into the crowd, then began firing. Someone burst out of their little shack. It was Scrapper, and a Fiend with a machete was slicing at him, trying to cut him down. John quickly took care of him and aimed at the other oncoming Fiends. 3 more fell before he had to start running. "Scrapper..." he said. Then he heard the old man's voice screaming above the war cries of the Fiends, "Run boy! GIT OUT OF HERE! GIT OUT AND SAVE YERSELF!" John did save himself, and he regretted it. He regretted Scrapper's death. The old man died a warrior's death, and John would avenge him. Those Fiends would die.

3 days later John arrived dehydrated and starving at an NCR outpost. A lot of the other townspeople had already made it there and were being treated. A concerned looking officer came up to John as he stumbled into the barracks. "You okay kid?" The officer asked. John tried to speak, but his throat was to dry. He collapsed from exhaustion. 10 hours later he woke up in a cot, an IV was stuck in his arm and someone had dressed him in a hospital gown. A nurse was checking some charts across the room and noticed he was was awake. She smiled and walked over to him, "Hi. Looks like you're awake. How do you feel John?" John shook his head and grunted, "Fine, but my head hurts a little. How did you know my name?"
"Dog tags of course. Helps identifying patients. So can you tell me what happened?"
"Look, uh. What's your name?"
"Chelsea."
"Look, Chelsea. Uh, I need to see a CO right away. They need to know what the hell happened."
"Ah, you were stationed at Dry Gulch weren't you?"
"How'd you know?"
"Personal records and the fact that several of the citizens, or former citizens, identified you."
"Oh..."
"So, in your words. What happened?"
"Well it seemed like a normal night. Scrapper and I were watching the fields. I went to go get him a drink, and they just sort of attacked."
"Who?"
"The Fiends."
"Wow. I can't believe that many of the townsfolk survived."
"How many survivors are there?"
"About 5 or 6 including you."
"5 OR 6? THERE MUST HAVE BEEN AT LEAST 40 PEOPLE IN DRY GULCH!"
"Yup. The Fiends are known to do some pretty major damage."
"Is the NCR going to do anything about this?"
"You can ask Corporal Storm about that. He's in the command building, you'll need to get changed first. There are some fatigues over in those lockers, not the ones you wore in here but ones I'm pretty sure will fit."
"Thanks Chelsea."
"You're welcome Private."

John grabbed the fatigues and quickly changed. Then he left the field hospital and headed over to the command building. It was an old strip mall that had another level added on to it after the war. It looked like it was made of old semi-truck trailers. John headed into the front door and asked the receptionist where Corporal Storm was. She pointed down the hall and told him he'd have to go up the stairs and that it was the second door on the right. John thanked her and headed up the stairs. When he opened Corporal Storm's office he was greeted by an incredibly fit middle-aged man with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. "Hello Private, nice to meet you. I'm Corporal Storm. Please, take a seat," Storm said. John nodded and sat down in the chair opposite from Storm. "So," Storm began, "Tell me. What were you doing in Dry Gulch?"
"Well sir. I was stationed as a spotter for Scrapper."
"Scrapper eh? What was his rank?"
"I can't remember sir..."
"Huh. Well what else were you assigned to do?"
"I was to keep the town safe sir, and make sure that all hostile threats were eliminated."
"So, you were a soldier just doing your duty? Keeping the town safe?"
"Yes sir."
"Well you tried your best soldier, but those damn Fiends are a force to be reckoned with. The NCR has been dealing with them for years, and we don't have the resources for a direct assault."
"So nothing is being done about Dry Gulch?"
"No son we can't do anything about Dry Gulch. We are at minimum capacity here, and we can't spare a single man."
"So nothing is being done at all.."
"No. I'm sorry."
"All those innocent people, you're just going to let them die?"
"It's all we can do Private. We cannot waste any men."

Storm was right, they couldn't spare any men. Yet John couldn't sit around with his thumbs up his ass. "Sir?"
"Yes Private?"
"All I'm asking for is some food, water, and a sniper rifle. I'll kill them all."
"We don't need soldiers going gung-ho on some Fiends Private. The NCR won't allow it."
"Sir, please."
"Like I said soldier. IT would be a suicide mission, and a waste of resources."
"Sir, You know I'm going back whether or not you want me to. All I'm asking for is permission. You can't stop me."

The Corporal paused and thought. John's idea was stupid and foolhardy, but the kid was ballsy. Maybe he had a chance at these bastards, and maybe he didn't. Might as well send the kid to his death well prepared, rather than just letting him go on his own with nothing. Storm sighed, "You are allowed full access to the armory Private. This mission will not be known by any member of the NCR. If anyone asked you went crazy and stole the weapons then went on to your own death, however if you succeed I'll report it as a heroic effort on your behalf. You are dismissed Private."
"Thank you sir."
"Now get the hell out before I start thinking logically."
"Yes sir."

And with that John was granted his revenge. Now he'll be able to avenge Scrapper, and all the people of the town almost born.