I knocked the dust from my helmet as I brought my vision back to my rifle scope. The crosshairs searched for another target and found a legionnaire at the bottom of the hill. I stroked the trigger and a geyser of arterial blood shot from the legionnaire back unto his comrades, they didn't even stop to mourn their loss. The soldiers beside me kept on firing on the teeming mass below us and I thought back to two weeks ago when this began. It all began when the "all powerful" courier and his pet 1st recon man, Craig Boone, assassinated Caesar. After the assassination Legate Lanius, the monster of the east, took charge and the whole legion retreated, or so we thought. He gathered the legion's full force and descended upon the damn. It was a slaughter, worse than Bitter Springs from all reports. The NCR tried to mass a counter attack but failed. Too many good soldiers had died in the past days. We ended up being pushed back to the Mojave outpost, where I was now. As I was sitting on top of one of the out buildings another legionnaire ran past my scope, I followed his path and grimaced as I sent him to join the rest of his comrades whom we had already killed.
We had killed an estimated one hundred and fifty legion that day and the bastards weren't done yet. The dust and the setting sun obscured my vision. As the evening wind blew the dust I saw a form darting from car to car and my crosshairs settled on his chest, I silently prayed for god's forgiveness, and I caressed the trigger. The hollow click from my rifle made my breath catch and I had to settle myself again. I tore my eyes away from the scope and I searched for another clip. I grabbed the last reaming clip on my belt moved it towards my rifle and dropped it. I had to stop and stare at the bullets as they spilled out. NCR Rangers are the best the whole of the Republic and those that had earned their black armor and trench coat surpassed all other rangers. We don't simply drop things my sleep addled brain and weary body had finally had enough. I glanced down the ramp to the ground and motioned one of the soldiers to take my place on the top of the building. I'm sure I muttered something to the man that took my place but I had no way of recalling. The barracks of the outpost were filled with the wounded and slowly dying. I slowly wandered into the command building trudged by the officers into a bathroom. I took off my helmet and stared at myself in the mirror. I saw a ghost of my former self. I usually look like any other person. I am somewhat handsome with blond hair and light blue eyes I earned a scar that runs down my cheek from shrapnel in some previous and forgotten battle. I stood and looked into my eyes for a moment, it took me too long to recall that I had come here to wash myself as best I could. I ran my hands under the water and realized I still had my dirt and blood cached gloves on. I stripped them off then proceeded to wash my face. In reality it would take a full scrubbing and a day of rest to feel clean again but this would have to do. I walked out of the command building and tried to find a place to sleep. The gunfire rarely kept me from sleep anymore so I would just have to find somewhere relatively safe. I ended up shrugging out of my dual shoulder holsters and dropping my rifle behind a large boulder. I leaned up against the large and uncomfortable rock and tried to shut my eyes. I slept for twelve hours.