I looked down the rusty sights of my old hunting rifle. Placed below the top of a large rock outcropping, I watched the sights. No. Remember what the Lone Wanderer taught you. Don't look at your sights, look at your target. This target, one of the crew of an Enclave vertibird, was getting some relaxation at one of the Enclave's outposts. Power armor off, laser rifles still loaded but stacked neatly against the back of the tent. Idiots. But their pilot seemed itchy, like he really wanted to get back into the sky. Probably could sense me staring at him.
I had camped out outside this outpost for almost a week, watching the routine of the soldiers stationed there. Their patrols, their shifts, their vertibird supply drops and refits. This particular one had been busy blasting away at the DC ruins. Through my binoculars I had observed it hover around GNR, soldiers hanging out the sides popping rounds through Three-Dog's windows. All the while listening to him bitch about it over the radio. The Brotherhood of Steel boys starting firing back, putting a few holes in 'er. Naturally it scampered off, and landed at the camp, like I had predicted.
They stocked up on ammo, slapped some sealent on the holes, and proceeded to drink to their hearts' content. The men already stationed there looked pretty pissed that the Vertibird guys were drinking all their booze and eating all their sweets. Probably were expecting some shift relief. Poor bastards, one of the VB crew got piss drunk and slugged one right in the face. His head bounced off a metal pole. It looked like he got a concussion, they medicated him and he's been in bed for almost twelve hours. Now the garrison is exhausted, and the VB crew can't even stand up straight. Perfect time to go hunting.
The pilot was the only one who appeared to have a brain, he refrained from drinking. He was meeker, not even having power armor. Must not fit into the Vertibird cockpit. Hair neatly trimmed, thin, looked like he had spent most of his time in a lab rather than in a fight. No, he would not be the one I killed first. The one I would kill would be their commander, who looked like a classic drill sergeant. 6'3", jutting jaw, completely muscled from head to toe. Well I have a little wake up call for the bastard. Muscle isn't bulletproof. 200 yards. Slight wind from the east. I made the tiny corrections, and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet ripped through the right side of his torso. Quickly shifting my aim and maneuvering the bolt for another shot, I fired again. And again. Two more dropped, well one, the second was already laying down. That left the garrison and the pilot. Three garrison, one ineffective. Another sleeping, the final on guard. The guard dove for cover and started scanning the tops of the rocks, looking for a silouette. Dumbass. Doesn't he know that the best place for sniping is just BELOW the hilltop? He turned around, and I placed another bullet directly into his power armor's power supply. His suit froze up (or was too heavy for him to move, either case he was down). That leaves the pilot and the effective. Speaking of which, the sleeping man came running outside, saw the dead, put his hands on his head and got on his knees. I stealthed out of my hidden position, and silently made my way down towards the camp. I managed to get within fifty feet before I had to reveal myself.
"Don't do anything stupid! Keep your hands on you head or I will kill you!" I jogged closer, then noticed a shadow moving inside the tent. "You! In the tent! Get the fuck out here before I put a round through the canvas!"
Out came the pilot, hands gripping a laser rifle. I quickly snapped my rifle up to aim at him. He kept walking towards me. We were no more than ten feet apart. He fired. Or, more appropriately, misfired. I took one step, closed the gap, ripped the laser rifle out of his hands and bashed him in the stomach with it. "Never thought you'd be the one to fight back."
"They're all dead... Except for him... *coughing*, why?"
"Because. Besides, that dude in the power armor isn't dead, he's just stunned or something. Those three pieces of garbage didn't seem like the friendliest bunch. I could tell you weren't exactly friends."
*coughing* "What?"
"I've been camped up in them hills for almost a week. When you guys landed a while ago I knew I had hit jackpot. A Vertibird? Armed, crew piss drunk, easily within range and me perfectly hidden? I had been hoping for this."
"Hoping for what? Potshots at the Enclave?"
"Well those "potshots" seemed to be on target, didn't they? Buuuut to answer your first question, I was after the Vertibird. And you're gonna teach me to fly it."
"Fuck no! You'll just kill me after I do."
"Then I'll kill you now if you don't help me, then learn by myself. I taught myself to fly a plane, this thing can't be that different. Teach me, then I'll drop you off anywhere you want. Deal?"
"No."
"Have it your way." I drew my foot back and kicked him right in the balls. "Feeling a change of mind yet?"
"Fuck off."
"Alright." I ripped a nearby board off their table and struck him across the back with it. "You gonna change your mind you little bitch?"
"I. Said. FUCK OFF!"
"You know what? I think it's time to start on your face." I drew back the board for a full swing.
"No!" It came from the other man. "Look man, just teach him to fly. Those guys were assholes. Most of the Enclave are assholes. You don't owe them a damn thing."
I considered shutting him up, but if anything was going to convince him to help me it would be his "friend". I couldn't torture him much, I know he needs his arms and probably his legs, if a Vertibird is anything like the plane I had been experimenting with. That, and I didn't want blood all over the inside of my new ride.
"I know it's just... Nevermind. You're right! You're right. They were complete assholes. Okay man, I'll help you. As long as your... offer?... remains open and you promise not to hurt me."
"Ahem."
"Or him. Promise not to hurt him either."
"Agreed."
"Alright then. On one more condition, I'll help you."
"Which is?"
"You have to give me a flight in that plane you mentioned eariler."
"Deal." I reached down, grabbed his hand, and shook it. "Now get in the chopper, and don't try anything. One shot to your rotor and the only place you'll be going is hell." I pointed to the other guy, still on his knees. "You! Do whatever the hell you want, I got nuthin' against you. Aside from you being Enclave."
I jumped into the Vertibird and told the pilot to take off. With directions, I guided him to my hideout. An old airport, complete with a two-mile long runway and a still-intact hangar. I heard the pilot ask: "How in hell did you find this place?"
"Well, one day when I was just a little kid, I climbed to the top of the Washington Monument. This was before Three Dog and the Brotherhood converted it to a broadcasting tower, so I had to actually climb to the top. I found that little room up there, and crawled out of it and onto the very top. I stood there, highest point in the Capital Wasteland, and I swear the sky was so clear you could see forever. I spotted this place, between the peaks of the northern mountain ridge, and it appeared deserted. Most mutants don't go p north, the Enclave are usually more concerned with the Brotherhood, and the raiders probably don't even know it exists... I took a note of it's general direction and climbed down. When the muties and the Brotherhood turned the place into a fucking warzone, it was no place for a ten year old. I went to-"
"Wait, you were ten! What the hell were you doing in the DC ruins!"
"This was before the super mutants completely infested the place. There were some, but they were easy to evade. Anywhoo... I went to Rivet Ciy, and started watching the mechanics fix stuff on the ship. So, every night, I crept up to the decks and tried my hand at fixing one of the planes. It took me a few years, but with replacement parts from other birds I managed to get one into semi-working order. She started up, but I had absolutely had no idea how to fly. I did find a book on it up in Rivet City's... uh... "Control Room". I pretty much memorized in the year before I took off. All the while trying to fix up the plane, collect fuel, etc...
"Well, I was now sixteen. I was stupid, I thought I was ready. So I got in, fired her up, and tried to take off. Of course I hadn't told the residents what I was going to do, as they would have stopped me, but... When I started her, she started rolling backwards toward the bow of the ship. Which was a ragged mess, so if I hit it I would be smashed to pieces. I remembered what the book said, found the right knob and shoved it. The engines roared so loud it drowned out the initial screaming of residents. Security burst out the door, and were completely surprised by what they saw. Me, starting to take off in a 200-year old jet. Abraham Washington, some old dude obsessed with American History, came out to see what was going on. He saw me, looked all excited and starting yelling something. By this time my plane had stopped rolling, the back wheels touching the edge. She finally started rolling forward, faster and faster until... Take-off! Well, sorta, the plane dropped towards the ground as I struggled to control it. A split second later, and she was climbing! I had done it! I flew off to the north, where I had seen this place years ago.
"After about an hour of searching, I found it. Now came the hard part; landing. I remembered from the book about landing gear, but also remember I didn't put them up. Slow down, I remembered that. Something else about a landing flare and flaps. From a diagram I had seen, I found the flap switch. I lowered them. One of them. The other didn't drop." I was moving my arms and body like I had done in the plane those years ago. "The plane jerked to right, slowing down but not quite as I had wanted. I popped the bubble cockpit, just in case. I was fighting the yoke to remain in control. I worked her down, and tried to imitate the flare I saw in the book. Well this just didn't agree with the broken flaps. It jerked again, and slid sideways into the pavement, and continued to scrape along the ground. I jumped out of the cockpit when I saw flames moving up the fuselage. Running down the nose, I jumped as far as I could. I landed in some burnt shrubbery and sand. Of course, going 60 miles an hour into sand isn't soft. I was knocked out cold.
"When I came to, the only remainder of the plane was smoldering wreckage strewn over half the runway. I gave myself a stimpack in the side, just in case there was any internal damage, and found myself stiffly limping towards the hangar. It was the only thing standing, so it was the best shelter around. And I almost fainted at what I saw."
Noticing I had paused, the pilot asked, "Uh... Can we LAND now?" We had been hovering over the runway for a good ten minutes. I spill out my life story for this punk and he doesn't even pay attention. I may not have a "way with words", the only person I've talked to most of my life is myself, but they say a picture is worth a thousand of them. And I'm gonna show him something that pretty much explains why I haven't been constantly masturbating the past three years.
"Yes we can land. And you weren't paying attention."
"No shit it was boring as fuck."
I smacked he back of his head with my hand.
"What the fuck was that for?"
"Don't swear. It makes you look like a fuckin' moron."
"You're swearing."
"Never said it made ME look like moron." He glared. "What's your name anyway?"
"Gary. Just, Gary. Never had a last name. Well, as far as I know. The Enclave got me when I was a kid and forced me to fly for them. They said if I didn't they'd kill me."
I didn't speak. I just looked at him, knowing the Enclave had done this with quite a few people. I made myself a promise to try and find out his real name if I ever had the oppurtunity. I knew I would never, but something about promising it silently made me feel better about killing his comrades and kidnapping his sorry ass.
He landed the Vertibird, and we got out. He followed me to the Hanger, where I threw open the door for him. He gasped. Inside was a vintage plane from the early days of aviation. Camo green on top, sky-blue with white splotches on the bottom, it had two wings, swiveling dual-machine gun in the second seat, dual mounted ones behind the propellor. "I went in here for shelter and recover from the crash. When I first saw her, she was made of only wood and cloth. I scavanged parts from all over this field to put her together like this. I used the thinnest aluminum I could find, mostly from old planes. Thank god it doesn't rust. Used a little plating under the seat, don't want my ass shot full of holes when I'm over the capital wasteland. Any maneuever you name, she can do. I've also attached some homemade rockets to the wings. Haven't tested those yet. It took me three years, but I finally finished her AND fixed the fuel station. That was a bitch..."
"Fuel station?"
"Yes, a fuel station. Big underground tank full of avgas. Another thanks to God that before the war the people here filled it up. Enough to fly this thing constantly for a hundred years. A bonus, somebody left fuel trucks all over. And a bigger bonus, this bitch's engine had been converted to run on it! Now, may I get back to my "boring as fuck" story?"
"Sure why not? I ain't got anything else to listen to."
"Thank you. The plane here, she flew beautifully. Well, what I qualify as beautiful. No crashing, climbs good, flies smooth. Over time I gathered supplies, slapped a couple machine guns on the wings. I still haven't tested her in combat, I've been waiting for the right time. Ammo for those babies isn't exactly laying around. I call her... Sparky. She also has an extra seat in the back, and I've been needing a partner. If you decide to stay here, and I hope you do, I've thought it over... I want you to be the one helping me."
"Why?"
"Well, for one, you know where my hideout is. If anyone else finds it, word will get back to the Enclave, and I will have no home and all I've worked for would be destroyed. And I need another pilot. I installed a second yoke in the back seat. If I get hit, I want someone to carry on my work in restoring the grand art of aviation back to the world. And I don't want this thing getting into the wrong hands." I didn't tell him that if he refused, I'd kill him the second my training was over.
"Maybe... I don't know... I'll think about it." I could tell he sensed something very bad would happen if he refused. I'll let him decide after a flight.
"Alright, see that closet?"
"Yeah?"
"That's your new home. There's a mattress, a pillow, and some blankets. Now get to bed, I want to start early in the morning when winds are the calmest." He didn't protest, but skulked over to it and got in. I swiftly walked up, then closed the door and locked him inside. That got a response.
"What the hell are you doing? I can't see anything!"
"Gotta make sure you don't run off. If you gotta tinkle or make a stinky, there's a bucket in there. You can stumble around a bit to find it or just spray 'n' pray. Now lights out."
