4th of June, 2279
"Uh… Unit 10 what's your situation?"
I groggily open my eyes and roll over onto my side. My face rubs against the dirt and I shoot my head up to sneeze.
"Unit 10?" my radio crackles.
I reach over and hit the receiver, "Yeah we're fine, home base."
"Heads up, enemy spotted in Sector 4 approximately half a click from your position."
"Shit…" Nichols sighs and sits up beside me and pulls on a jacket.
"Copy that," I sigh and toss my radio onto my bag. Alice Nichols… my trusty partner in crime (her words, not mine), had fallen asleep beside me while we were supposed to be scouting an empty stretch of land. I sit up properly and strap on my fake right leg. It's easy because I'm only wearing shorts and I can easily loop the belts around my waist to support myself.
"Where are you going?" I frown at Nichols as she starts to grab her stuff.
"I'm leaving," she laughs, "What are you doing?"
"Nuh uh," I shake my head, "You're staying right here."
"Daniels!" she gasps when I take her bag off of her. Nichols just barely turned 28 a few days ago, but she looks and acts far younger.
"Come on," I groan, "We're fine, no one can see us and if they do I'll take care of it, alright?"
"OK…" she sighs and sits back down. Killing always makes Nichols nervous, and the only time she's ever really killed someone was when I had to practically force her to. I feel increasingly bad about it whenever she brings it up, but she's in the military, she needs to be able to protect herself, especially with this bullshit war.
I lie down on my stomach and take out my sniper rifle that Nichols had given me. I look down at the scope and sense Nichols lying down beside me with a pair of binoculars. The late afternoon sun still beats down on top of us, and I'm cooking over the hot dirt. It'll start to get cold in a few hours, but you couldn't tell. I grab a clean rag and open my canteen and pour some water onto it and wrap the rag around my neck to help with the heat. Nichols fidgets and wipes sweat from her forehead as she fidgets.
"Come on Nichols…" I murmur, "We'll be fine."
"Enemy moving in from the north," my radio crackles beside me and makes Nichols jolt beside me.
"Which way are we facing?"
"Northeast," I don't keep my eyes off the scope, "We'll be fine, Nichols, don't worry."
"Don't call me Nichols anymore."
"What?"
"Just call me Ali, dipshit." She sighs, "Just call me Ali."
"Oh come on…" I grin and look over at her, "Don't be like that."
"You say Nichols in a weird way, just call me Ali," she sighs, "I think I can make them out. My two o'clock."
I turn myself around and look down, "I see them."
The Enclave has been sprouting out of nowhere. Their eyebots have been coming out in full force, spewing pro-organized government propaganda and how to act like an asshole. Nothing beats walking up to a starving homeless child and saying "Don't worry, the Enclave will save us. No, I won't give you food you peasant, fuck off." And acting surprised when someone clocks you over the face for acting like a dip stick. These eyebots actually are good for batting practise though, so that's a plus. Since I had to leave Amata in her Vault, shit here hasn't gotten much better.
The BoS and the Enclave have been at each other's throats, even though both top dogs have yet to meet. That's right; the big bad all-American patriot John Henry Eden hasn't shown his face, at all, since this war has broken out. We have some idea of where we're going with this, and that's a shit load of death; more than usual. The BoS has controlled states around what's left of America, and we've been in contact with them, but we don't know how long it will take for them to get troops here, or when they think the situation will be dire enough. Until then, the Enclave has officially dug in deep, and it's feeding off of the desperate.
They promise food and shelter, and money, to people who will join their ranks. While the BoS proudly promises their soldiers honour and valour, the Enclave promises them survival. Granted, our influence is still strong, even stronger considering that the Enclave shot at us first, but the Enclave released a radio broadcast spinning out bullshit about how they had tried to help the BoS with Project Purity, but we declined. Worried that the project would take too long and more lives would be lost in the process, they decided to act and take the project from our… "inexperienced" hands. I swear to god I almost smashed my Pip-boy against the wall when I listened to that garbage the first time.
Official hostilities began when a group of BoS charged for Project Purity after some false intel was given about the numbers. Both sides lost souls and, of course, the BoS was sent into a full retreat. They have the Project on a tight lockdown, and we can't get anything on these slippery bastards. We have a vague idea of where their base is, somewhere to the north. The only thing I know is up north is a slaver camp and some dimwit and his family establishing a small town to the North West; the Democracy of Dale of something stupid like that. It won't take us long to find it, but if the Enclave can tell us anything, it's they they're equipped to defend themselves.
I'm pretty much fucked. I wear a grey and blue jacket with the BoS logo on the left breast, a dark grey cotton shirt, and bluish grey cargo pants with black converse shoes with holes in them with a blue baseball cap and occasionally a red bandana to have over my mouth and nose (when dust is swirling around everywhere), whenever I'm on the field. Your standard Enclave grunt is decked out in full body steel armour, a helmet and combat boots. It takes a good five bullets to get through their armour if you shoot at the same place to get a kill. It only takes one if you're fortunate enough that Mr Patriot forgot to put on his helmet that morning and you're a good shot.
I see three of them, two officers dressed in a cloth cap and dress uniform, and one soldier decked out in standard military uniform close to 150 metres from us. We're lying above them on a small cliff and would be hard to spot. I'm only dressed in shorts and a shirt; he's dressed in steel armour that has some weird electronic shit coming off of it. I know it's a he, because the Enclave doesn't allow women in their military, unless they're nurses of course. Because why waste valuable uterus? Fuck's sake…
"You know what to do," I turn to… ugh… "Ali", who's holding her own rifle, "Aim for the officers, I'll aim for the big guy. OK? Just take your time, and don't worry if you miss, there's no pressure."
"OK."
I grab my radio, "Home base, unit 10, group of hostiles spotted in sector 2. Permission to engage?"
"Permission granted, unit 10, give them hell."
I pull on a dirt coloured hat to help camouflage myself and move in to take the shot.
My bullet rips through the air and the kick blasts into my shoulder and the force makes dirt fly up into the air. I hit him square in the face, but it's covered by his helmet. His steel helmet crunches around his face, but the bullet doesn't pass through to kill him. The force of the shot sends him flying backward as the other two officers grab their pistols and look around for us. Ali shoots and nails one officer in the shoulder.
"Shit…" she sighs and lines up another shot. I wait for my target to get back up so I can have an easier shot. I don't care how good you are with a gun, if you have a pistol it's hard to hit a target 150 metres from you that's the size of a 21 year old's head.
"Goodnight," I grunt and squeeze the trigger. The already damaged helmet shatters pieces off of it as my second bullet pounds into the centre. I watch as his hands frantically slap at his helmet in a horrible looking attempt to rip it off as he dances about in the dirt. His officers ignore him and scan the area looking for us, but Ali fires a perfect shot, straight into the chest and most likely puncturing a lung.
As he collapses onto the ground, the remaining officer looks around for a moment, completely clueless to our position, and drops his gun.
"Don't fire," I mumble to Ali, "keep your sights on him, if he sees you and picks up his pistol, I want you to kill him."
Ali looks like a mess. Her hands are shaking, her breath is quick and laboured and her bronze skin has turned an unhealthy shade of green.
"Easy…" I grasp her shoulder, "You can do this, OK? I'm right beside you."
"Home base we've got a situation," I stand up and pace around our miniature little camp.
"What's your sit rep unit 10?"
"We've eliminated two threats from the area but there's one officer who's willing to surrender? Your orders?"
There's a small silence from the radio, probably some of the com staff discussing protocol for this sort of thing. The prison at Springvale is packed with prisoners of war, almost all of whom are officers.
"Up to you, corporal" a voice eventually determines with a cool, calm voice, like I asked him if I could kill a radroach that crawled into his living room.
"Copy that home base," I turn off the radio and look at Ali, "cut him loose. They'll know not to wander around here anymore. This is BoS territory. I'm going to go make sure that he doesn't have anything hiding on him."
"Do you miss her?" Ali asks suddenly.
"Hmm?" I frown as I rummage through one of my bags to find some spare ammo.
"Amata; do you miss her?"
"That's a stupid fucking question, Ali." I look over my shoulder and shake my head.
"It's only two more months." she smiles.
"Until I can see her, yes," I nod, "but this cluster fuck won't wrap up in just two months."
"Do you think you'll be able to stay?"
"I honestly doubt it," I say it with a tone of voice that suggests that she shuts up.
"You," I growl, "Give me your gun."
The officer slowly bends down to pick up his gun that looms around his feet, with his right hand still high in the air. His fingers wrap around the pristine weapon and he begins to raise it.
"Handle first!" I snap.
He slowly turns his pistol in his hands and hands it to me, before I toss it to Ali. She catches it and stuffs it into her bag.
"Give me all of your stuff," I flick my revolver at the direction of the bag that he's carrying.
Ah, I love my revolver, a Smith and Wesson Model 29 with a eight and a half inch barrel. Only reason I know that is because Smith and Weston is still barely engraved on the bastard, and I managed to link it to a picture in one of Lucas' old weapon books at his house once. The baby's never failed me, and I can't imagine moving around here without it moving snugly against my left hip with me.
"Savages…" he grunts and throws it at me.
"That's not a nice way to talk to someone who could have killed you," I laugh and open the bag. Inside is what you'd expect an officer of an organized military organization to be carrying; food, water, documents and even some family photos.
He has a son, daughter and a wife; all of them are pudgy and spoiled by the luxury that the Enclave gives to its members. The son, not much older than 10, wears a clean pressed suit for the photo and has perfectly straight teeth. My teeth are OK, before I left the Vault I managed to swipe a few boxes of toothpaste to help repair the almost catastrophic damage that had mounted over the last few years, but damn, these kids look like they were raised in a Vault or somewhere with a decent dentist. Compared to Ali's crooked train wreck in her mouth, the kid's clearly been spoiled with a life of having everything handed to him.
"Here," I toss him back his water and the photos of his family, "I don't need these."
"I honestly hope that you don't," he mutters and I raise my eyebrows at him.
"Get the fuck out of here," I grunt, "and get your kids on a goddamn diet."
He turns and stumbles over the still living soldier that I shot, though his movements are almost tiny little twitches by now as they still fumble to remove the mask. I don't think you could actually remove the helmet without some kind of saw being involved. Ali watches the officer leave, gun still firmly pointed at him, as I walk over to the wounded soldier lying on the ground.
"I'm sorry," I sigh, before emptying five bullets into the helmet. I reach down and rip off one of his hard leather gloves and feel for his pulse and find nothing. If he isn't dead now he will be soon. I look down at the wedding ring on the soldier's finger and freeze for a little while, before looking at my own.
"Ah… Christ…" I mutter and shake my head, "we should go back to camp…"
"Yep…" she nods and turns around to walk away, but I stay behind.
"Oh Jesus Christ, Daniels!" she groans in frustration as I bend over and grab the dead soldier's satchel, "Didn't your father ever tell you not to poke around a dead man's crap?"
"Shut the fuck up, Nichols," I sigh and open the lid. Same fucking thing, photos of family that loved him. Wife and only one kid this time, though his daughter is only around three and looks thin for her age; had a pretty wife too.
"Help me," I look over my shoulder and grab his legs.
"What the fuck are you doing now?" she sighs, "We need to go back to our camp and wait for orders."
"This'll only take a second," I snap.
Ali rolls her eyes and grips underneath his arms.
"Don't look down at his chest," I grunt as we lift him.
"Why?" she frowns, before she sees the reason why. Five bullets to the face doesn't exactly mean much good to the victim when it comes to remaining facial structure. His head flops down, and all the blood and bits of brain come spilling out of the gap in the helmet and onto his chest.
"I fucking hate you, Daniels," she gags and scrunches her eyes tight as she walks back while carrying him. I lean him against the wall to the cliff and put his hands together against his dog tags and do the same to the dead officer.
"Let's go…" I sigh after Ali fixes the dead officer's cap.
"Do you want to say a prayer?" she turns to me.
"Smartass." I sigh.
We abandon the dead bodies and return to our small camp where the all of our stuff is. I sit down beside my rifle and Ali sits down to grab her binoculars, but instead, her body dry heaves. She slams her body onto all fours and vomits over the edge of the small cliff.
"Whoa!" I gasp and dart away in surprise.
She stops after a few seconds, and wipes her mouth, "S…sorry," she coughs, "Just the surprise of everything…"
"No… no it's fine," I fake a smile and nudge her shoulder with my left foot, "you gonna be OK?"
"I'll be fine," she crawls away from the cliff and collapses beside me and curls herself into a ball. I look down at her and shake my head. Nichols isn't ready for this world, no one really is. She's been tossed into this war and if I don't do anything she's going to get chewed up and spat out.
"You really don't like to shoot guns do you?" I sigh and look down at her.
She shakes her head and I grip her shoulder, "You want something to drink?"
"Don't make me shoot a gun again," she says quickly and looks over at me from the corner of her eye.
"I'm sorry I did," I sigh, "I'll talk to Washington and get you back to stable duty."
"Are you mad at me?"
"No!" I shake my head, "I don't expect everyone to be able to kill somebody. It just means you want to hold onto your humanity; and I respect you for that."
"Washington will think I'm a coward," she sighs and shakes her head.
"Cowards are people who run away when they can help. You can still help with the horses; it's what you're best at."
She smiles, "You'll be a good mom one day. Amata's lucky to have you. Really lucky."
…
Everything eventually drags to 10PM and we see the best or worst thing we've seen all day. A large vertibird flying in the distance. Ali is awake, but exhausted and almost covered by a blanket. She isn't used to staying awake for long patrols. Once she sees the bird, however, she jolts awake and grabs my binoculars, "What do you think?"
"It's more than likely the BoS coming to pick us up," I frown and grab my rifle. Rather than run the risk of a couple of cannon fodder soldiers running around the Wasteland and murdering a wave of Enclave civilians in a drunken rage, the BoS sends birds to pick up units and bring them to their specific bases. However, it could also be an Enclave bird trying to find lost personnel.
I look down my scope and scrunch my eye tight to help see.
"I… think that it's one of ours…" I grunt, "stay sharp, just in case."
Suddenly, the light on the bird flashes and instantly points at us.
"Shit!" Ali gasps and dives out of the path of the searchlight.
"Baseball…" my radio shouts.
"What?" Ali yells above the noise.
"Shh!" I shout at her and grip the radio, "Kansas."
"We have you in our sights unit 10, standby for evac."
"Get your shit together," I smirk at her as I stuff my blanket into my bag and toss it over my shoulder.
When the bird lands, two other BoS soldiers come jogging out with their bags and pass us completely.
"Hello to you too," I mutter as I board the aircraft.
"Oh shut up and let me sleep," Ali groans as she lies down onto a bench and pulls a blanket over her. I sit down beside her and flip through the radio stations on my Pip-Boy, no emergency broadcasts from Vault 101, thank god.
I look down and play with my wedding ring, twirling it around on my finger and smiling lightly as I think about the beautiful woman I have waiting for me in that Vault, tucked away in a safe blanket away from the growing storm around me. As I drift off to sleep, I manage to squeeze out one singular drop of true happiness and relief as I know that she is safe. I imagine her lying in bed right now, bored and worried about me, but safe and away from any dangers I'd rather die than have her and our child be subjected to. I can go to sleep at night knowing that she doesn't have to worry about an enemy soldier storming our house and dragging us somewhere unknown. She can go to sleep at night without having to keep one eye open. She can fall asleep and not feel scared. And, as that said sleep eventually drags me under into a bleak ocean of blackness and nothingness; that's all I can ever ask for.