Chapter 2: The Edge of the Capital Wastes
I was grateful for the company ED-E brought. The days spent traveling would've been much lonelier, without the sounds of optimistic chirps and beeps from my new companion.
More importantly, the little eyebot would warn me when cultist patrols approached, lumbering slowly along in their massive, clunky iron suits, with their impossibly heavy weapons. Massive, bestial sentry bots often accompanied them, red eyes aglow, searching for a target to shred to pieces. I knew just one of those sentry bots was worth a dozen good men in combat.
On occasion, I could even hear the radio broadcasts playing from the wandering cultists. Usually I could hear the faint pleasantness of music. And once in a while, I would hear somebody start talking, going on about a 'good fight', or something to that nature. Something about restoring the Capital Wasteland. Which meant cultist patrols could only have been looking for the likes of me.
If not for ED-E's help, the cultists would've butchered me by now. I was grateful to Dr. Whitley, for tasking me to guide his most valuable creation. I'd always known of the doctor's affection for robots, especially the eyebots, which is perhaps what contributed to ED-E's perception and intelligence.
Aside from these patrols, however, ED-E and I had stumbled across no other signs of life. All was quiet, save the sound of my feet pounding against the ashy earth, and the gentle droning buzz from my hovering companion.
The walking in silence was therapeutic, in a way. But, I could not stop myself from thinking about the battle. All the death, all the destruction. The soldier, who had been crying right with me, probably younger than I was, whose intestines spilled all across the ground. Crying for his mother, like a child. He didn't deserve what had happened to him.
I didn't deserve what had happened. And I often found that I couldn't sleep through the nights. Only ED-E was there, to console me, and stop me from crying, and putting my pistol to my head.
As though he could read my thoughts, ED-E whirred by my face, bobbing up and down. The little eyebot certainly did know how to make me smile.
We proceeded to travel in silence until nightfall.
Living inside the barracks, surrounded by compact steel walls and soldiers, I had forgotten what the wasteland actually looked like. How still and dead it all was. It was peaceful, and beautiful, in a peculiar sort of way. It would be difficult to leave this place, that had been my home for so long, I knew.
Even as I looked up, at the smog covered sky, to see the sun setting, I couldn't help but wonder if everywhere still looked like this. I wondered if there were places that people could really see the stars.
"We should stop here," I said, motioning to an alcove in the ground, "rest for the night."
Although ED-E didn't need it, he bobbed up and down in agreement.
I climbed out of my armor, and laid down a piece of cloth to rest my head upon. ED-E hovered above me, a sentinel to my resting form. As though it were he who had been tasked to protect me.
The thought gave me comfort, and I fell asleep almost instantly.
I woke to urgent beeping. My eyes snapped open, and my fingers wrapped their way around my plasma pistol. ED-E floated above me.
"What's wrong?" I groaned, rubbing my bleary eyes.
Ed-E beeped excitedly, turning to face the west.
Curious, I climbed to my feet, to see what ED-E had discovered. My eyes were met with three soldiers, gathered round a generator and makeshift cover. Just beyond the soldiers, lay the wreckage of a crashed vertibirds.
Perhaps these were survivors of Adams Air Force Base? Perhaps they might know the whereabouts of Dr. Whitley?
Climbing back into my armor, I began to quickly jog towards them, yelling and waving.
The soldiers seemed to have heard me, as they all turned my direction, and pointed. I continued waving my arms, as I broke into a full-scale run.
"Halt!" the soldier in the lead shouted, aiming his plasma rifle towards me, "name, rank and station!"
"Private Second Class Scott Delaney, Adams Air Force Base," I raised my hands in surrender, as ED-E followed meekly behind me.
The soldiers showed no intention of dropping their hostility. Their weapons remained raised, as ED-E began to chirp worryingly behind me.
"Technical Sergeant Aaron Richter, Old Olney. Brotherhood hit us on the wingtip, we made it about this far before we crashed," the sergeant motioned to his men, "stand down."
"Air Force, then?" once again, my eyes were drawn to the crashed vertibirds.
"Yes. Spent a while as a pilot, over at Raven Rock. Got stationed at an outpost by Old Olney, with a couple of men. Of course, you know what happened to both places, "Sergeant Richter slung his rifle across his back, "so, what happened at Adams Air Force Base, Private Delaney? I saw a large explosion from that direction."
"That was when our com gave out," a soldier added, before receiving an icy glare from the sergeant.
"The cultists attacked, killed everyone, and destroyed the base," I said simply, figuring it best to leave my personal tale to myself.
"Damnit," Sergeant Richter shook his head, "anyone else escape, private? Any officers?"
"No," I replied.
"We're fucked, then, aren't we sergeant?" one of the soldiers asked dramatically.
"No, not yet. The Enclave is alive still, it has to be," the sergeant said, although it was easy to distinguish the uncertainty in his voice.
"What can we do now, sergeant?" a soldier asked.
"We'll stick to fixing this vertibird, then. She's still got some flight left in her. Private, you're welcome to join us," the sergeant turned his back on me, defeatedly.
"Then we can take the fight back to the Brotherhood. Take back our capital-" a soldier said, before being cut off.
"Shut the fuck up," Sergeant Richter snapped, "here we are, on the very edge of the Capital Wasteland, with our government in ruins. We can't take the fight back. Maybe we can head to Chicago, Charleston, Navarro."
I had remembered Dr. Whitley saying something about those other Enclave bases. He said he'd kept in contact with Charleston and Chicago. I wondered if the same misfortune had befallen the rest of the Enclave. Surely, Navarro, the largest of the bases, had to be standing still.
"Private Delaney, why don't you join us," Sergeant Richter turned around, "that eyebot might be useful in our repairs. And we could always use the extra manpower."
"I-I would…" my voice trailed off.
"You would? Then why don't you," the sergeant said gruffly.
"I can't help you," I shook my head.
I knew I couldn't give any information away. Sergeant Richter would certainly seize ED-E from me. Even if these men were United States, I couldn't abandon my mission.
"Well, at least let us take that eyebot, then. We can make use of the spare parts," Sergeant Richter motioned towards my companion.
"I can't let you do that, sergeant," I rasped out weakly.
"Doesn't seem very patriotic of you, private."
"I-"
"What? What are you doing? Where are you going?"
"Chicago."
"Chicago? Must be something important on that eyebot, private. More important than helping your fellow soldiers."
Sergeant Richter did not sound convinced.
"I have to go, now. Good luck, rebuilding your vertibirds," I began to back away.
"Listen, private, there's no hope of us getting out of here. The Enclave really is finished, and the only way we can be safe, and out of the Capital Wasteland, to rebuild, is if we fix up our vertibirds, and fly out of here. So, as a direct order, hand over that eyebot, now."
This, I knew, was where I would die. The soldiers all raised their rifles at me once again.
My heart began thudding rapidly, as though it were about to burst free from my chest. My breaths grew short, as I knew that if I died here, I would die having failed Dr. Whitley, the one man who had ever shown me, shown ED-E, any kindness. Having been shot down by United States soldiers.
I'd heard it said that when someone feels they are about to die, they see their entire life flash before them in the span of a second. But what I saw was a memory, from basic training.
My platoon had one week to survive in the wilds on an expedition. This was customary with every platoon, and the expedition always proved brutal. We faced radiation storms, lack of food, lack of sleep, irradiated water and wild, ravenous beasts, the likes of which gave me nightmares for many months.
But the thing I will truly never forget, was when one of my platoonmates finally broke down, threw his battered old training rifle on the ground, and ran. We were so shocked, that this platoonmate had finally done what we had wanted to do for so long, that we simply couldn't react.
We searched for the trainee, whose name I can't remember, but we couldn't find him. And so, we were forced to call our training instructor, a strict, yet reserved man named Corporal Benson.
Corporal Benson met with my platoon, heard what we had to tell him, and left to find the missing trainee. And a few hours later, the corporal returned, carrying a crying trainee in tow.
The corporal asked the trainee why he'd run, to which the trainee replied that he simply couldn't handle being a soldier. Being left in the wastes, being forced to kill. It could've made any of us crack.
Corporal Benson had us all sit down, and he'd explained that he had felt much the same way. In fact, he'd personally survived a cultist ambush with his platoon, killing three of their numbers, before they were forced to retreat. It had shaken him, but he'd only grown stronger. It was the first time any of us had seen the man show something resembling human emotion.
But Corporal Benson asked what would've happened if he had run. If he had been insubordinate, and abandoned his brothers. He said there was no place for this in the United States military.
Corporal Benson drew his rifle, and shot the trainee five times. At least, I remember it being five times, but some of my platoonmates swear the man unloaded his entire clip into the poor trainee.
At this exact moment, I wondered if that trainee felt how I felt, with three Enclave guns pointed at me. To be shot down, like a dog, for being a deserter.
"sergeant," the voice of one of the soldiers broke through my train of thought, "what should we do, sir?"
The sergeant seemed to ponder this over. The wait felt like an eternity, as though an entire lifetime had passed us by, as my fate was decided.
"To hell with it. Enough of our boys have already been killed. There's no reason the private should have to join them," the sergeant sighed, lowering his rifle in defeat, "the Brotherhood of Steel will find us here, anyways. Let the private go."
"Thank you, sir," I couldn't believe my ears, "I-I owe you."
"Shut up," Sergeant Richter shook his head, "whatever it is you have to do, just do it and go."
Elated, I couldn't stop the smile that stretched its way across my face, as a wave of relief washed over me. I'd thought I was a dead man for sure.
But as I began to walk away, I couldn't help but turn back, and say, "you could come with me, sergeant. If you really believe the cultists will find you, they'll certainly show no mercy. We would do better as a group, on foot, heading to the west."
"I can't do that, private. Here we are, on the edge of the Capital Wasteland. If I'm truly meant to die, I'll die right here," Sergeant Richter let out a sigh, "good luck, private. Hell, maybe we'll meet again, some day."
I nodded to Sergeant Richter and his men. It was good to see fellow United States soldiers.
But I never saw them again.
"Where are we going, sir?" the pilot asked.
Captain Jordan Chase shook his head, "I don't know. The Enclave is fucking over, so try and find somewhere civilized."
Captain Chase couldn't believe it. The Brotherhood of Steel had won the war, defeating the Enclave. And they had destroyed Adams Air Force Base in the process, the last secret weapon of the Enclave. Now, the entire Capital Wasteland, once the proud monument to the United States government, was controlled by that fucking cult.
"I can enter the coordinates for Chicago, sir. I hear we hold a sizeable outpost, just outside the city," the pilot said, his head straight forward.
"Yes, Chicago, then," Chase leaned his head back on the chair, "my god, what a fucking disaster."
At least, of all things the captain had survived. He could take charge of whatever Enclave remnants still remained in the wastes.
Captain Chase looked out the window, staring at the Capital Wasteland for the last time. He knew he was abandoning his post, but he just couldn't bring himself to give a damn anymore. The war was over, lost. Nothing left but to regroup.
"Keep us on a steady path. I don't want us crashing before we get there," Chase made himself comfortable in the chair, resting his back on the lumpy seat.
He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled deeply, before he was off to sleep. He was only woken by a defeating blast, as the vertibirds was struck from the sky, and crashed down, miles from the Capital Wasteland.
Even as Jordan Chase crawled out of the wreckage, his body badly burned, he had not a clue in the slightest as to where he was.