Ringo was tired to his core. It had been four bone wearying days of walking, fighting Fiends and putting up the Van Graffs, and he was still not sure which one he hated more. The trader slowly thumbed the edge of his wide brimmed hat with one hand while the other rested on his 9mm pistol at his belt. The magazine was full and his thumbed itched above the safety. His eyes scanned his surroundings, like nearly everywhere else in the Mojave Wasteland it was full of dirt and pebbles, with the occasional rock and odd bit of foliage peppered around the place. Tall mountains rose up on either side of them, the path twisting and turning. They were in the mountain paths near Nipton by now, having swung wide yesterday to avoid using any roads that passed by the Correctional Facility.
"Ringo." Alice McLafferty called. "Is something wrong?" She asked.
"Nothing Ma'am." Ringo reassuringly pulled his hand away from the gun. He was on edge, everyone was. Well everyone other than Ms. McLafferty, who somehow maintained a serene calmness throughout the four days of attacks by Fiends and then Powder Gangers as the fleeing Caravaneers passed through their territory and Jean-Baptise Cutting, who seemed to enjoy the fighting.
"We're out of Powder Ganger territory." Ringo heard Simon, one of the Van Graff's men and temporary scout for the fleeing column shout back to Alice McLafferty and Gloria Van Graff, who marched side by side near the front of the group. "With luck we'll be at the Outpost a couple hours after nightfall." The two leaders of the column simply nodded at Simon. Ringo was overjoyed at the news, though he kept it to himself.
When he joined up with the Crimson Caravan he knew there would be some fighting against Raiders, rival Caravan companies or the occasional piece of pissed off wildlife. He knew when he accepted the trade routes on the edges of NCR territory it would become more dangerous. He had not been expecting to have his entire caravan slaughtered by Powder Gangers, be forced to hide in an old gas station, help form a militia, make a one man hike through Raider and Legion infested territory and then make a four day march through Chem Fiend and Powder Ganger attacks. Once he got back to the core regions he would stay there, Ringo decided.
"You got any water?" Simon's voice snapped Ringo out from his thoughts. The Caravaneer nodded and reached down to a canteen at his side.
"Should be some left in there." He told the Van Graff guard as he passed over the water.
"Thanks." Simon said gratefully before taking a swig. "Powder Ganger's shot a whole in mine." Explained Simon as he passed it back. Simon fell in besides Ringo as they continued their march.
"You worked with any Caravans before?" Ringo asked, not wanting to wait for an awkward silence to start.
"Couple." Simon replied simply. "Pay was never good enough for the risks."
"Can't disagree with you there." Ringo chuckled to himself. "How long you been with the Van Graffs?" The trader inquired.
"Two years round about." Simon answered. "Worked with a Merc company out of New Reno. Pay was good, jobs were fun." The guard turned and spat on the ground. "Van Graffs marched into your bar, gave us a simple choice: work for them or have our balls turned to ash."
"Seems you made a good choice." Ringo remarked.
"Pays better and the jobs are..." Simon's voice trailed away as they turned a corner. A single man stood on path, his arms crossed, though he looked ready to burst into action in the blink of an eye. His face was covered with piece of cloth, his eyes hidden by goggles. Upon his wide shoulders rested the crimson armour of the Legion.
"Simon, what's wrong?" Gloria asked as she turned the corner. "Shit." She said involuntary when she spotted the faceless soldier.
"Ave, Crimson Caravan." The man called. Ringo's eyes scanned around, as far as he could see the soldier was alone. Jean-Baptise shouldered his way through the column.
"What's the fuss?" He demanded. His sister nodded towards the member of the Legion, blocking the way. "Shit." Cutting echoed his sister.
"What can we do for you?" McLafferty asked, her face and voice serene as always.
"Caesar extends his hospitality." The man answered. Jean-Baptise spat on the ground.
"Caesar ain't got any hospitality." Cutting said, eyeing the Legionnaire suspiciously. "What if we have... pressing matters to attend to?" Gloria inquired.
"Caesar's hospitality is not optional." A growl replied to the question. Ringo felt his hand wrap around his 9mm, others around him seemed to do the same.
"Might I ask who you are soldier?" Alice smiled at the Legionary, though what the man's reaction to it was hidden by his face cloth.
"Decanus Dead Sea, Third Contubernia, First Century, Third Cohort." He answered almost instantly, Legionnaires were nothing if not disciplined Ringo thought.
"Well, Dead Sea." Alice crossed her arms. "What does Caesar want with us?"
"You do not question the will of Caesar!" Dead Sea barked, his hand dropping to the machete at his side.
"Let's kill the bastard." Cutting growled, he was only armed with a combat knife at his side, though he looked ready to fight regardless. Seemingly hearing Jean-Baptise's suggestion Dead Sea waved his arm and if on cue over a dozen Legionaries appeared seemingly out of nowhere at the rocks above them. Two more stepped up from behind a bush and took up flanking positions on either side of the Decanus.
"You are to surrender your arms." Dead Sea commanded, the man's tone was one that brooked no argument. Ringo glanced round at McLafferty for orders. He did not overly like the idea of getting a javelin in the stomach or a machete to the skull but if ordered he would fight his way to the Mojave Outpost, or at least try to.
"Do as he says." Alice told her people, giving a slight nod of assent towards the Decanus. Relieved, Ringo unclipped the holster from his belt and let it fall to the ground, the other Crimson Caravan employees followed suit.
"Are you fucking stupid?" Cutting demanded of Alice, who did not deign to reply. "These crazy fucks will crucify us." He nearly shouted at her.
"The Legion has no quarrel with The Crimson Caravan." Alice said in her calm business like manner as she took a step towards Dead Sea. "I submit myself to Caesar's hospitality." She told the soldier, taking care to pronounce it the Legion way.
"Well we fucking ain't!" Jean-Baptise shouted, looking to his sister for support, who had remained silent during the entire encounter.
"Blast the fuckers." She agreed simply. Simon seemingly took this as an order, his hand shooting up to grab the plasma rifle slung across his back. Before he could pull it out of its sling, a javelin flew in from above, embedding itself in his armpit. The Van Graff thug fell to the ground where he lay, screaming in pain. He was the only one of the tired guards to react, several had gone for their rifles or pistols though they stood stock still, staring at their dying comrade. The men of the Legion and the Van Graff guards now stared at each other tensely. The Legionaries' finger itched above their triggers, their arms pulled back, ready to throw their pila ready to throw. The silence continued and Ringo suddenly wished he hadn't lost his gun. Dead Sea held his hand up, ready to give the order.
"Maybe we can resolve this peacefully?" McLafferty ventured, raising her hands in an attempt to calm the situation. Dead Sea seemed to relent, slowly lowering his hand. Then Jean-Baptise ruined it all. He lunged for the still moaning Simon's plasma rifle. Dead Sea's hand cut down and the Legion opened fire.
There were only fourteen men and women still working for the Van Graffs after the four day had taken its toll, and each and everyone of them died. Javelins and bullets rained down from above, cutting, shearing and biting into flesh. It took less than ten seconds, more than half fell before they even had their weapons in hand. A couple managed pull their triggers, though all but one went wide and even that only grazed the arm of a Legionary.
The two men at Dead Sea's side rushed forwards, each one charging at a different Van Graff sibling. Gloria fell to the ground from a right hook before she had time to react. She tried to rise and received a kick to the ribs for her trouble. Cutting leaned away from the blow aimed at him and struck out with his combat knife. The Legionary leapt back, the knife scraping along his chest armour. Another legionary moved in from behind and cracked the butt of his spear again Cutting's skull. The big man fell to his knees where the two Legionaries continued to beat him until he was unconscious.
"Tie them!" Dead Sea ordered the two men who had previously been at his side. The Legionaries pulled small pieces of rope from their pouches and bound the Van Graff siblings' hands and feet. During the skirmish many of the Crimson Caravan employees threw themselves on the ground to avoid any bullets, they now climbed back to their feet to find Legionaries towering over them. One grabbed Ringo by the shoulders and thrust him down the road.
"Onwards to Caesar's hospitality." Ringo muttered to himself.
Caesar stood, his back straight, his cloak billowing in the cold wind. His piercing, ice blue eyes gazed over what used to be the share cropper farms outside New Vegas. His fists were clenched at his side. Whatever plants or corn that had been growing on the farms before had now been trampled by the thousands of Legionaries, who stood straight backed in the twilight sun.
"Men of the Legion!" His voice was loud, crisp and clear. "We have a burden! That burden is a sacred one, a divine one! Mars has given us the duty to pacify the wasteland!" Caesar started to pace up and down the stage, past the stony faces of the Praetorians, the devious eyes of Vulpes Inculta, the gold mask of Lanius and the scarred face of Cato. "Before I came you were aimless, worthless and without dignity! You were fractured, divided, weak! You were Blackfoots, Sun Dogs, Hidebarks, Fredonians and Tall Spears. But that weakness is gone! Now you are Legion!" He stopped for a moment as the last word was echoed by every man assembled. They spoke with one thunderous voice that rang out, bouncing off the walls of New Vegas and echoing back.
"Now you have an aim! Now you have worth! Now you have dignity! Now you are united! You are strong!" This evoked a roar that shook the stage. Caesar had practised for years to speak louder and clearer, as was necessary with a growing army. However now, no man's voice could reach those who stood on the fringes of his vast army. Vulpes had convinced him to place some speakers across the grounds so every man could hear his speech. "That dignity and strength was shattered upon the Hoover Dam four years ago." Caesar paused and stared down his Aquiline nose at the men of the Legion, veterans of the first battle shuffled uncomfortably or looked at the ground.
"But we have rebuilt out strength and we have regained our Dignity!" The Legionaries cheered again, the shame of the previous moment forgotten. "You fought and shed blood for the Legion. And you have triumphed!" The men roared again. "The Legion triumphed but certain men have excelled themselves!" Again the Legionaries cheered, looking forwards to the commendations that followed most major battles.
"Legionary Porcino, First Century, Second Cohort!" Caesar's voice rang out. "Come forwards!" A man detached from group to the left of the stage and jogged to the stage. Caesar studied the man with sharp eyes. He was tall and broad, thickly muscled and tanned like most of the Legion. His arms and face showed obvious signs of fighting. The Son of Mars knew off by heart the names and position of every man who was to receive a commendation that day, each man having been recommended for rewards by his Centurion or Vulpes. The man stopped just in front of the stage.
"Legionary, you have been recommended by your Centurion for bravery, skill and courage." The man stared up at Caesar with devotion in his eyes. "You defeated two Rangers in unarmed combat at the Dam." His comrades cheered this. Caesar held up a hand to silence them. "For this you are to be rewarded with five slaves of your choice." The man bowed his head.
"Thank you, Caesar." Porcino said, bowing even lower, his voice wavering.
"Rise, come stand with me." The Legionary beamed like a child being given all he could wish for. Porcino was standing beside Caesar in a matter of seconds. The Son of Mars nodded to Lucius, who took a step forwards and handed a gladius taken from a small chest at the side of the stage.
"Here." Caesar said, placing the sword in Porcino's hand. "A gift for your courage." The Legionary held it almost fervently as he bowed and made his way back to his Century. This continued on for some time, with over sixty men gaining commendations, with Porcino's being a surprisingly small act when compared to the others. As the last man, Decanus Severus of the First Century of the Third Cohort walked back to his original position, Centurion's harness and a gladius in his hands.
"Centurion Cato Viator." Caesar called turning to look at the man who had once been the Courier. He stepped forwards. "You have helped bring us victory." Cato simply nodded calmly to this recognition. "You have brought two new tribes into the Legion. You personally slew dozens at the Hoover Dam! You shamed and destroyed the Brotherhood of Steel and have taken the heads of President Kimball, Mr. House and General Oliver!" There was a cheer from the Legionaries. "You have helped the Legion immeasurably. You have helped change this place from a city of waste and excess to a city of strength and discipline. You have helped create Nova Roma. For this, as I once gave Lanius the mask of Mars, I give the mask of Lupa Capitolina." Lucius stepped forwards, a armoured mask of a snarling wolf in his hand.
"Thank you, Caesar." Cato bowed and accepted the mask gratefully.
"As a final reward for your service to the Legion, a new Aureus shall be minted in your honour." Caesar reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a single gold coin. Cato's hook nose and strong jaw stuck out, the engraver had even included the criss crossing scars on his cheek and the signs of the bullet wounds on his forehead. The words Cato Salvator. On the opposite was a carving of Hoover Dam with the words Vae Victis inscribed above it.
"Thank you, Caesar." Cato repeated, bowing deeply. Caesar nodded and waved Cato back to his place.
"And finally to commemorate our victory." The Son of Mars beckoned to Vulpes who marched to the back of the stage and dragged an elderly, wiry muscled man in a brown vest and trousers.
"I give you Chief Hanlon, commander of the NCR Rangers!" The Legion roared thunderously. Lanius stepped forwards, reaching for his sword. Caesar stopped him with a raised hand. He then turned his hand and held it towards Lucius. The Praetorian leader reached into the chest and pulled out a huge blade the size of Lanius'. Usually Caesar left the killing to others but today was special, today he felt strong. Caesar gripped the blade firmly in his hands, a sword feeling almost alien in his hands after all these years. The Legion watched in silent expectations. Vulpes passed the Chief over to two Praetorians, who pushed Hanlon to his knees and held them there.
"Fuck you!" Hanlon spat on the stage. Roaring, Caesar brought the blade down on Hanlon's bare neck. There was an eruption of blood as the head came free with a single swing. Caesar raised his hands to the sky, one fist still encircled around the sword, blood dripping onto his face. He felt the cheers of the Legion shake his entire body. The Legion had triumphed, he had triumphed. Caesar's Legion could not be stopped, would not be stopped for as long as the man who had been Edward Sallow lived. All opposition, anything that opposed the Legion, anything that opposed civilisation would be crushed. For the first time since the failure of Hoover Dam, Caesar was happy.
Lanius took a step to stand beside his Caesar, his battle scarred armour clinking the behemoth moved. In one fluid movement the Legate drew the Blade of the East.
"MARS!" He roared his voice deafening and harsh. Every single man of the Legion drew their weapons as one and thrust them to the sky.
"EXULTE!" They roared back, their combined voices shaking the stage. Caesar raised his hands to the sky as Hanlon's blood poured into a large bowl at the foot of the stage.
"MARS!" Lanius bellowed, his voice louder than before, his sword thrust higher.
"EXULTE!" The Legion screamed, Cato's voice louder than any other.
Caesar sat down with a rare smile. The twilight sun drifted through the entrance, splashing onto the shoulders of two Praetorians and the back of a grinning Cato, who seemed rather pleased with his new mask.
"Who's a good boy?" Caesar smirked. His clothes were still stained with spots of Hanlon's blood.
"Woof!" Rex replied happily, placing his paws on Caesar's knees. The other Cyber Dog, the one Cato called Roxie lay at the Centurion's feet. Caesar had been delighted to find his old companion with a loyal soldier such as Cato. The other dog was a mystery, she seemingly newly made, something Caesar found hard to believe. However Cato remained tight lipped about it and Caesar was not inclined to force the issue. Caesar gave Rex a final stroke on the neck before pointing at Cato. Rex licked his old master on the chin before lying down next to Roxie.
"My men have sorted out the residents of Freeside." Vulpes Inculta said coolly from the side, a cup of water in his hand. "Several dozen had to be executed due to their extreme addictions. More are too old to be of any use." Vulpes stopped to take a sip of water. "But there are several hundred who would make good slaves and nearly four hundred young men and children who would make promising recruits."
"Good." Caesar said nodding. "What about the Kings?" The Leader of the Frumentarii sighed loudly.
"They have refused to join the Legion." Silence filled the tent, Caesar's face scrunched up and he leaned forwards on his throne. The silence dragged on as Caesar gazed angrily into space.
"Crucify them." Lanius offered, his voice a threatening growl as usual.
"Enslave them." Vulpes grunted, scratching his chin. "They refused to be equals, so let them be less." Cato nodded in agreement and from the sounds of it Lanius was frowning, if it was possible. The idea hung in the air, Caesar continued to stare at nothing in particular.
"Have it done." He eventually agreed with an order to Vulpes. "Next thing. I want the Fiends eradicated."
"I will see to it personally." The growl from underneath Lanius' mask promised. Cato dropped to his knee, the sudden movement causing Lucius to snap into action, raising his hands for battle.
"I beg the opportunity to lead the Legion in this endeavour, Caesar." The Centurion bowed deeply. While Caesar considered this in silence Lanius sounded like he was going to object before Cato spoke up again. "Allow me to prove my worth to the Legion." Lucius placed himself between his lord and Cato, his hands ready to kill in protection of the Son of Mars. Eventually Caesar nodded.
"Lanius will supervise and step in if necessary." Though he did not think it would be. The Legate grunted his assent and saluted.
"I shall check on the men." He said, looking to Caesar who nodded his assent. The tall warrior marched from the tent.
"Caesar, I would make a request." Cato continued, taking a step forwards. Caesar looked him up and down.
"Have I not given you enough already?" He demanded. Lucius tensed at his master's tone.
"You have, Caesar." Cato conceded with a dip of his head. "But I would seek a role where I could better serve the Legion." Caesar screwed up his face.
"How?" Caesar asked, angry that Cato would presume to make a request of him.
"Make me Primus Pilus." Cato requested.
"Make you what?" Lucius demanded. Caesar held his hand up silencing the Praetorian.
"The Legion does not have a Primus Pilus." Caesar pointed out. Beckoning to Vulpes for a drink.
"Then start now." Cato said as Inculta poured some honeyed water and gave the cup to Caesar. "Make me the Primus Pilus and make the first Cohort double strength, make it the way of the old Rome." Caesar considered the request, it could do little harm to the Legion unless Cato proved to be an incompetent commander. Though Caesar swore to himself, he would find out how Cato knew so much about the Roman Empire.
"If you do well against the Fiends, then I will consider." Caesar decided, waving Cato away. The Centurion's bowed deeply, placed the wolf mask over his face and turned on his heel before marching from the tent, his two cyberdogs close at his heels.
The ground outside Freeside, or the Field of Mars as it was now known was full of activity. Many Legionnaires sat around, eating or cleaning their weapons and armour. Others guarded the newly taken slaves and prisoners while those with harsher Centurions continued to train into the fast approaching darkness. Many of the Legionaries saluted as Cato walked past while the Centurions gave him a respectful nod. He gave a low whistle to Roxie as she squared up against a hound. She gave a final low growl before following Rex and her master.
The entire camp was extremely well organised. The men shared their tents with seven others, each one in order from the tenth Contubernia to the first. At the head of the five rows of tents was a slightly larger one, belonging to the Centurion and his household. Cato still did not have a century of his own and so had a detached tent along with several other displaced Centurions.
The newly made Centurion Severus Ferrum-Mos sat around a small fire, a slave stirring a pot of stew next to him. Severus' new harness and helmet lay at his feet, both newly polished and cleaned. Across his lap lay his still incomplete suit of armour. It was a mish-mash of Legion crafted armour, NCR ranger armour and some pieces of tribal attire. Cato sat down opposite him and removed his snarling mask. Severus merely glanced up from his work on his armour and nodded at the Courier. Rex and Roxie both sat down at Cato's feet, stretching out and enjoying the warmth of the fire.
"Stew?" Severus offered, nodding at the pot.
"Please." Cato said, making his fellow Centurion frown, the Legion was taught to respect and be courteous to equals, however the Courier's politeness had raised a few eyebrows. The slave ran to Severus' tent and fetched an extra bowl. Cato accepted the bowl with grace and ate quickly, a habit born from countless nights alone in the wasteland. The two men sat in silence as Severus returned to piecing his armour together and Cato pulled a whetstone from his belt and began to sharpen his new gladius.
"I have been thinking of taking one of the Great Khan women as a wife." Severus broke the silence eventually.
"Good." Cato said simply. "They are strong women and will keep your household in good order." He added when he realised Severus was still looking at him. The more veteran centurion looked pleased with the answer and turned back to his work.
Cato stood and stretched his arms when a force hit him in the back like a brahmin's kick. He staggered forwards, his blood spraying onto the fire. A second later a shot rang out, only barely audible above the sounds of the camp. Severus frowned at him until a second force hit Cato's side. Without a cry he fell to the ground as the second shot rang out. Severus rolled to the side, coming up with his repeater rifle in hand. Almost instantly he fired several times towards what he thought was the source. The sound began to attract the attention of several people before it caught the entire camp when one vigilant Legionary lifted a horn to his lips and blew three short notes.
Craig Boone cursed under his breath as the alarm went up. Calmly he reloaded his rifle and looked down the scope again. The Courier had regained his feet and now ran with surprising speed towards a pile of sandbags. Taking a deep breath Boone chose his moment and squeezed the trigger. Before the third shot had even hit Boone was reloading his gun again. Dirt flew up around him as several of the Legion tried to hit him. The shots failed to land close enough to do any damage but were still enough to distract him.
"Got him in the arm." Manny's voice called. Boone swore and finished reloading. He began to look for the Courier again. "Sharpshooter, two o'clock." Boone turned his rifle and saw an ugly looking Centurion with an anti-material rifle in his hands. He squeezed the trigger again and heard a satisfying cry of pain as he began to reload again. "Target's gone."
"Fuck!" Boone growled, squeezing off a final round at nearest member of the Legion before grabbing his pack and following his old comrade. Manny had taken some convincing to come along on this mission of Boone's. At first he had been hesitant, like most sane men he lacked the desire to be crucified. In the end however, old loyalties had won through and the ex-spotter had signed on.
Both men ran as fast as their legs allowed, though sounds of their pursuers did not fade. The Legion were fast, Boone had to give them that. The pair reached what for the past few days had been their hideout, a run down shack that had belonged to a now deceased Super mutant, well at least Boone hoped he was dead. A pissed off mutant finding you in his home was a great way to end up in a post-apocalyptic and much more unpleasant version of Goldilocks.
Slamming the door behind them, each man took a window, bracing his rifle against his shoulder. The first two Legionaries to turn to corner and come into the veterans' sights died before they knew they were in a fight, a bullet crashing through their skulls. Three others came with them, one fell before he had a chance to find cover, one of Boone's bullets in his skull. The other two tried their best but they were some of untested recruits and so lacked any firearms, though one javelin did get annoyingly close before they both were dead. Boone swore under his breath as he started to pack up their equipment, with the head start the two had had they should have been able to avoid the Legionaries but Craig was no longer as fast as he used to. Partly due to age and mainly due to the Courier's parting gift, a machete in the side.
The man who Boone had thought an ally had taken the sniper to Bitter Springs. The Courier had informed Boone that the Legion were planning a raid on the refugee camp. At first Boone had thought that the Courier had brought him there to redeem himself for the massacre but when he had turned around, the Courier had been standing there with a grin on his face and a machete in his hand. The blow that came next would have killed Boone had it not got stuck in his ribs. The force behind it had knocked Boone down and thrown him into Lake Mead, he had expected the Courier to come and finish him off but it turned out that the man Boone had thought a friend either cared for him in his own twisted way or simply did not care. Whatever it was, Boone was determined to make the Courier regret it.
"Where do we go now?" Manny asked as he heaved the final duffel bag over his shoulder.
"We'll set up shop in the old REPCON factory." Manny gave no argument with this, he was used to Boone giving him orders and it felt good to be back to like it was before. Slinging his rifle over his back Boone set the pace. They may have failed this time, but there was always second chances.
Just a quick translation of the Latin in the story from my fading memory from Latin classes in school.
Viator = Courier
Salvator = Saviour
Vae Vitus = Woe to the conquered
Mars Exulte = Mars Exults
Primus Pilus = First File (The First File Centurion was the commander of the First Century in the First Cohort, which typically would be double strength. The Primus Pilus was senior to all other Centurions and below only The Legate, Prefect and the Tribunes in a Legion. Though as Caesar's Legion lacks a Prefect and Tribunes so this would make the Primus Pilus third in command of the Legion, or possibly fourth depending on Vulpes' level of power.)