IV. Come Fly with Me…
Leaving the Lucky 38 with haste, The Courier walked out to the strip in full bloom. Drunkards, be it travellers or NCR Police, stumbled the streets, singing in a croaky but jovial fashion as they wore away their weeks wages with a night on the town. Amidst the ruckus and pleasant chaos, our good friend General Oliver still managed to appear sullen if not agitated, trying to shoo away the advances of a drunken trooper as he waited for the Vertibird to arrive in the middle of the Strip. Neil and Scythe stood a few meters away, against the railing of the Lucky 38, laughing their heads off.
"You…You're a pretty wo…woman…" the male trooper stammered, slouching into the General's padded shoulder blade.
"HEY!" the female trooper who accompanied him shouted "I thought you were into me!"
While Oliver tried to look as casual as possible, it was obvious that his temper was about to get the better of him, as his brow was ruffled a fact that was illuminated by the burning lights of the Gomorrah.
"Having fun there, General?" Neil goaded, still in fits.
Grumbling angrily to himself, Olivier decided that he couldn't hold in his superiority any longer.
"Troopers, if you make any more drunken remarks, or touch me ever…EVER again!" he took a sharp breath "I'll make sure you're sent to the NCRCF faster than you can say 'Caesar"!"
Snapping instantly out of their drunken haze, the two troopers frantically tried to apologise to the disgruntled General, but he rebutted their words, instead telling them to get out of his sight, as the loud rotors of the NCR's Vertibird came into their hearing.
Spoils from the NCR-Enclave War, Vertibirds were one of the only means of transportation in the Wastes. Essentially pre war helicopters, their incredibly armoured hull and dual Gatling Laser cannons made for incredible aerial support too. Plus their seating areas could hold up to six people plus the two pilots, so there was plenty room.
Hovering over the Strip for a few seconds before landing in the middle of the road between the Lucky 38 and the Gomorrah, the Vertibird kept its blades turning, forcing the Strip-goers to hide for cover in the Tops section, away from the gunship, the Super Mutant and the surly General.
"Your friends can't come with us!" The General shouted over the roar of the engines "Can't have too many new people in Saint Lucas, the locals'll get antsy!"
Stuck up Bastard. Only General Lee Oliver would make less people go on a high priority mission. Never mind reinforcements, as long as we appeared well in the public, it was all good in his books.
"…Dickhead…" mumbled Scythe as the two gathered round The Courier.
"I didn't expect this, to be honest…" and Paylor hadn't. Usually Oliver is happy to let him do his own thing as long as it helps the NCR. Things there, in hindsight, must be in a knife edge. "Well, we can't persuade him. The grouchy git would just have us court marshalled or something to that effect" he sighed "Right…while I'm gone, you both make sure the Mojave is in good knick, okay? Don't let the NCR do anything stupid, especially."
"Got it" the both said in a freaky amount of unison.
"Good, well, bye guys" the Courier's gut wrenched slightly. Not having his friends was one thing, but knowing no one was going to be pretty hard going. He would have to make friends quickly; otherwise this would be one long mission. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do…" he winked, before walked off to the Vertibird with the General.
The Mojave night bristled, hot air rippling in the dim sunrise in the distance as the Vertibird blitzed across the sky. In the 'stomach', so to speak, of the 'bird, The Courier sat on the hard steel "benches" if you could call them those. Below them, the darkness of the Wasteland peaked and troughed with the dunes, tiny specs of Raiders spreading sparks of gunfire into unlucky travellers. Paylor surveyed them, a helpless bystander viewing their fight from afar, unable to do anything.
And then they were flying over the giant mass that was Hoover Dam. A small shiver vibrating down The Courier's spine, the memories that he held of that place were only recognisable in some people's nightmares. Legion soldiers fighting NCR troopers, and by extension Paylor, in hand to hand combat. Blood smeared everywhere, bodies pilled high to rival the dunes themselves. He was glad when the Vertibird kept powering East, away from the violence that the Dam was remembered by, and in to a violence that he didn't understand…
Accompanying him on this joyful journey was the good old General himself, chatting at a fast pace on a radio with someone in the military chain of command, and two other troopers. Both regimented and silent in their tan desert camouflage, The Courier sensed uneasiness in them, possibly about the flying. He didn't blame them, not many people had experienced it, due to the complete lack of transport until recently.
"I've just been on the radio with Sergeant Myles" Oliver broke the smothering silence after placing the radio down violently on its receiver holder "and what he's telling me isn't on my schedule!"
"What's happened?" The Courier asked, hoping he didn't give a long winded explanation of some small problem
"Saint Lucas is a small, unknown town on the border of Nevada and Colorado, but it has its tactical uses" always about the tactic, it was always about the tactics "It's the last stop on the NCR Train line, for now anyway, but according to Myles, some goddamn Ferals have begun invading the goddamn town!"
The two troopers beside him snapped their heads towards him, faces in cast in a shadow of disbelief.
"But there are troops there, sir!" one of the soldiers, the one across from Paylor sitting next to Oliver, exclaimed with a dire sense of hope "Can't they do something?"
The Vertibird jittered unexpectedly, causing the General to curse profusely as he slammed his fist against his metal backrest, which also separated the, in his opinion lucky, pilots from General Oliver.
"We better be almost there, soldiers!" he shouted, banging his fist more times.
Instantly in reply, an intercom from somewhere in the belly crackled into life with the static of a microphone. The voice on the other end sounded exasperated and panicky.
"Yes sir…two minutes sir!"
"The troopers were caught off guard dammit!" the General continued his rant to the two soldiers and Paylor "They're all trapped in the walls of the city, fighting for their bloody lives!"
Again there was extensive shock on the troopers' faces, being the General's body guards probably gave them the illusion that war was easy as he said it was, poor, poor deluded men.
"How many casualties?" The Courier asked, pressing onwards as the Vertibird banked further down wards.
"Myles reports six, all of the NCR" he grumbled something quietly along the lines of 'damn locals'. "Civvies are safe, all holed up in their church with a few soldiers, that's to the West of the town." The General went into the back pock of his tanned army fatigues, laden with golden stars and coloured stripes and produced a drawn map, crumpled but still readable.
"Saint Lucas is a small place, like I said" he pointed to an area on the map with a building drawn in it "The church is here, to the west as soon as you enter through the archway from the train station" he pointed to the north "the market is there, enclosed off with metal fences, the Ghouls haven't touched that part apparently" then his finger trailed off to the East "a couple of houses, mostly communal residence though" and finally he pointed at the south; the entrance "the arch way is usually guarded by their town militia, but they have been diverted to the Feral killing" Putting the map away, The Courier couldn't help but think that the General was enjoying himself a little too much…
The Intercom buzzed back into life and the pilot, much calmer this time, told them what was going on.
"Thirty seconds until drop off point, uhh….you may want to look out your windows…"
Turning my body to left to get a more complete view of the task at hand, I let out a small gasp. The General then spoke with uncharacteristic trepidation, soft yet delivering a sudden impact of realisation that he could have balled right in my face as the two troopers' breathing became sharp and hoarse.
"We can't lose Saint Lucas, Courier…" his voice gravened "If we lose Saint Lucas, we let the Legion get a foot hold on the region, and that is NOT an option…"
