For reference: I did my best to hunker down, do more research, and make the best of pulling together a finale. Influences for the speech itself should be obvious. There are quotes from Truman and Eisenhower in regards to the atomic bomb, and the military industrial complex, as well as quotes from Clinton in regards to the Oklahoma City bombing. I told people to 'figure it out' when I posted elsewhere, but since no one did, I wanted to cite my sources this time around.
There may be an epilogue upcoming, but it'll be awhile.
[ 10 :: Wednesday, March 1st, 2282 ]
That evening, several hours after Moore had fallen into a dreamless sleep, the call went out across the Mojave that a stable connection had been established with Shady Sands. For the first time in two and a half weeks, the President would be making an address- not just to the soldiers that held Hoover Dam, but to all territories where the NCR had influence. Roused from slumber by a wearied Major Knight and told the news, Moore had joined him in the command tent- and across both the encampment, and all the settlements throughout the desert, people were compelled, regardless of their affiliations, to listen in.
In most instances, military leaders would have been given a briefing on what was to come ahead of time- this time, they were warned that the power requirements needed to broadcast the address made it so both military officials and civilians would be briefed simultaneously. There would, however, be instructions sent to ranking officers in the region after the fact, a move that Moore suspected was being made to keep arguments over the speech itself- and over the orders they were being given- to a minimum. On that, she could only hope she was being overtly cynical, that the events that occurred earlier that morning- and the distinct lack of sleep she'd gotten after over a forty hour time period- had colored her perceptions of what she was about to hear.
Even so, she couldn't help but wonder if Oliver had heard the content of the speech ahead of time, and hadn't cared enough to prepare his senior officers for what they were about to hear.
"My Fellow Californians," Kimball began, his tone somber, "citizens of the Mojave... it saddens me to know that I speak to you today against the backdrop of the terrible tragedy that occurred on Tuesday, February 13th. To those of you affected, I only regret that I could not have addressed you sooner, and let you know that in these, your darkest hours, you are not alone. This grievous assault has resonated throughout our great republic, endured not only by you- the civilians and soldiers that have been given the unenviable task of securing, and protecting the territories our growing nation now lay claim to- but by your countrymen."
Moore snorted at the pause he allowed for, the sound earning a quirk of Knight's eyebrow.
"I saw the speech he was supposed to deliver at Hoover Dam," she said. "'Pause, appear concerned' was one of his non-verbal cues."
"I would like to take a moment here to address all those who knew the people inhabiting the Long-15 Army base, and Lo Gaseat respectively," Kimball began again, "to tell you that, even as we share in your grief, we know that the pain of the friends, families, and loved ones who have suffered this loss is unimaginable."
"'Unimaginable,'" General Oliver, still sequestered in his office at the Dam, muttered at the radio, his bottle of gin opened and in-hand. "S'only unimaginable 'cause you couldn't give a rats ass about any of 'em."
"To us, they are remembered as loyal patriots, and public servants, but you knew them as more than that. To you, they were your neighbors, colleagues, your comrades in arms; people whose lives went beyond their impact on the republic as a whole. Knowing that we will never get them back, that we cannot undo the profound damage inflicted on them, is a terrible burden that all of you, through no fault of your own, are now forced to carry."
The gravedigger, taking a break from his labors on the hillside to eat, paused, and glanced to the radio at his side. "Was a burden you gave 'em the moment they set foot on this soil, Mr. President. Didn't start with the bomb... but it should damn well end with it."
"Those of us at home- those who don't have brothers, sisters... mothers and fathers, sons and daughters serving in the military, or seeking to stake a claim to a brighter future in promising new settlements... though we have seen this tragedy unfold peripherally, understand that we only have the slightest insight into what that burden must entail. You have lost so much- too much- but you have not lost everything."
Keely's eyes narrowed as she kept her eyes on her revised report. "Guess he didn't get the reports about the aftermath. Not that anyone would expect him to pay the least bit of attention to them if he had."
"Know that you- and all those in the Mojave who have had to again witness the awful arithmetic of the atomic bomb- have the support of your fellow Californians, all of whom have pledged to stand with you; know that we have kept you in our hearts, and minds, and that we will continue to lend you all the support we can to ensure that your struggles have not been in vain. Will not be in vain. And we will not allow those responsible for this reprehensible act go unpunished."
"Here it comes," Moore said flatly, the remark earning a grim look from Knight, her sentiment carried on in the mess tent down the way.
"This is the part where he pisses off every peacenik in this hellhole," Macklin remarked to Klein, eyes on his cards, their game put to a halt as the address continued.
And in McCarran, another echo, Colonel Hsu's eyes straying warily to the radio on his desk. "Pick your targets wisely, Kimball. You've got plenty of viable candidates listening in, and they won't take kindly to being singled out."
"While we as a people are defined by the hope that, even outside our borders, there is decency," Kimball continued, "we recognize that there are some for whom that word does not apply. Our forebears, the men and women who emerged from Vault 15 and formed our great republic, understood this..."
"I like how that almost makes it sound like we don't," Dr. Richards said, glancing between the three other people at the table. "Really warms your heart, doesn't it?"
"They understood that, in our efforts to maintain peace and prosperity, we would be confronted by those that would seek to do us harm. That we would face regimes that threatened to undercut everything we've accomplished, no matter how many times we've proven that we do not take our responsibility to our people, or our ideals, lightly. That never once have we failed to show our great resolve, even at those times when it seemed that all was lost."
"If we're going on the offensive," Knight said, "then this'll be one time I'll be happy to be taking orders from General 'Wai-'"
He stopped, earning weary look from Moore. "You can say it, major," she said dryly. "General 'Wait and See.'"
Knight relaxed as the rebuke he expected, tuning back in to Kimball's address. "Rather let you say it for me."
"I believe it goes without saying that the character of this assault," he was saying, "and the depraved intent behind it, once again obliges us to show that resolve. To let them know that we will not be subject to the shallow vision of men and women that seek to erase the progress humanity has made, or be cowed by an unseen enemy whose singular goal is to demoralize; an enemy that would let us believe, in their absence and anonymity, that they are capable of causing far greater destruction."
"I sincerely hope he knows what he's doing," Moore said under her breath, unable to fight the sick feeling the thought gave her.
"The way he's talking," Macklin said, brow furrowed, his grip on his cards tightening, "you'd think he wants the guy who did this to go for round two."
"Let them know that they have awakened not our fears, or uncertainties, but that they have ignited in us a fierce determination to see that justice is served; that we will stop at nothing to make sure they that will never again know what it is to be safe, in or outside our borders. For them, there will be no escape. And for our greater enemy- for the Legion- there will be no reprieves."
"Leave it to Kimball to try rallying the troops when they're runnin' on fumes," Lacey muttered, feigning more disinterest than the three men she'd been playing a hand of poker with, though even she was paying closer attention than she might otherwise admit. "Get the feeling I'll be staying open late tonight."
"They, and their allies must not, and will not, be allowed to take advantage of the situation we find ourselves in today. Hoover Dam, and all territories we have secured in the name of our republic, will remain under our control, and we will defend them as vigorously as we have in the past. There will be no surrender, or retreat."
One of the soldiers in the infirmary just shook his head, "No escape," echoed absently, leading Julie, at his bedside to take his vitals, to frown slightly, though she made no comment. "Guess he thinks we should be punished, too."
"It's not him that makes the decisions," said the man on the gurney alongside him. "It's Congress."
Julie's patient snorted, eyes turned to the ceiling. "An' none'a them got any relatives in 'Gaseat, I wager."
"On that," Kimball continued, "I would like to turn my attention to the men and women serving in our armed forces, those for whom that declaration carries the greatest resonance."
"Go fuck yourself, Kimball," Macklin said, slapping his cards face-down on the table and picking up his beer. "Only thing 'resonating' with me these days is that shit they fed us for breakfast."
"Hear, hear," Richards said, raising his own drink in turn.
"I know that some of you- wearied by the long fight against the Legion, disheartened by the hardships that have befallen us- will hear this and feel as though we, the leaders you have come to depend upon for guidance-"
Klein arched his eyebrows, glancing towards the radio. "The blind leading the blind."
"-don't fully appreciate the difficulties you'll have in meeting our expectations. That we're unable to understand what it is we're asking of you. As one who has witnessed the horrors of war first-hand, let me assure you that I do understand, and that your hard work, the sacrifice you've made for the republic, will got not unnoticed, or unrewarded."
"Oh, yes," Richards said dryly, "rewarded with a flimsy penchant fund that even a Freeside squatter would find lacking. Definitely worth its weight in pain and anguish..."
"-Nor is the faith I place in you unwarranted. You are, beyond all shadow of a doubt, the finest soldiers the wasteland has ever known; the greatest fighting force mankind lays claim to. It is you who will draw a line in the sand against the Legion; you that will prove to them, even at those times where it seems as though surrender is our only option, that we have not- will never forget that the very structure of our society, the very essence of who we are, demands that we stand united, unswerving in our devotion to our principles-"
The medic assisting Julie snorted dismissively, eyes narrowed. "-And our desire to put every bystander at risk."
"-diligent in our pursuit of our republic's great goals. And I have the utmost confidence that you will do that, and more."
"Maybe add another 'Bitter Springs' to the mix while they're at it," the medic continued, jotting down a few notes on a patient's chart.
"There's a time and a place," Julie said as a word of warning. "This is neither."
"Remember that this is not the first, nor will it be the last time that our republic has been met with what seemed like insurmountable odds. In those days that we fought against the Brotherhood, against the Enclave, there were times when it seemed as though we might falter. But instead, we prevailed... and we will do so again."
Another pause; this time, all those listening in seemed to sense a shift in demeanor, even at such a distance, if only thanks to the rather prolonged silence they were subject to.
Knight cast a glance towards Moore over his shoulder, as if looking to her for some insight into extended pause.
Moore just shook her head. "If I'd just told my men to hold the fort with no incoming supplies, I'd be at a loss for words, too."
"Take it you don't agree with him?"
"Doesn't matter, if I do or don't," Moore replied. "He knows as well as anyone that this is the only viable option we have, at the moment."
"My fellow Californians..." Kimball continued, his tone marking the conclusion of his speech, his continuation leading Moore to give Knight a 'one moment' raise of her hand, "the free world knows, out of the bitter wisdom of experience, that vigilance and sacrifice are the price of liberty. As we peer into society's future, we- you and I, and our government- all have an obligation to see past the trials we face in the here and now, to an era of peace that is neither partial nor punitive."
"'Peace,'" one of the patients said. "Don't think he knows the meaning'a that word."
"With your help, and the continued support of those of us back home, our democracy will not wither into insolvency at the behest of our detractors; it will survive for generations to come."
Keely's frown deepened. "Assuming there are any 'new generations' out here."
"Lord in heaven," Angela Williams sighed, casting a glance in the ghoul's direction, "you've really got a knack for seein' the bright side've everything, don't you?"
"What can I say?" Keely replied, deadpan; humorless. "It's a talent."
"The journey ahead may be long and arduous, but know that I place my full faith and confidence in all of you, in the knowledge that you will be at the forefront of our efforts to chart a course toward permanent peace and human betterment. Know that the strength, and courage you show in these upcoming months will serve as an example for all republicans to follow; that history will remember you as a force to be reckoned with, men and women that stood defiant where others might falter."
"Let's just hope there's room in those pages for the ones that did falter," Julie heard herself saying, her gaze taking in the waxen features of a patient they were sure would pass overnight.
"For that, and for your continued service to the republic, you have the gratitude of a proud, enduring nation. May our singular vision see you through these dark times, and may you always know that your countrymen stand with you, united- in grief, and in triumph."
The brief silence that followed gave a hint that maybe, there was more to be said- but instead, only, "Thank you, and good night," came over the airwaves, ending the address, leaving those in the encampment- and across the Mojave- with a collective sense of unease that the speech had failed to put to rest.
[...]
Not too long after the address had been given, Moore received word from Colonel Hsu that Shady Sands had authorized resupplies via vertibird; that what could be spared of the fleet back home had been mobilized to deliver goods, pay, and armaments to the Mojave. It wouldn't be nearly enough, she suspected, and said as much aloud, a concern Hsu had agreed with, but at least it was something. That they would still be able to offer payment to their troops, keep what was likely to become a flagging economy aloft, was little more than a band-aid.
As it stood, the President knew that a great deal of that pay would go to the caravans to supplement an ailing supply cache, whether or not such purchases were within regulations.
"Since we're in a state of emergency," Hsu said, "my guess is that he and the Joint Chiefs'll be looking for ways to loosen the regs. Give us some breathing room."
"Bought with our own hard-earned money," Moore replied dryly.
Mercifully, with Knight alongside her, Hsu didn't see it fit to speak to her as personally as he had the last time they'd gotten in contact. He did, however, leave her with something she knew was meant to be taken on a personal level- at least in part. To anyone who didn't know him, the addendum sounded for all the world like it was as professionally-based as everything else.
"I'd like to meet with you in person sometime this week," he said. "Go over some of the numbers with you to see what good can come of this."
"I'll do my best to make time for it," she replied, though didn't feel the immediate inclination to tell him later that there was no chance he'd be seeing her.
In a way, she knew she could use some familiarity, even if she never ended up saying what had happened in the encampment.
Once that was over, she exchanged a few words with Knight, about the speech, about where the Mojave campaign was going. After the first few, she realized that his questions were ones he already knew the answers to- that retreat wasn't a viable option, that defense would be difficult but do-able, if they played their cards right- it was instead a desperate attempt to gage if she, one of his superiors, shared his concerns about where they were going. She'd obliged him, somewhat, offering him what tacit reassurances she could that she, and presumably the general, had no intention of pursuing goals that were now well out of the army's collective reach- but eventually, she found herself too weary to be of much use as a sounding board.
"A great deal of this campaign hinged on the barons and the caravan companies as backers," she told him in conclusion. "Chances are, with the amount of radiation that might be pouring into the area, the barons won't be that interested in the Mojave's farmlands any longer. The Dam, we'll keep... but everything else will probably be an acceptable loss if all Kimball has to go on is tax revenue."
Knight smiled slightly at that. "And I thought I was cynical," he said, his one slight attempt at levity.
"I'm not sure it counts as cynical if it happens to be true," Moore replied, returning his slight smile with one of her own- and though it was forced, he didn't seem to notice that it was less than sincere.
"Sounds like something Ghost would've said," he commented as she turned to leave. "Well... maybe if there were a few more 'goddamns' thrown in for flavor..."
She paused on that, glancing over her shoulder to see him fidgeting with his desk key. "Did you know her well?"
"Sort of," he said, eyes on the key in his hands. "Well as anyone could, I guess. She kept to herself most of the time." Beat. "It'll be weird, not having her around once we get back to the Outpost. Jackson, too." He paused, then, and looked up at her finally. "Sorry," he said. "I know she was the one you were here to see. Means you probably knew her better than I did."
"Maybe," Moore said, keeping her tone as even as possible. Maybe not. Allowing for a brief pause, she turned back to the entrance again, saying a quick, "Goodnight, major," as she eased the metal door open.
"'Night, colonel. And- thanks. For clearings things up for me."
It was an awkward show of gratitude, one she gave him an obligatory 'you're welcome' for in return before moving to depart, but she knew, as she opened the tent and felt the crisp air outside, that his entreaty was just a sign of things to come. On that thought, she paused at the threshold for a time, glancing at the tent Ghost and Jackson had occupied. Already, it was being dismantled, the gurney and equipment that had been set up in the tent set outside, the plastic sheets that had been on the dividers taken down to cover over the more expensive devices- ones that didn't react well to stray particles of sand.
The troops wouldn't just be looking up to their superiors for instruction any longer- they'd be looking to them for more support than they ever had before, for a few words meant to assuage their uncertainties, even if the source they looked to for reassurance seemed like an unlikely one. Somehow- regardless of whether or not she had the stamina- she would have to find a way to provide them for others, all the while knowing that the one person who could answer her own would never be able to do so.
What reassurances she found she needed- no one she could think of was likely to provide, not even if she took a chance, dropped the walls, and let them know how badly she could use to hear them.
"Ma'am?" she heard Knight say tentatively, the sound of his voice bringing her back to the present. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine," she said, realizing belatedly that she was letting what warmth remained in the tent to escape. "I was just thinking..." Sliding the door shut again, she looked over to him; saw a curious gaze turned back at her. "Those interviews you were doing-"
When she didn't complete the thought, he said, "What about them?" to prompt her.
"Have you considered conducting them with more than just the survivors?"
His eyebrows raised considerable at that, incredulity plain. "I hadn't, but- it's... not a bad idea." A beat. "Does this mean you're volunteering...?"
"Aside from being at risk of saying something that might get me demoted? I don't see why not."
He smiled half-heartedly at that, but sobered quickly. "Any time you'd like to do that, or-?"
"The sooner the better, I think," she replied. "Just let me know when you've got time."
Knight, as tense as he'd been, almost seemed to relax as the silence passed between them- as if she'd just given him the reassurance he needed in that single exchange.
"I've got time now," he said eventually. "Need to get the holotape recorder from Julie, but that shouldn't take long."
"Do that," Moore said. "It'll give me some time to get something to drink."
"Got that covered," he said, using the key he'd been fumbling with to open one of his desk drawers, a full bottle of whiskey withdrawn from it.
She raised her eyebrows at that, affording the man a faint smile. "Well, look at that," she said gently, one of the few nods to levity she'd made in what felt like days. "Keep this up and you'll make lieutenant colonel in no time."
[...]
Though the interview itself did little to alleviate the discomfort the morning had instilled in her, it allowed her, in some small way, what the offer to join the poker game had: a chance to become one of the many, relieved of rank and responsibility, for long enough to simply give an account of what she'd seen. There wasn't any comfort in it, but in a way, there was a vicarious sense that in lending her voice to what would eventually become the history of the mountain pass, she was not alone.
But there was only so far she was willing to take it, when push came to shove.
Cutting off her recollections before they became too personal, or maudlin, Cassandra said, "I'm sure we'll have plenty to add to these accounts in the next few weeks," as she raised to leave the command tent, the aside earning a faint chuckle from the major. "Or- next few years, more like it. But for now, that'll have to do."
"Next few years," he repeated, shaking his head slightly as he refilled his glass. "There's no telling when we'll ever get a chance to go back home."
She paused on that thought, hand coming to rest on the cool metal door. "Hopefully," she said, pushing the door open, "you won't be waiting for too long," setting aside the words that had come to mind. "Goodnight, major."
He nodded, but didn't offer a response, as if he, too, was turning over the same thing she was: that returning to California didn't have the appeal it might have, once upon a time. Leaving the command tent with that in mind, she could see the Followers administrator on approach- and briefly thought of simply turning to walk away, to spare herself what may very well be an awkward conversation, though the younger woman seemed intent on catching up to her.
"Colonel," Julie said gently, stopping once she came within earshot, her labcoat pulled tightly over her shoulders to stave off the chill of a cool breeze. "I've been looking for you."
"Why?" Cassandra replied, already knowing full well what the answer was. "Has there been another fight?"
"Thankfully, no-" Julie paused for a moment. Then, affording the colonel a look that hedged on the apologetic, she said, "I just wanted to see if you were alright."
"I am. For the most part."
"You don't sound too sure about that."
Cassandra merely smiled, the faint, resigned expression a statement unto itself, though the words, "Would you be?" came as something of a surprise to her.
It shouldn't have; she was too tired to make excuses, or provide fronts. Too exhausted to care.
"I suppose not," Julie admitted. After a brief silence passed between them, she said, "Headed to sleep?" as if to avoid callously ending it on the note prior.
"I am, yes."
"Well... I won't keep you, then." Opening the door to the command tent, she said a quick, "Goodnight, colonel," over her shoulder, leaving Cassandra to wonder, once again, if sleep was even an option.
The bottle of scotch, and the book she'd brought with her, served as her only company for the remainder of that evening. As it had been in the mess tent the night- no, two nights before, she found she couldn't focus on the words, letting her mind drift back to those last few moments she'd spent at Ghost's bedside. About the tirade she'd nearly gone on at the gravesite. Neither sat well with her, and while she hadn't expected them to, she hadn't expected the uneasiness she'd come away with, either.
But thankfully, that uneasiness didn't impede her ability to sleep, the debt of exhaustion she'd run up in the past forty hours catching up to her just as easily as it had when she'd finally returned from the hillside. Lulled by the haze of the alcohol in her system, she closed her eyes and let herself drift off, and neither the howling of the wind, the sound of voices outside, nor the prospect of unruly bedsprings could call her back until morning.
[...]
Word of the interviews had spread like wildfire both that night, and the day after, those that weren't busy with patrols, or working shifts at the infirmary, quick to state their interest in the project. As Moore had the night before, the lot of them seemed to take a peculiar kind of comfort in the show of solidarity; in knowing that, though their Commander in Chief had all but forgotten about them the night before, they would still leave their mark, somewhere.
"Ever made it a point to study history, major?" Moore had asked, at the beginning of her own interview.
"I know bits and pieces," Knight replied, looking up from the report on his lap. "Never looked into it much, though."
"I have," she said. "At first it was for tactical information- strategies employed by the military that may be of some use to us in the here and now. After a while, though... I became more interested in the context of those battles." Pausing to gather her thoughts, she glanced at the drink she had in-hand, forefinger tapping absently against the dusty rim of the glass. "The one we don't have a great deal of context for is the Great War," she continued, voice softening, "and how it all started. Not what lead up to it, but those moments before the first missiles were launched."
"Think that one's been on all our minds," Knight said, as Moore took a small sip from her drink.
"With good reason," she said. "And every time I think about it, I can't help but go back to the fact that the people responsible for it- the ones who fired the first shot, I guess you could say... They knew, ahead of time, what they'd be in for." Pausing for another sip, she kept her eyes on her glass for a moment, but eventually turned them back to Knight. "At least, that's what I assume. Those people had seen what happened in Tel Aviv, and to the European Commonwealth in turn. They'd seen, twenty years prior- and a little over a century before, besides- what nuclear weapons could do, but they chose to ignore it. Why?"
Though she lapsed back into silence, Knight didn't respond, his eyes remaining on her as she downed the remainder of her drink, his attention turning only to replenish the whiskey she'd drained from the glass. "'Mutually assured destruction' wasn't just a pithy turn of phrase," she continued, raising her glass once it had been refilled. "It was an absolute. Every powerful nation on this earth knew what it meant." A pause. "What do you suppose was going through the minds of the men responsible for that initial assault? Were things really so desperate that what was bound to come next seemed like an acceptable risk?"
Another pause; another drink. "That same turn of phrase must have been on someone's mind when they saw the radar screens, and knew they were going to be the first in a long line of casualties. There had to be someone present who thought, even for a moment, that maybe it'd be better if they did what they could to mount a defense, but didn't try to retaliate. That- instead of launching a counter-offensive that would almost certainly lead to mass destruction, they'd protect what few cities they could, and the rest-" She stopped- and shook her head slightly. "Well. I'd say that maybe, serving as a warning to other nations looking to get in on the fight of what can happen might have served as a deterrent, but things happened too quickly. Once the chain reaction started, there was no stopping it."
It was a note she went silent on for a time, leading Knight to ask, "What would you have done? If you were in that situation, I mean."
"In command of the situation?" she said. "It's a good question... but it's not one I like to think about."
"You don't have to answer-"
"No, I will," Moore interrupted him. "It's just one of those lines of thought that can get a bit humbling. At least, when you're being truthful about it" Beat. "I've thought about it before this- 'incident,' if you can call it that. About how it must have felt to be in that position. Seeing those incoming missiles on a radar screen, and knowing what your future would be once the bombs fell..." She lapsed back into silence again, looking at her drink- and thinking better of downing more. "Maybe they couldn't stand the thought of being the only ones to face that future," she continued, almost absently. "Maybe they decided that... if their people had to endure what was coming? So did everyone else. When you're facing down that kind of destruction, at the hands of an enemy you've been fighting for years, it's- human... to retaliate, no matter the cost."
"So you're saying you'd do the same?"
"Probably," Moore admitted. "I can't say the thought didn't cross my mind when I saw the mushroom clouds in the distance."
"You saw it happen?"
Moore nodded. "We were making preparations for the President's arrival at the time," she said. "Running over contingency plans, making sure we had all our bases covered." She thought about that for a time, expression turning tense- but thoughtful, all the same. "You know, as we were listening to the President's speech, I-" At that, a halt; and a short, dispassionate chuckle, the glance she favored Knight with met with a shared moment of unease. "You're thinking it, too, aren't you?"
"Been thinking it since he came on the air," Knight said, hardly needing to hear the context of the question to know they were on the same page.
Moore just shook her head, looking down at the dusty floor between them for a moment. "I'm not ashamed to admit," she said, returning her eyes to him, "that for a moment, I was genuinely afraid of what he might say. Afraid that, at any moment, I'd hear that Kimball had every intention of launching a counter-attack, using all the same weapons. That we'd find ourselves repeating history, whether or not we wanted to."
She and Knight weren't the only ones to state that belief. As the interviews continued, the same fear was repeated, some stating it as an irrational anxiety, some stating it as something that was liable to happen in a matter of weeks. Beyond that, the solidarity expressed in the shared willingness to talk, there was a strangely like-minded approach to what they'd seen, and what they thought might be waiting for them in the future.
"There's people out there," Julie said, when it came her time to speak, "who've seen what's happened here, and the only thing they see is that these weapons are effective. And not only that, they're accessible." She stopped, and frowned, doing little to hide the concern in her expression. "To be honest, I think I'd prefer to find out that we are dealing with another group entirely. If the message gets sent that two 'lone wolves' are capable of finding those abandoned silos, and putting them to use..."
"Almost makes you think we should've listened to the Brotherhood," Klein remarked, in his own testimonial. "Let 'em go about their business. Might've had the numbers by now to keep all those missiles under wraps. Might've even partnered with us to make sure they stayed that way."
"Got all these assholes walking around," Macklin said, leaning back in his chair, his armed crossed tightly over his chest, leg bouncing restlessly, "thinking they know what's right. Think they got nothin' to lose by makin' some big goddamn point." He scoffed, disgusted, a baleful stare leveled at the ground. "Chaps my ass that anyone could've thought this was a good idea..."
"Not that it's hard to figure out what their intent might have been," Moore had said, during one of her more speculative moments. "The precision in those strikes speaks for itself. If they were looking to severely disable both sides of this conflict, they got their wish. But why they used this method..."
"It's barbaric," Dr. Richards said bluntly. "I don't care if they think they were being 'elegant' about it, or thought they were being 'clever.' They slaughtered innocent civilians, and for what? We all heard what Kimball said. The fight's not over. Hell, they could've hit us with ten bombs and chances are, it still wouldn't be over."
"All it means is that... it'll be harder for everyone, in the long run," Klein sighed, shaking his head. "Guess whoever it was, they were looking for folks to suffer."
"May not like admitting that this sorta thing could ever get to me," Lacey said, idly ashing her cigarette, her eyes on everything but Knight. "Or even that it did in the first place. But all you gotta do is look at the faces've some of those doctors..."
"You can tell there's things they've seen here that they'll never forget," Moore said gently. "Though... I suppose none of us will, when it comes right down to it."
"I'd never seen radiation sickness this severe before," Knight said, when it was his turn to give an account. "When Ghost threw up the moment she got back from searching the wreckage, I didn't think it would get as bad as it did for her. Those pamphlets they give us, the ones the NCR print out? They don't prepare you for the reality of it."
"Not sure I like the fact that I can say I saw someone's skin fall off," Lacey admitted. "Never did look into the infirmaries, or candy-stripe 'em like Klein seemed to think I ought to, but I saw some of those bodies as they were getting moved out to the hillside." She quirked her lip slightly, in grudging concession. "Really is like something out've a nightmare."
"Best we can hope for is that something good comes of it," Dr. Richards said, shrugging his shoulders, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. "Whatever 'it' is. Like this... slap-fight with the Legion, what's happening here? It's not over yet. Not even close. Not really sure if anyone can tell me when it will be, either."
"Maybe it's just getting started," Knight said, when it came his time to speak. "Hell of a thing to think about, isn't it?"
"And we've still got a lot of patients to tend to," Richards sighed. "Plenty that are finally making headway, thank god... "
"It's strange," Julie said, smiling weakly. "Earlier this evening, I saw someone die of natural causes for the first time since I've been here. An elderly woman... one of the early interviewees. I'm not sure if you remember..." She paused, considerate, the smile fading. "The fact that even one of those people your soldiers brought back was able to die a normal death, peacefully, among people caring for her... means that the effort to retrieve the victims wasn't as much of a loss as it might seem."
"That's one thing we'll have to keep reminding ourselves," Moore said, "especially those of us who gave the orders to initiate the search in the first place... That the rescue effort wasn't all for nothing. That we made the right decision."
"Sure, for every life lost," Knight said, "there wasn't an equal amount saved. But some of them came through alright."
"I just wish it didn't feel so damn pointless," Richards said. "Everything that's happened here. Not the work we've done, or the people those soldiers went in to save- but the strike itself. I don't know if I could live with knowing that it was just some petty act of revenge, or that it was just an accident."
"I'm sure for a lot of people," Moore said, "it's easier to believe that the Legion targeted itself to make it look like they're innocent. But there's several glaring problems with that, saying nothing of the fact that bombing your own supply lines is rarely a good idea. Really, if the Legion was idiotic enough to do all that, just to prove a point? We'd have won the war by now. Easily."
Julie paused for a moment, considerate. "Almost makes you wonder how they're dealing with it," she said. "The attack, I mean. Through all of this, we've been so concerned with what happened to us that we can forget, rather easily, that we weren't the only ones hit. To make matters worse, rumor has it that they don't believe in using modern medicine."
"Might be the only time in history that I'd ever feel bad for the dumb bastards," Macklin admitted.
"Makes me wonder how they plan to respond to this," Moore said. "How the next few months will pan out..."
"Let's just hope they're not as overzealous as we've made 'em out to be," Klein said. "'Else... we're in for a hell of a long haul."
"I'm sure everyone will continue to do their best in spite of it all," Julie said, though her tone was somber. "But, if I've learned anything from this- or, relearned, I suppose I should say... it's that, sometimes, all you can do is accept that your best isn't good enough."
"All you need to do is look at that hillside," Knight said, "to know that's the case."
Moore paused on that, frowning, as she considered the last words to add to what she had to say, though she had to push past the emotion that came in the wake of the unburdening- as many others that followed her did, as well.
"It's not enough to say 'we can't let this happen again,'" she said. "It's not enough to simply talk about it, or speculate. We live in a world that's been shaped by one of civilization's worst mistakes... by one of the most inhuman acts this planet's ever witnessed. We're the ones that should know better, we're the ones that shouldn't need any reminders. That even a single bomb was dropped, well after the war that brought us here-" She paused, brow furrowing. "It's unforgivable."
She took the remainder of her shot, then, and set the empty glass down.
"I imagine whoever's responsible would like us to believe that we let this happen," she continued. "That we brought it on ourselves."
"Did we?" Knight asked- the sincerity in his tone bringing Moore to pause.
And for a moment, her anger faltered, the concession she made grudging, but no less sincere than his question.
"I don't know, major," she said gently. "In some ways... maybe we did."
[...]
Over those two days, those in the encampment continued to work, to put their efforts towards those few that they could save, their thoughts turned, finally, collectively, towards both the victims under their watch, and those beyond the mountain pass- in Lo Gaseat, and the neighboring base. And though the settlements slept, left unchanged since the moment it was struck down, its mindless inhabitants still stirred from time to time.
In the streets of 'Gaseat, a lone ghoul lay next to a silhouette burnt into the ground, fingers delicately stroking the pattern with the utmost tenderness, low moans uttered as if it ached to give comfort to something that was no longer there. It understood, somewhere, what the black mark emblazoned across the concrete represented- knew that it was here that it had been robbed of its mind, its identity, even its sex... and that something of great importance had been where the shadow was now. Something it had treasured. Night after night, it had returned to this spot to lie down and speak, in its infantile way, to one of many unearthly memories seared into the streets.
Had it any sense, it would have mourned all the disembodied shadows dotting the pavement. Would have stopped at the water tanks the town had relied upon and seen the crush of bodies, skinned by fission and fire, that had piled into them in a desperate bid for hydration, for the opportunity to cool down. If it had traveled down to the army base, it would have been witness to men and women- far enough away from the blast to have a few moments before succumbing- clutching to each other for comfort; would have seen two young soldiers, hand in hand, blackened hides partially shed to give way to decay, bodies so irradiated that even the most opportunistic buzzards passed them by; seen solitary forms without anyone to cling to, or reach to, curled in on themselves.
And at the perimeter of the base, it would see a woman, face-down on the pavement, where the two rangers that had eventually followed her into death had seen her teeter, and fall. In her hand, a bracelet, brilliant turquoise sandblasted into white gold, wed to her skin by the intensity of the blistering shockwave that swept over her, fingers opened as if her every last effort was put making sure someone- anyone- saw it, and took it from her. A gift to those who had thought to save her, maybe... or a memory, to pass on to the person whose name had been engraved into the expertly-crafted finish.
As weeks passed, they would be further stripped of their identities, but for some, their final moments remained frozen in time, a last expression of human emotion.
It seemed merciful, then, that what sense the lone ghoul laid claim to remained so singular; that it might never know the magnitude of the destruction that surrounded it, or understand what it meant. Unlike those that would eventually arrive to survey the damage, it would never ask if the men and women left strewn through the wreckage wept as they died; if they were frightened, lonely or heartbroken.
Those words no longer possessed meaning; nothing did, except the small shadow under its care.
What lessons that were taught by the disaster were ones it would never be privy to, and would never have to learn. In itself, it could only teach. Beyond logistics, answers, strategy and speeches- beyond testimonies and eye-witness accounts, it ignorantly answered the question that so few had wanted to ask, with every idiot stroke of its ruined hand.