1st June, 2242

60 Days till the Project

The day of Sutler's re-location from the bureaucratic drudgery of Financial couldn't come soon enough, along with terminating his relationship with the pudgy mass of Sergeant Elliot. The brief spark of good-will he had granted the man burned out the next morning as he gleefully announced the mass order of work that had come in from the Deck 5 Commissary and had slammed a large stack of papers onto Sutler's desk in a move he was certain had been intended to exacerbate his pounding headache. But that was over and he was going back to the ENCLAVE Control Company, the ECC. Nebulous in its actual purpose, the ECC served as a holding unit for a great many of the USJF's personnel where no specific duties could be found. They patrolled the Oil Rig, manned security stations, performed manual labour, did inspections and drilled – almost endlessly – for the myriad of "Emergency Scenarios" that might befall the Oil Rig from an enemy assault to reactor failure. If it weren't for the fact that so many of the Enclave was in the ECC they'd probably be disliked a lot more than they already were, where-ever a drill was being ran meant that everyone involved had to take part – and nothing irked the scientists more than mere "Jarheads" like themselves taking up a day's worth of work to "play games".

There were however some drawbacks, Sutler had known his new CO before but not where he was being posted. The ENCLAVE had 16 Decks, built into a hermetically sealed cylindrical silo supported between the four legs of the platform, with the President on the top and the reactor on the bottom; sandwiched in-between the reactor and the fab-labs in Deck 13 was the dock on Deck 14 where the crew of a Poseidon Energy Tanker could come aboard the Oil Rig. Of-all of the Decks on the Oil Rig, Deck 14 was the least visited, and it was the Deck to which he was assigned under Sergeant Granite. The Sergeant had a ready room right beside the surprising large and spacious lobby. In the world of the Enclave, where the underside of stairwells were used as storage, rooms this large and empty simply did not exist; if only he'd know about it as a kid, the mock battles they could have staged in here. The room seemed to have captured Autumn's thoughts too, though for likely dissimilar reasons.

"Look at all this room," he said as Sutler came up behind him. He flapped his hands with a sigh. "How many containers from the Caches could we fit in here? All those flights to the Mainland these decades… over time it would have added up."

"Because, Private Autumn," a gravelly voice from behind them rang out. "Where would the mainlanders enter if this place was attacked by sea?"

They both turned around and away from the room to see a figure behind them, like Autumn and Sutler he had removed his helmet and Sutler saw why a pudgy man like Sergeant Elliot would be wary of this him. What-ever existed under his armour, Sutler didn't know, but Granite's neck was as thick as his head and its bulging mass at-odds with his slender and angularly features.

"Here sir."

"Exactly," Granite replied with a sly grin. "This room is a killing-field. Besides, doing Cache, or Cattle, runs is about the only time we get in the field in the ECC so be grateful. Oh shit your Autumn," he glanced at Autumn's name on his chest plate and then at Sutler. "Son of one of the greatest Boxers in the Enclave? Pleasure to meet you, Horatio Granite – Sergeant."

"Yeah," Autumn said sourly. "My Dad is the best. Augustus Autumn… Junior."

"Is that a Yuma Flatts?" Sutler interjected, looking at the sleek rifle Granite held at his side.

"What, this little thing," Granite said in a mockingly coy tone, he bared his teeth in a wide grin. "Hell yeah, Horatio Granite and his electric rifle. Do you know how many cans of freeze-dried coffee me an d this beast have escorted back from the Sonoma Coast? Well you let me tell you," he stopped laughing. "Quite a fucking lot. But I earned this gun, I ain't giving it just for a Mainland posting. Ain't gonna matter after the Project anyhow. But I understand that I have another aficionado of the finer-side of death dealing here with me to-day. Private Sutler," he looked back at Sutler and smiled. "Let's have a look soldier."

Sutler drew his Gauss Pistol from his chest rig, flipped it casually in his hand and tossed it, grip first, at Granite whom caught it deftly. "Walther PPK12… not bad. Why not go for the full rifle if you got this far?"

"Sutler's always been weird about handguns," Autumn said dryly.

"Look," Sutler interjected, like anyone who had earned a weapon better than the standard AER he was oddly defensive about his gun. "She may be small but, Christ, she can put a round through you at Mach 1.5 if I choose."

"Small and fast," Granite said, weighing the gun. "Sounds perfect for you Private." He ran his thumb along down the large circular coils that jutted from the barrel.

"Very funny Sir."

Granite laughed heartily and tossed the weapon back.

"Where would the GI be without innuendo? Glad to have both of you guys aboard. Let me give you the run down here," he placed his hands on his hips, screwing his face into an expression of upmost seriousness. "We are among the first response team in the event of an attack by a hostile force!" He suddenly barked in a manner that reminded Sutler of Sergeant Hillenkoetter. "Where-upon it will be your sacred duty to fight and die for your country! But until that happens we'll mostly just aimlessly make our presence felt around here and sit back and play cards." He gave a hearty laugh and cracked another huge grin.

"Sorry its nothing better boys but, well shit, we ain't going to have much to shoot at in a few months anyway so make the most of it. Young boys like us will probably be getting long rotations on the mainland soon enough."

5th June, 2242

56 Days till the Project

Everyone was talking about Navarro, technically they shouldn't be but word always got around fast. There had been a spy at Navarro. An actual spy, not just some dumb mainlander who wandered too close and came across a patrol but an honest-to-God operative of an enemy force that had been gathering information on them and successfully too if the rumours were to be believed. Who-ever the women was didn't matter anymore, she was probably dead and tossed overboard by now, but the group that she had worked for one Sutler vaguely remembered from a Threat Assessment seminar – the Brotherhood of Steel. The Brotherhood of Steel was the most organised threat against them on the mainland besides the Chinese occupation force in San Francisco, had access to power armour units and energy weapons, and were not to be taken lightly.

Navarro had since found itself rapidly brought into line, the base had always been too large for the amount of personnel assigned there and this had really opened some eyes amongst the top-deck brass. The place was already crawling with civies doing work related to the post-Project colonisation but now the ECC was being gutted to provide more bodies to patrol the huge facility.

"I do not envy the son-of-a-bitch they pin this on," Granite remarked over a steaming cup of coffee in the ready-room. "That poor asshole is going to be on Laundry rotation till the end of time. And that women they caught," Granite exhaled sharply. "God only knows what was left of her after the SS was done with her – they probably got Horrigan in."

The SS, the Secret Service, was the Enclave's resident bogeymen – sure a lot was made of the Chinese occupiers in San Francisco but they were just a talking point. The real shady business went on on-board the Oil Rig itself in the Service's offices on Deck 2. Save for providing personnel security for the President, which itself was is just a Legacy procedure, very little about they're more practical responsibilities was known. After the War, SS had absorbed the remains of the pre-war Intelligence Community making it responsible for gathering intelligence on external threats as-well as the nebulous notion of "internal security". The notion that they were being secret policed was enough to send a chill down Sutler's, and indeed anyone's spine. The Enclave was not a big, happy family, there were: family feuds, Deck, and department rivalries, drunken spats and lovers tiffs, but the notion that someone around him might secretly harbour seditious and subversive thoughts was an anathema – an impossibility surely? Desertions, the most taboo of subjects, were not unheard of it was true – even if they were labelled as "MIA" – but they happened to other people not the people Sutler knew.

They even had their own literal monster in the form of Frank Horrigan, a former human whom had been at Mariposa with his father. It had been one of the most heated subjects in the Enclave at the time, back in 2236, and tough Sutler was too young to take part – and more concerned about the fate of his father – he still remembered the blocs and committees raging into the night about the affair. Standard procedure was sterilisation, it had happened a few times down on the Reactor level during an accident, but Horrigan wasn't even remotely human anymore. Many had argued for euthanasia as a brave soldier whom was subject to a fate worse than death and that his confessed loyalty to the Enclave was the product of a deluded mind, whilst the others argued that he remained loyal and remained a valuable asset to the nation that they could not simply cast aside. In the end this side one and Horrigan got himself a promotion to the ranks of the Secret Service. He wasn't an easy figure to hide, not anonymous like everyone else in their power armour, and when – earlier in the week – Horrigan had been on the flight deck the whole Enclave knew that someone on the Mainland was in for a rude awakening.

"Mutant whore got what she deserved," Sutler said coldly.

"No doubt," Autumn said with a sharp exhale. Nobody liked to dwell on what Horrigan was capable of.

It was then that a wall-mounted telephone rang.

"D14.2, Sergeant Granite speaking. Err… yes sir, yes sir. We'll be there straight away Sir. Over and out." Granite replaced the receiver, paused to gulp down the remains of his coffee – wincing at the heat. "We got to move out," he coughed. "D5.16."

"The Briefing Room?"

"Yeah Sutler, looks like things might not be so static to-day boy."

Sutler had never been to such a packed mission brief, admittedly he hadn't been on many Mainland excursions since graduating, and even those had only been Cache runs to Austin Creek. The place was crammed like a safety seminar but without the seats, troopers in armour jostling past one-another before the podium at-which half-a-dozen officers in dull olive tunics were milling about. Sutler and company signed the clipboard as they entered before the young officer darted off with it to the men on the podium.

"Right," a women with Captain's bars pinned to her black lapels yelled. "Listen up soldiers. My name is Captain Bradley, US Secret Service. At zero-three-hundred hours, PST, on the 3rd of June, a Secret Service task-force under Special Agent Horrigan was deployed to the occupied city of San Francisco with the objective of locating and neutralising a known Brotherhood of Steel facility."

A small murmur floated through the gathered troopers, Horrigan suspicions confirmed.

"This operation was a success and we recovered intelligence has revealed several other Brotherhood of Steel locations through-out the region to be neutralised."

There was more murmuring amongst the crowd.

"If we're this close to the completion of the Project, why risk the man-power?" Autumn whispered in Sutler ear; Sutler nodded slightly. It did seem like an unnecessary risk. Apparently the feeling was common and expected, a flustered look coming over the haughty officer.

"This order comes directly from the President," she said simply, a powerful act of placating any crowd. "The recovery of Mainlander test subjects, such as Arroyo last week, is still required for the Project. It is vital to ensure that any threats to Navarro that might disrupt our Mainland operations are neutralised as soon as-possible. This is the President's instruction." She cleared her throat and continued as-though uninterrupted.

"We have learned through the San Francisco operation that these Brotherhood of Steel facilities have been re-activated as a direct response to our Mainland operations with the function of determining the nature of those operations. This operation is vital to ensuring our national security. The locations that we have identified are the following."

Somewhere on stage, someone clicked a button and a slide showing a map of California was displayed on the screen behind the women, marked with five red points (one of which was San Francisco); Captain Bradley picked-up a small metal pointer.

"We have identified four further locations. Weed, Siskiyou County, known on the Mainland as "the Den"."

Though likely a no-name place before the War the name, Siskiyou County, was one well known through-out the Enclave as the site of the "Klamath Incident" when a Vertibird had gone down in the county, due to a malfunction, earlier last year. They'd sent in a big recovered team followed by an inspection of a nearby settlement; no-wonder the Brotherhood thought that they might have other interests in the area.

"Weed was a former lumber town," Bradley continued. "Estimated population in-excess of four-hundred. Place is remote and poorly organised, no local resistance is expected. Recovered intelligence indicates a permanent garrison of four. Sergeant Granite you have been tasked with the neutralisation of this facility. "

She rattled off the remaining three locations, all of which – bar one – shared the common thread of being areas of high Vertibird activity recently. Reno, or New Reno, where the Enclave frequently traded low-grade energy weapons for chemical supplies and slaves with a Mainland syndicate. An outpost in western-Nevada close by a Poseidon Energy nuclear power station which had had a surviving PoseidoNet connexion and had inadvertently raised the Oil Rig before it was destroyed in a subsequent assault. The only outlier was a bunker at Lone Pine, in Western California. Though it was true that the Enclave had been Vault 13, a location quite close to the settlement, more than likely the reason for this location was that Lone Pine had since become a rather large post-war city and the seat of a locally declared government – the New California Republic. All locations outside of the NCR were to be neutralised; the base at Lone Pine had been granted reprieve due to the perceived threat posed by the NCR if it were to be engaged.

After getting the run-down they went over a threat-assessment of the Brotherhood of Steel: access to high-grade military armaments, including power armour, small-unit tactics. Take prisoners only when no risk to combat effectiveness. Threat assessment: Severe.

"This is a Secret Service operation," Bradley said. "Not ECC. File your After-Action Reports to my name at SS-EnclaveNet. Any questions? Good. Prep for immediate deployment. You're dismissed."

"Oh Mainlanders, don't you run from me! I'm coming off the Oil Rig with my rifle on my knee! Come on Autumn, join in, it's a southern classic." Granite laughed, his booming voice clearly audible even over the roar of the Vertibird's engines. "What's the matter, you get airsick?"

"No Sergeant," Autumn responded, pensively. "Just a little nervous I guess. Why I must say, going up against PA… even the 45d can take a glancing blast from a laser." He cradled his laser rifle rather consciously.

"Don't sweat it boy," Granite dropped his good-humoured façade, taking on a firm tone. "There's plenty of fire-power here to down what-ever they got. Hell," he broke tone, laughing again heartily. "I'd take 'em all on myself. Got a buddy at Navarro getting his ass reamed because of these guys… I owe him a couple bodies. What about you Sutler? You feelin' it?"

"Yes Sergeant," Sutler smirked back. "Nothing stops Gauss. End of story."

"That's the right attitude boy. Err… Sergeant?"

Granite indicated the Secret Service soldier, who had spent most of the flight quietly stood by the door watching the world flash by in the gathering dawn. Sutler had been watching her through-out the flight; he imagined the woman, Sergeant Keats, watching the world beneath her and wishing she could set it, and all the Mainlanders, ablaze – the SS were known for a special kind of zealotry.

"Just looking forward to boots on the ground Sergeant Granite, you follow my lead and we'll make this a clean op. Which is to say of-course, quite messy." She let out a sinister chuckle. "Just think about it, the first and last power-armour on power-armour engagement before we gas these freaks out from the face of our Earth… it's beautiful in its own way."

Sutler sniggered as Granite mouthed something obscene at him behind her back.

The Vertibird began descending towards the small town nestled between the hills and blasted forest-scape.

"Standby," the pilot yelled. "Get ready for drop."

"Pop your meds boys," Sergeant Keats said and Sutler drew a dose of Psycho from his kit and slid it through the slot into his left fore-arm.

"Kill 'em all," he stammered, his neck twitching, as he slid the plunger down on the combat-drug. There was a flash of haziness, a single drunken throb in his head before everything came into brilliant focus.

The four soldiers took their places at the side doors of the Vertibird which folded back with a billowing gust of outside air. The small county police station on the outskirts of town, where the Brotherhood were based, was looming closer. A squat one-story building, surrounded by a small barricade of US Army bunker-kit pieces painted in the familiar olive green. It sickened Sutler somewhat to see something so familiar to him used by an enemy. The Vertibird slowed into a hovering pattern right before the entrance to the building, a lone figure in dull combat armour was scrambling to find cover somewhere before the Vertibird loosed a single missile at the front-doors of the building. It made the space in seconds, exploding somewhere in the lobby of the police station, blasting chunks of masonry into the air as the ceiling and outer-walls exploded outwards from the missile. The police station begun to collapse and the Vertibird swung round in the air exposing the two Sergeants at the right-hand door to the scene. They rained down on the armoured figure as he struggled to regain his footing and he burst into flames under the torrent of laser fire.

At a command from Sergeant Keats, they dropped into combat, the ancient tarmac of the road beneath them poweredised beneath the tread of power armoured boots. Keats was already on her radio, Autumn and Granite making towards the ruined building with weapons ready. Sutler spun around scanning across the street from the station; tracing the sights of his pistol across the ruined buildings he thought he caught a glimpse of one or two people watching them.

"CEON-4, come in over." Keats was saying into the radio. "Structural integrity cannot be confirmed. Do no fire on the building. Star airborne and keep the mutants away from this place. You have permission to engage civilians over. Copy, over and out."

She gave a jerking motion to Sutler, he nodded and begun backing towards the building. They formed up in groups of two on either side of the rubble that had once been the main entrance to the police station. Keats stared into the room and, after a series of hand-gestures relayed their orders.

Granite began, tossing a plasma grenade into the silent lobby, barely waiting for the cracking aftermath to disappear from the air before they charged in. Sutler took an immediate left through an open doorway of the lobby into a large office; old metal desks had been pushed up against the walls to clear the floor-space for a scattering of dull metal crates that gathered around the flimsy wooden columns that rose to the ceiling. He dropped into cover just in-time as a burst of automatic laser fire came from somewhere in the room. He drew his own plasma grenade and allowed it a second to cook before sending it hurtling across the room. As it exploded, there was a great crumbling sound and a muffled yell as more of the ceiling gave way where a wooden support had been vapourised by the plasma explosion. He peered around again, aware then of the sounds of fire coming from elsewhere in the building.

He cautiously stepped from cover, striding slowly down an aisle between the stacks of crates – trained on the pile of rubble that littered the floor beneath the gaping hole in the roof. Circling the pile of rubble he saw a young men in the same combat armour struggling to dislodge his lower self from the debris and reach for his thrown laser rifle. Without pause he crossed the space to the man, whom had managed to contort himself at the sound of the encroaching thunderous footsteps to face Sutler. Without pause, Sutler brought his boot down on the man's left cheek, the combat helmet he wore simply folding down the middle and rupturing as the half buried man stopped his flailing with a soft popping sound. He didn't stay to see something red and viscous ooze from the folded helmet and what-ever remained within, instead heading to the back-wall and kicking open a fire escape. He inched out, checking the back of the building for any hostiles of which it was clear.

"Clear!" Sutler yelled.

The police station had a central, square lobby, with a row of offices running left of this which Sutler cleared. Stepping back into the building, he went through an open doorway into a small mess room which took him behind the lobby to the buildings right-side where the rest of the team where. A doorway on the other-side was where he had heard the shooting from earlier.

"Friendly!" Sutler shouted ahead of him, peering into the room to see the others crossing the distance towards him.

"One contact eliminated," he told Keats.

"Copy that, bagged two here," she thumbed the room behind her. "Just a couple of mutie's in combat armour."

They were in a small room decorated with rusty lockers and benches, grimy white tiles cracked beneath boot tread and green paint flaking from the walls. On the other-side of the room was a staircase leading down.

"Cells are down there," Keats said sourly. "Gotta clear them, line-up on me."

Sutler peered past her down the stair case, some light was spilling through a doorway at the foot of them. They watched it for a second, hoping to see a flicker of someone moving and blocking out the light. Keats had gotten half-way down the stairs when something bright and green came screaming at them and she jumped back as plasma slapping into the space where her feet and shins had been.

"Shit," she cursed, signalling them back up. "Attention hostile!" She bellowed down the staircase, now safely back in the locker room. "This is Sergeant Keats. US Joint Force. You are to surrender immediately and allow yourself to be taken into Federal custody as an illegal alien on United States territory."

"Ad Victorium!" Came the yelled response, filtered through the tinny speakers of a suit of power armour.

Sutler shared a glance with Autumn, only imagining the look of bemusement on his face.

"Fuck this," Keats traced a line from the staircase across the floor, marching along until she was satisfied. She raised a hand, making a circle with her index finger for them to gather around. Silently she pulled the plasma grenade from her chest rig and indicated a spot on the floor. Simple enough plan, just blow through and get the drop on this guy. As she prepped the grenade on the floor, everyone else stepped back. Sutler had never been so close to a plasma explosion, he could feel the heat of it even through his power armour as it erupted on the floor. That was when the situation collapsed.

Through the dissipating green energy came a burst of plasma from the floor down below, striking Sergeant Keats and she crumpled to the floor beside Sutler.

"Oh fuck,"

"Sutler! What's her status!" Granite yelled.

Sutler looked down at Keats. Her chest plate had melted away, exposing charred and blackened tissue. A faint mist was arising from inside the wound as the water inside her boiled away and Sutler was thankful for the filters on his oxygen intake. He looked away.

"She's dead Sir, fuck."

"God dammit," Granite cursed. "COEN-4 we got a KIA. Sergeant Keats over. Roger that, over and out."

Granite looked at Sutler and nodded towards the staircase. Nodding back Sutler got up, crossing the distance to it before turning back around. Granite and Autumn started firing blindly into the hole in the ground and, seeing plasma fire coming from below Sutler moved. Leaping down the stair case, he was staring down a spartan concrete corridor, one-side lined with holding cells at a figure in T51b power armour standing back from the hole above him and firing blindly into it. Sutler aimed and fired at maximum capacity, his gauss pistol erupting with a sonic bomb as a 2mm round left. The round struck the figures chest, the force causing him to stagger. Despite himself he panicked, it was the first time a single round hadn't resulted in a straight kill. He fired again and again into the figure ahead. A round struck the shoulder in the right place, causing the pauldron to explode from the frame. The Brotherhood soldier dropped his rifle, seemingly overcome with pain he fell into the wall clutching at his arm which wasn't moving.

Sutler started running, sprinting pell-mell down the corridor shoulder first. The Brotherhood soldier looked up but couldn't move in time before being slammed into the wall at end the corridor to the sound of crumbling concrete.

"Clear!" Sutler yelled and a pair of slamming sounds behind him signalled the arrival of Granite and Autumn. He punched the Brotherhood soldier in the face with the crunch of metal on metal before Granite placed an arm on his shoulder and pulled him back. He aimed his rifle at the figure against the wall and opened fire, and together Granite, Autumn and Sutler unloaded their weapons into the Brotherhood soldier.

Keats was laid out across the floor of the Vertibird on the flight back and everyone else was silent. Sutler hadn't known her, and maybe they did resent being put under the SS's command but she was still a Compatriot-in-arms. Sutler looked down at the dead women lying on the floor, he'd never even seen her face before but could still see right into the place where her heart had been before being burned away in plasma-fire. He hoped he wouldn't have to see anyone else die again in the line of-duty.