Chapter 11:
Who Dares Wins
The common ground was quickly established between Jenner and Johnson. Jenner enlightened him to the current situation of New Reno, and what the Enclave would be planning to do in the future.
"So, how did you hear word that I was headed this way?" Johnson asked.
"Radio, radio communication was recently restored with Navarro and some bases farther east."
"How far east?" Johnson inquired hopefully.
"Our base of operations near Chicago. They got some working Vertibird models as well, and have done exceptionally well in combating the local threats. We have a large science division there as well. They are currently working on Eyebot-style robots designed to spread our influence without the risk of human life."
"Good, that is actually the best news I've heard so far," Johnson replied, "now, can you currently describe the situation here for me?"
"We were actually supposed to expect two operatives. Both of you were headed for the East. The other used to be SEAL, name was Murphy, Marcus. You hear of him before?" Johnson shook his head.
"No, I was Army, we have very little contact with the SEALs, they are a whole other badass cup of tea. I never met any operatives, and I imagined that if I had, I would never have known they were SEALs."
"Nah well. Any way, back to the current objective. Right now, you're standing in a casino in the middle of New Reno, or Reno, Nevada as you know it. This city is actually beset right now by five criminal organizations. Well, four if you don't want to include this organization since it's a front for the Enclave. You have the Bishops, the Mordinos, the Yakuza, and the Collective. The Bishops are a classic example of 1940 era mobs. They got the suits and machine guns to boot. The Mordinos are what you may classify as a gang. They consist largely of hispanic males, and are large suppliers of narcotics and alcohol. They are well funded from this, and are actually pretty well off in defense. Even though they are at the top of our "shit list" we can't afford to take them out yet, they are simply too strong. After this, you got the Yakuza. Although they may sound scary, the Yakuza are a complete husk of their pre-war selves. Think of them as small asian kids running around with sticks. As for the Collective, they have are made primarily of Eastern European Union workers, who before the war had moved to Reno. They specialize in racketeering, larceny, and arson. They are not below kidnapping and/or murdering someone simply to make a point. These are our current targets, and they were the ones you had seen outside. I was implanted with them to try to gain some intelligence, and I had just gotten the intel I needed before you started shooting. With yours and a few others assistance, we can launch a strike against them whenever we are ready."
Johnson sat their listening to all with keen attention to detail. He made sure that he mentally absorbed every single word,and realized quickly that he was likely getting himself into another combat operation. Joy.
"Lastly, you can't really call them a crime family since they are so incredibly weak. They are the Salvatores. They are trying extremely hard to build relations with us, and unlike the other crime families here, all they have is a bar. Maybe in the future we will be able to arm them and actually make them useful to us. In the meantime, they are exceptional cannon fodder."
"So, where do I come in?" Johnson asked. He was eager to get this started, then continue on with his journey. He had a long way to go until he got home. It had been nearly two and a half weeks of almost constant walking, and he was only as far as western Nevada. He desperately wished that at least he could have word of how things were going over there in the capitol, but likely, he would not hear how things were until he himself was there. This was assuming he navigated past a world of hurt that was once the United States of America.
"Simple. You were a Ranger, so we're going to use you to the best of your abilities. You get to blow shit up. Lieutenant Meehan is going to be in charge of the strike team that will cripple the Collective once and for all. Due to resource rationing, you're about as well equipped as the others are already. Meehan is the only one who will be in power armor, but even that is powered by old Microfusion cells. You'll be operating in a four man fire team, you've already got a rifle, so we'll see to it so your weapon is maintained, and you'll get some more ammunition for it. You have Johanes who will be armed with a semi-automatic combat shotgun. He'll be the lead. I'll be behind him with a sub machine gun, and you'll be pulling the rear."
"What is our objective?"
"First and forthmost is to eliminate Alexei Vasily as a threat to our organization. Secondly, you're going to plant charges on the casino and level it to the ground. Bullets, explosions, good times."
"Yeah, fun for the whole family. I have a large feeling there is a "but" coming on though."
"But, we don't have all the intel we need to make our move. We have our moles already imbedded within the Collective, so we're just going to have you relax for another day or so. Two days from now, we should have the guard routine, so we should in theory be able to move by then. I'd take this time to make sure you're well fed, relaxed, and rested. Maybe even get to know the team you're going to be working with."
"Alright, I may do that. I assume my quarters are here?" Johnson asked.
"Yeah, course they are. Good day." Jenner turned and left the room. Johnson decided that the first thing he was going to do was to meet the other members of his team. Jenner had told him as he left that they would likely be found down in the bar, so Johnson assumed that they were nothing more than mercs and guns for hire.
Johnson then turned and closed the door behind him, grabbing only his side arm and carefully hiding it underneath his underarmor and out of sight of others. He didn't need to start a panic for no reason. If he was going to start a panic, he might as well wait until there is good purpose for it. The casino itself was large, and lavish with an overemphasis on material wealth and first world vices. A den of sin and the exploitation of the poor. Such places were havens for crime, so Johnson was relieved that he still carried his trusty hand gun with him. If any one tried pickpocketing him, and they would receive nothing more than a single bullet. Johnson took a seat at a table, and began people-watching. He saw people of all shapes and sizes. Little people, tall people, big people, little people, light people, dark people, skinny people, round people. All wearing different forms of clothing. The lucky ones were still wearing good forms of clothing that had existed before the war. Mainly clothing that had been designed to last, regardless of the situation but which still retained some good old world class. On the other hand, you had some scavengers who wore clothing that was entirely made from multiple cloths, hastily sewn together likely on scavenged needles as well. A few people stood out from the rest of the crowd. There was a single guy at the bar, he was doing nothing but drinking water, and watching people. The lady next to him appeared to be trying to chat him up, but he said nothing. His hair was not washed, and mottled. Whether by sweat, blood, or some other fluids, this was irrelevant. Johnson decided that this man was an anomaly, and stood up to go see him.
"Hey, you're not like the others here, what's your deal?" Johnson asked, he decided to be blunt, and just go for the gold.
"Man Sarge, you do look like shit. I have to say," the man replied.
"Wait, what was that?" Johnson asked to him.
"I know, I know, it's not the same when I'm drinking water. I almost didn't recognize you either, but fortunately, you've always stuck out like a sore thumb."
"You have me at a loss here."
"Hmm. Perhaps this will jot your memory?" the man reached down to his boots, and quickly pulled up his pants leg. As he pulled it up, a strong metal cast revealed itself. It was slightly blue, but still a strong metal.
"You've got to be shitting me..." Johnson stated.
"I know, I know, I said it was only gonna need some stitches, but when I saw it, I just had to have it."
"Davidson, you dumb bastard, even the end of the world can't get rid of you!" Johnson shouted. Never, in a million years had he expected to meet one of his former squadmates here, in post apocalyptic Reno, Nevada.
"I'll say! What the hell does God have to do to finally take you out Sergeant?"
"He sure has tried, but I'm making him sweat for it. Nice leg."
"Thanks, its Saturnite shit. Real space-age stuff. It is ultra light in comparison to bone and flesh, but it is twice as strong as even the most dense bone."
"Ah, so even after the end of the world, the American Government owns your ass."
"Till death do us part."
"So, you're that knucklehead tagging along with me on this mission? I never heard them mention your name before."
"Yeah, call it an alias. You see, that "Jenner" guy isn't really Enclave. Only a few of the people here are actually Enclave. Most of them are just independents who enjoy being made our bitch. I figured, eh, I get to become Batman and shoot guns a lot, so why not?"
"I'd say I owe you a drink after what we've been through," Johnson offered. He nodded to the Bartender. Davidson shook his head.
"Nah man, I don't drink any more. I need a clear head to keep focus out here. I have one good leg, and by the grace of God, I intend to only have ONE good leg. I don't need to go all robo-cop out here. There's some bad juju around."
"Alright, well it is great seeing you. I'll have to hit you up later, bunch of shit going down." Johnson shook the hand of Davidson, then walked away. Last time they had met, Davidson had one less leg, now however he seems better than ever. This also raised the thoughts into Johnson's mind as to whether or not any other members were still alive. Perhaps it wasn't nearly as botched of an operation as he had originally expected.
Johnson met the Lieutenant and was extremely unimpressed. The LT was apparently an LT because he had seen the most war movies. He had an exaggerated sense of military service, and what a leader actually is. Johnson found everything that Meehan did to be annoying, and any orders given were easily ignored. When Meehan tried to get physical, Johnson simply knocked him to the floor and reminded him that he didn't have time for that. The man knew little to nothing about real-world combat besides bullying the weak, and appearing tough with a large gun. The weapon that Meehan had was clearly poorly maintained, and was as likely to get Meehan killed as it was the guy on the other end of the weapon.
Johnson could definitely get used to the fresh food in the place. Even though he ate that disgusting crap all the time, he learned quickly in the field that the best food was always a hot meal that was made fresh. He learned that in the military, and the end of the world only reaffirmed this. Johnson enjoyed the fresh steak he had. Although never a steak person before, simply having juicy red meat was absolutely divine. Even more divine was the fact that it was free. That made ANYTHING taste at least a little better. He enjoyed this steak with a side of stale potato chips, and a fresh apple. He then downed the meal altogether with an ice-cold nuka cola. Cold drinks had seemed to go extinct, but fortunately, some beautiful people found ways to insure that the cold soda would still survive to go on and bless many more people with its presence.
After downing the Soda, he simply walked into the gentlemen's club. He thought that perhaps, some of the women would get his attention off of the task at hand and help him relax and steady himself. He was wrong. The entire time he was there, he didn't look at a single lady. He felt...unclean. His very presence in the room through him off, and made him anxious. He thought of home the entire time, and how he had gotten to the situation he was in it. He ended up leaving no more than five minutes after he had originally entered. He decided to simply head back to his room. He spent the rest of the evening just sitting there. He checked, then double checked, then triple checked his weapons. He had a cleaning kit for both his weapons, so he made sure to extensively use it on them. There was no way that a rifle and a pistol could be any more clean than they were now, especially given the circumstances. At the same time, he made sure that even his knife was cleaned and polished. It had seen A LOT of wear and tear lately, and Johnson had to sharpen it. It was beginning to lose the serrated edge due to the large amount of animal skinning that Johnson had done. In the end, he probably wouldn't need it, but it still could come in useful one day. Polished to a fine silver, the gray shined in the light of the room. There was a window in his room, and Johnson used it to look outside. The sky was a light tan and green. The planet clearly felt the scars of humanity's wanton destruction against her. Her ecology decimated, her atmosphere ravaged, her very existence completely compromised. Eventually, Johnson left the view of utter destruction, and went to bed. He again had a night without the plague of dreams.
He awoke to an insufferable asshole beating on his door. "Wake up buttercup! It's go time!" Johnson quickly stirred to his feet, and grabbed his weapon. He slid on his balaclava that had accompanied the helmet, and then put on a pair of goggles for eye protection. Finally, he slid his helmet onto his head, and gave it a tap to make sure it was secure, then exited the room.
"Just like old times, right Sergeant?"
"Yeah. Just like old times."
The targeted casino itself was nothing more than a run down old building. There was a single guard out front, but the first shot from Meehan with a rifle round. His head disintegrated into putty, then the squad advanced to the doorway. As they stacked up, they each tapped each other's shoulder from the man in the rear to the man in the front. Davidson nodded, then moved in front of the door. He gave it a mule kick, then slid out of the way. The men entered the room, quickly assessing and firing at any one who had been seen as a threat. The casino was slowly cleared this way, room by room, until they came to what appeared to be a large banquet hall. As they entered the room, Jenner was the first man forward. As he entered, he took a round to chest and fell over bleeding. Meehan freaked out during this time, and refused to enter the room.
"Come on Meehan! Get in there! Let's go!" Johnson ordered.
"HELL NO! I ain't gettin' shot!" Meehan replied.
"If they don't shoot you, I WILL, now go!"
"Fuck this!" Meehan took off. Johnson looked to Davidson as he raised his weapon.
"Nah, he isn't worth it man. Let's just go." Davidson looked to him, then nodded. Johnson suddenly produced a stick from Jenner's person. He unbuckled his helmet, and put it on the stick and slowly poked it out of the doorway. A large burst of fire took the helmet and spun it around ferociously. Johnson decided that enough was enough. He looked to Davidson, made two fists, then moved one quickly past the other. Davidson tossed him a hand grenade in response. Johnson nodded then pulled the pin and tossed it in.
"What in the F-" the man was interrupted by an explosion. Johnson quickly ran into the room and fired at the machine gunner encamped there. The man had been using an old soviet-era light machine gun which explained for its large amount of pain. Johnson checked the body, and it had an ID. It was no one but Mr. Vasily himself. Suddenly, without warning, his eyes burst home. He let out a snarl and produced a knife and swung it upwards. It connected with Johnson's arm. Johnson let out a growl in reply as his assailant twisted the knife out and went for another attack. This time however, Johnson was ready. He backed up and kicked Alexei straight in the nuts. This made Alexei gasp in pain, like most people would when given a boot to the baby maker. Before he could react, Johnson drew his side arm and fired four rounds into him, this time making sure he was dead.
"Hot damn, he nicked me good right there. Can't believe I got so careless..."
"Really? I got my leg blown off by a gauss rifle, and you get clipped by a butter knife? Quit yer cryin. Here, let me patch you up." Davidson produced a sterile bandage and a stimpack. First, bandaging the wound to make sure that the wound would be protected, then he injected the delicious blend of anti-bacterials and stimulants into Johnson's arm. It would help the body repair itself, and at the same time, form a chemical barrier against most forms of pathogens.
"So, it's about time you tell me, what the hell are you doing out here?"
"Well, a bit of this and that. You?"
"I'm trying to get to Raven Rock. Say, would you accompany me? This entire country is so god damned fucked up, I'll need the best watching my back."
"If I have to keep dragging your ass around like this, I'll be pissed." Johnson laughed at his remark. It was time to wrap things up here in New Reno, then he would be able to proceed as planned. There was a long road ahead. At least now, in theory, it wouldn't be a lonesome road.
Sorry for the long delay again peeps. You know how I said it would be a normal schedule once again? Well apparently I had lied :3. I did not want to lie, but I did. This chapter was odd for me to write, and it felt like it was missing some of that special seasoning I like to sprinkle over it. I hope you enjoy the chapter, but honestly it didn't feel right. I did, however enjoy the twist that I had induced there. Also, there is a special cookie for any special forces slogans that you noticed mentioned in this chapter and in the last. As always, I hope you all have a pleasant evening and a wonderful tomorrow. Also, congratulations on having the last chapter get the strongest view count evar. Over 200 beautiful people decided to tune into either one or more of the chapters, job well done. Job well done.
