DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING OR ANYONE IN THE FALLOUT UNIVERSE. ONLY MY OCS.

Chapter 10: A Few Good Men (Or The Next Best Thing)

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Date: April 20, 2285

Location: Natchitoches, Louisiana

Time: 1127 (11:27 A.M.)

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Drew sat in the room just outside the office of the commanding officer for the LSM in the Natchitoches area. Even through the thick wooden door, Drew could hear the heads and asses being handed out to the soldiers who had been supposed to be on a 'protection' detail that, apparently, he had (or rather was not SUPPOSED to have had) seen neither hide nor hair of since first arriving in Natchitoches.

Once Emily's transport had made it safely to Boyce that previous afternoon, Emily immediately paid for a transit ticket explaining that goods, guns, and liquor weren't the only things the Bootleggers transported along the Interstate. He was led to what once must have been a city transit bus for the city of Alexandria, rebuilt and redesigned to accept the 160 proof fuel that all Bootlegger vehicles ran off of, and was soon on the fast track back to Natchitoches.

Macy had stayed behind to help Emily with the repairs to her transport which, oddly enough, Emily agreed to much to the evident displeasure of Buford who muttered something about being 'built to destroy' and got a massive 14 gauge socket wrench thrown at him and a free lesson on how to sing soprano.

While Buford went to the 'standby room' to search for something cold to numb the pain, Emily took Drew aside and explained her reasoning.

'Macy may be the worst mechanic in the history of all mankind but she IS my sister and Will was our brother. She needs something to do otherwise it'll be just like Mom's death all over again. Besides, I'm a good enough mechanic myself to be able to fix anything she breaks and what I can't fix, I've got enough caps saved up that I can replace them, no problem.'

Plus Emily had told him that it might be a good idea to leave Macy alone while she mourns. It was plain as day that she blamed HIM for Will's death and, as the old saying goes, 'wouldn't give him a glass of water if he was burning'. Hopefully, with a little time... okay, a LOT of time, Macy may come around holding civilized conversations with him again. Though, he honestly doubted that they would ever have any kind of relationship from before.

Well, unless Hell froze over...

He was disrupted from his musings by the door flying open and a gruff voice bellowing like a rutting brahmin.

"Drew Durr! Get your ass in here NOW! I've said my piece to these dumbasses but they were only in the frying pan, you mister are in the fire!"

(Talk about burning...)

Drew rose and walked into the office and there, behind an old desk, sat a man in a dress uniform of unbroken grey. On his shoulders were two stars denoting his rank as Lieutenant-General. On the right breast of the coat the name 'Weathers' was sewn in and on the left side were numerous ribbons and accommodations.

General Weathers had a reputation for being a calm and understanding man. To see him angry like this was something out of a nightmare. The common saying was that 'When Weathers gets mad, not even a Hell Jumper would dare stand before him'. And the way this man was glaring now Drew was sure that not even one of the famous (or rather infamous) Corps would oppose him.

Though not a soldier, Drew nevertheless felt the compulsion to stand at attention, heels together, legs straight (though not enough to cut of blood circulation), hands to his sides, and his eyes focusing on the raging tempest that swirled in the General's eyes. After a moment of staring at each other, Weathers grunted.

"Well? Have you anything to say about your little 'escapade' along I49? Any sort of excuse as to why you would up and leave when you knew damn good and well that I would be calling on you to give a debriefing of the events that have transpired? Now because you were a no-show, the chances that the LSM can mobilize to retake Robeline and you can bury your dead just went from slim to none." Before Drew could speak, the General raised a hand, evidently not quite finished with his ranting.

"Quite frankly, there is a FAR better chance of Hell freezing over, Elvis coming back to Earth in a UFO, and a far, FAR better chance that Michaels over there might ACTUALLY get laid this afternoon rather than Robeline being saved. You had ONE chance to explain to some of the most important people in the LSM why we should get off our asses and DO something and you fucked it up five ways from Sunday! Now then, would you care to explain why you made us here in Natchitoches look like fools in front of our superiors?" Drew sighed, he knew that saying he was dragged along by his half-crazy ex and her sister would NOT be the best idea.

"General, I offer no excuses. Only my deepest and most profound apologies to you and to the men you asked to keep an eye on me. I just felt it was my duty to inform Miss Macy Coleson and Miss Emily Coleson of their brother's death and... well... one thing led to another and everything went to hell in a handbasket from there. One moment I was speaking to Macy, the next I'm using a machinegun built for a warship to blow holes in raiders that were SUPPOSED to be no more." General Weathers looked at him, a glint of curiousity in his eyes.

"What do you mean 'Raiders that should not be'?"

"While arriving in Flatwoods, we were attacked by raiders wearing faded orange jumpsuits. When I inquired to Emily's assistant, Buford, he said they were a group of raider that were SUPPOSED to have been wiped out by the Copperhead Mercenaries some time ago. Now, I'm not saying anything against one of the six Companies but either they didn't kill all of them as they believed and the raiders reformed or they deliberately let some of them live to fulfill some purpose."

"Like what? Cause enough terror that the people will call them again and have them do... the... exact... same... thing... as before... Damn. I was afraid of this." This time it was Drew who was curious.

"General?" General Weathers turned and looked to his men.

"All of you, dismissed. Stay by the door to ensure we are not overheard. Now then, Drew, what I'm about to tell you is extremely confidential. No one, not even that porcine imitation of a mayor, knows of this. Remember the bridge collapse a few days ago? Well, there was a man who claimed to have seen men hefting Copperhead Merc equipment and they appeared to be chipping away at the aging concrete on the supports." Drew became serious, he remembered hearing that many people died on that bridge and that, due to the Copperhead Mercs delayed response, some who had survived were either eaten by the predators in the water, drowned, or were crushed as the debris settled.

"Where is this witness?" Weathers shook his head.

"I don't know. Not a day after he told me what he had seen, he vanished without a trace. I sent one of my best men after him but now HE's gone too. In all honesty, I had you brought here because I need someone I feel I can trust with this and that someone is YOU. You came here to start work as a freelance mercenary, right? At least until you destroy the mercs responsible for Robeline?" Drew nodded slowly.

"Well then, Drew Durr, consider this your first mission for me. Find my missing soldier and, if possible, the informant as well. If the Copperheads are really as corrupt as people have been whispering about all this time then they already have a stranglehold on the northern part of the 49. This might be enough to bring them before the State and get them either barred from military contracts, or disbanded altogether. The pay will be five-hundred caps for my soldier plus an extra two-fifty for the informant. Will you do this?"

Drew really didn't have to think twice. Sarge had told him when he came back that in his absence, he had put Drew's name up as a freelancer but so far had drawn nothing but blanks. Here was a job that, normally, would go to one of the six Companies but instead it was being handed to him, on a silver platter, by the regional commander of all LSM forces no less.

He nodded, much to Weathers' evident relief.

"Thank you. Now then, be warned, I have reason to believe the soldier and possibly the informant are being held outside the Natchitoches region, as such, I am unable to provide you with any support as doing so will raise a red flag to the Copperheads. I am aware however, that as a freelancer you could, theoretically say, recruit your own team. Do I have your interest?"

Drew nodded. The General was getting to something. Weathers reached into his desk and pulled a group of folders out and lay them on the desk.

"I have here a group of... individuals... who, despite no longer being affiliated with the LSM, still wish to serve their nation. Now, that goes without saying that these people are ex-militia for various reasons: dishonorable discharges, disorderly conduct, things of that nature. Still, they would rather be out and about than languishing in the brig. Naturally only the ones we trust will not betray us or their employer are given a dossier and are listed here. The rules state that I'm only to allow those with 'APPROVED' status but to be honest, as long as they don't have 'DENIED' on their file I can offer them to any freelancer who asks for help."

Weathers looked through the dossiers himself and then produced two and then walked over to Drew.

"Now this is only my recommendation but I believe that these two gentlemen would be the best candidates for this... particular type of job. I also urge you to bring your dog with you as she may prove valuable in the field."

Drew took the folders and glanced over them.

"Roy Jenkins, 21, Caucasian, Corporal, LSM 3rd Medical Corps, D Company, 2nd Platoon. Goes by the nickname 'Jigger'. Skilled in small arms and medical equipment, triage, and treatment. Arrested for assaulting two MPs and flashing the Historic District. Application for freelance work: ACCEPTED." Drew looked to General Weathers.

"Assault and Streaking?" Weather nodded.

"Indeed. To his own credit though, we have confirmed he HAD been, without his knowledge, doped up with Jet so we dropped the Assault charges. As for the streaking... well... all who witnessed the act claim to have not seen 'anything truly impressive or substantial'. Nevertheless, one of the MPs he attacked is the daughter of a state councilman and he demanded the boy's head. Not that I blame him but, to be fair, his daughter did more damage to him than he did to her." Drew nodded and then looked at the second dossier.

"Richard Collins, 35, African-American, Staff Sergeant, LSM Intelligence Corps (L2), Natchitoches Branch. Nickname is 'Tumbler'. Skilled in small arms, shotguns, and carbine rifles. Former Intelligence Corps team leader. Skilled in all manner of hacking, lockpicking, infiltration and exfiltration. Arrested for being Drunk and Disorderly. Being held on suspicion of hacking, and using, LSM terminals to access and distribute classified information to third party 'investors'. Application for freelance work: PENDING INVESTIGATION." Weathers sighed.

"Tumbler was my best intelligence source. The intel he provided was always accurate, always to scale, and he saved a good many lives. Now, I personally don't believe that about the hacking but apparently someone did and had him removed from his post. He was demoted to Staff Sergeant and all his intel declared 'false'. Because of intel that was legit being trashed, we lost three squads of good men and women, we also couldn't stop the Armory break-in, and plus... well, let's just say a lot of people relied on him for his intel and with him gone things have gone straight to hell. Worse is that my hands are tied. As a recipient of intel he found I am forced to recuse myself from his defense." Drew nodded.

"Sounds like someone wanted either a scapegoat for something or wanted him out of the way. What about the D and D?"

"Being relieved made him turn to drink. A few days ago, while drunk, he french-kissed a member of the militia... and her horse." Drew fought to keep from laughing.

"He kissed a horse?" Weathers smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, normally that would warrant a few days of embarrassment but the same guy who had him relieved used it as an excuse to make him look more unreliable and throw whatever appeals he was working on in the trash. That's why you see 'PENDING' on his dossier. Personally, I know the little shit causing this good man such misery and I want to see the look on his face when he learns that someone has hired Tumbler for a 'special mission'. Once he slips up, I'll castrate the sonofabitch and request Tumbler be reinstated. Until then, he's your responsibility."

Weathers stepped back around his desk and sighed as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He then reached into his desk and produced a silver badge, two small 'pig iron' bars, and a folder, scribbled something in it, and then handed it to Drew.

"This badge officially marks you as a freelance mercenary under contract for the LSM. You are now able to accept bounties from our offices as well as contracts, you are also given an official rank in the LSM which is in that folder and also hence the bars. Plus, you will be able to trade goods, sell salvage, and purchase militia-marked weapons, armor, and other goods without repercussions from our Quartermaster and Supply Offices. Find these men Mr. Durr. Bring them home safely." The General motioned to a stack of papers on his desk.

"I've been writing nothing but condolence letters all day. I'd hate like hell to have to add any more to the pile. Try to bring them back alive but don't get yourselves killed in the process. Dismissed."

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Later that day, Drew and Izzy stood before a large building just outside of the city. Before the war, the building had been a school. Now, it was a makeshift prison for insubordinate soldiers, mercenaries, and other small-time criminals. At the door, he was stopped by a soldier of the LSM who held his hand out. Almost out of reflex, Drew pulled the badge and letter that General Weathers had given him and handed them over.

After skimming through the letter and examining the badge, the soldier nodded and then punched a series of numbers into the keypad and opened the door with a loud buzz. Once inside, Drew was greeted by a man in a clean and crisp officer's uniform, the rank of Major polished to a bright, almost annoying shine. The man smiled and extended his hand, which Drew shook.

"Welcome to the Institute Mr. Durr. Or should I call you Lieutenant Durr, seeing as you bear not only a letter of marque for freelance work but also a badge and emblem of rank. In case you didn't know, freelance mercenaries who have proven themselves often receive a recognized rank from the LSM as well as a letter of commission from the government in Baton Rouge. Most start off at Corporal or perhaps Sergeant but you...you have been commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. I guess your work for the LSM has been more substantial than rumors would suggest. Now then, do you have the dossiers and the necessary papers?" Drew nodded and fished them out of his satchel and held them for the officer to inspect.

"Hmm... yes... interesting choices... Well, Jenkins I have no problem with, in fact you take him with you and if you keep him out of my hair you'll officially be my new best friend. Collins on the other hand... well... he's being held on specific orders from another officer, Second Lieutenant Nash. Either way he has seniority over you so your release order doesn't change a thing." Drew caught the Major's meaning and then nodded.

"Well Major, let me ask you, do you believe in making an innocent man suffer unnecessarily? If this letter doesn't release him, what would it take for him to... uh... 'make bail'?" The Major coughed and looked aside.

"Well that would depend upon the seriousness of his crimes, his rank, and the rank of the person ordering him here... the bail would be set at roughly nine-hundred caps." Drew almost flinched but managed to hold back his outrage at such outrageous fees.

"Seems a lot of caps for a simple D and D charge. Tell me, how much pull does this Lieutenant Nash have? Honestly?" The Major sighed.

"Not as much as he thinks, but more than I'd want to deal with personally. Look, I know the charges are most likely trumped up but my hands are tied. I'm a glorified desk clerk posing as a warden, this Nash fellow is an officer of the L2 branch. They say he specializes in making things... 'disappear'. If the guy he says keep locked up is going to get out I at least need enough caps to buy some protection for MYSELF. Eight-hundred." Drew thought for a moment and then had an idea.

"What if, say, I bail Collins out and he... 'escapes' from my custody or...'dies' while on the mission?" The Warden looked at Drew and nodded.

"That would work. As a freelancer you'd likely get fined for letting a fugitive escape... on the other hand if he were 'killed' for the sake of saying it, he would likely be honorably reinstated, a small speech saying he 'died a hero' blah, blah, blah, his records sealed and life goes on and hopefully Nash will get that stick out of his ass but then again as the old saying goes 'wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up faster'. Plus... Collins can NEVER, under any circumstances, be seen by ME, my men, or Nash, or anyone else associated with L2, otherwise, you will have a warrant put on YOU for harboring an escaped fugitive." Drew nodded understandingly.

"So, about that bail..." The Warden nodded.

"Right, cost goes, like I said, according to their rank and their crimes... both are minor, and somewhat humiliating, violations... Jenkins... Corporal... and Collins... Staff Sergeant... Okay, the bail charge for Jenkins is sixty caps and Collins is one-twenty. One hundred and eighty caps altogether. Plus, there is a one hundred cap fee for releasing their confiscated equipment as well as the issuing of their new uniforms... Don't look at me like that, it's the radroaches. I swear the damn things eat anything they can drag off... plus we've also had a problem with... uh... lice and other parasites." Drew nodded and examined the folder and couldn't help but smile when, next to Jenkins' name the Major had marked 'HYPN'.

'He's Your Problem Now.'

Drew then asked the warden for directions to the cells. Drew was pointed in the direction of a broad muscular man with a Sergeant Major's insignia and followed him down the hallway.

After passing a few doors, the guard opened the door and gave a sharp whistle.

"Jenkins! Collins! Shape up and get outta there. Come say hello to the man who pulled your asses out of the fire. I swear, I used to be in charge of shaping recruits into battle-hardened machines of war! Breaking them down and building them back up! Now look at me...watching over guys who get drunk on duty and kiss anything that even LOOKS attractive and weaklings who get beaten up by women young enough to still be cradled in her mother's arms!"

A reply was not long in coming.

"Go blow it up your ass Boufer!" The guard frowned.

"That's SERGEANT MAJOR Boufer to YOU Jenkins! The moment those papers were signed, you became an enlisted man again. You may not wear an LSM uniform but by God I WILL be addressed properly or I'll knock you so damn flat they won't be able to tell the difference between you and the floor!"

As Boufer stepped aside, two men came out. The first was the youngest, Jenkins. He stood as tall as Drew, had a shock of red hair, and also gazed about with a 'devil may care' attitude. The second and older man seemed more reserved although somewhat depressed.

"Jenkins, now you don't want to make a poor impression upon our...'EMPLOYER' now would you?" Drew internally winced at the way he said employer as if it were demeaning and degrading to say such. Boufer turned and handed Drew back his papers.

"Lieutenant Drew Durr, this is Corporal Roy Jenkins and Staff Sergeant Richard Clark. Now then, for the record, I'm supposed to be informed as to the nature of your assignment and why you bailed these two out." Drew nodded and produced another folder.

"Gentlemen, as of yesterday, one of out own has been missing for three days. Three days ago, Master Sergeant Edward Reed, known best as 'Chief' went missing while searching for one Nicholas Fleurs, a witness of a crime that, at the moment, I am not at liberty to explain. These orders come from the top, from General Weathers: Find and rescue these two men at all cost. If they cannot be found, then proof of their deaths will be needed. According to last time he checked in with the General, Chief was making his way to the small town of Goldonna. That, is where the General has suggested we start looking."

Drew noticed that at his mention of Chief, both men and even Boufer came alert and tense as coiled springs.

"Since it appears you men know more about Chief than I do, please enlighten me." Clark nodded while Jenkins clamped his mouth shut.

"Chief is somewhat of a legend in the LSM. Rumor was that he was a vertibird pilot in his younger days for the Brotherhood of Steel but was marked an outcast because of his constant bickering with his seniors, plus he 'accidentally' crashed some high ranking Paladin's vertibird into a swamp. After a while he became a drifter, started fixing up old rebuilt vertibirds for the LSM that we had salvaged and later became the Chief mechanic of the whole LSM Vertibird Maintenance Corps. I honestly didn't know he would still take grunt work missions although as often as I've spoken with him I can't say I'm surprised." Drew nodded and then turned to Boufer.

"Sergeant Major, would you please lead me to the confiscated goods room so that they can reclaim their equipment?" Boufer nodded.

"If you'll follow me sir. It's just down the hall here in what, I would assume' used to be the ROTC Supply Office for the school."

Drew, Clark, and Jenkins followed Boufer down the hall until they reached an iron reinforced door and, with the proper passcode, Boufer opened it and revealed a rather large room with a long desk, several uniforms folded neatly on shelves, and a large metal safe door which Boufer also opened.

"According to the papers here... Okay, Corporal Jenkins. Personal effects include: one .45 caliber handgun with four extra mags, one .30 caliber carbine with three extra mags, one complete sterile field surgeon's kit, twenty Stimpacks, fifteen doses of Radaway, and ten doses each of Med-X and Rad-X. While I get your weapons, please walk to the Quartermaster there and draw your uniform."

Jenkins nodded, apparently satisfied that he was finally getting out of here, and did as he was told. Drew noted that, despite his 'devil may care' attitude, he didn't seem to be a troublemaker of a bad sort. Next, Boufer came out and set Jenkins' equipment aside and then picked up the next list.

"Staff Sergeant Clark, one silenced 10mm autopistol, one 12 gauge pump-action shotgun, one screwdriver, a set of bobbypins, a Pipboy 3000, and a flare gun with six flares. Please draw your uniform." Drew listened to each item and then looked at Clark as he was grabbing a LSM coat from the rack.

"What's the flare gun for Staff Sergeant?" Clark nodded understandingly and explained while looking through the uniform.

"In L2, we use flares and smoke grenades to send up signals if our Pipboys are damaged. I have two of each flare type: red means 'distress' or 'emergency', blue mean 'extraction' or 'medivac', green means 'supply drop' or identifies an area as a 'safe zone'. Plus, flares are useful for facing down Deathclaws, Ghouls, and other abominations. Can't seem to explain it, but the light and heat from flares, especially red ones, seems to scare the living daylights out of them. I've seen a full grown Deathclaw Alpha Queen screech to a halt at the sight of a flare being fired, whip around and run away like her tail was on fire. I've also seen a pack of nightstalkers stop so quickly they all flipped ass over teakettle, and run in the complete OPPOSITE direction of a flare shot."

Clark stopped for a moment as he laced up his boots and pulled his body armor over his uniform.

"You never know what'll come at you out there in the wastes. That's why I ALWAYS carry a flare gun and make sure my flares are dry and ready to be used at a moments notice. I'm old enough to have seen a few too many missions go to hell and a few ops go pear-shaped because there was a nest of Deathclaws where there shouldn't have been or raiders and ghouls popping out of the woodworks like termites. I always say: Expect Everything, Prepare for Anything." Drew nodded.

"I'm of the same mind Staff Sergeant."

"Clark."

"Excuse me?"

"Just call me Clark sir. I... eh... overheard what you and the Warden were talking about. That means for me that my career in the LSM is over. I'm no longer a Staff Sergeant so don't address me like one. Same for Jenkins, on paper we're LSM but in reality, we're civvies. You're the only one with rank here Lieutenant." Jenkins chuckled at that and looked up from where he was going over his kit.

"You require of the services of a few good men LT, instead, you get the next best thing, a medic who got his ass kicked by a woman, and a washed up intelligence officer who is more at home either hacking a terminal or picking a lock than aiming down a gun." Drew gazed at the two soldiers and shook his head.

"No, there's a reason General Weathers recommended you two to me. I trust his judgement when it comes to his own soldiers and if he says that you two are the best for the job, then I'm inclined to agree."

"LT, are you always this trusting or are you one of those 'it's always sunny' kinda guys?" Drew chuckled.

"Neither. I just have plenty of experience dealing with people who are so full of shit they could fertilize an eighty acre field and can tell what is pure bullshit and what ain't."

For the first time, Drew heard both soldiers laugh and look at him like he was crazy. Jenkins shook his head, still grinning, and looked at Drew.

"Well then, I guess if we're going to follow someone as crazy as you, sir, we might as well make the best of it."