Mojave Wasteland

September 10th 9:40pm

2267

The moment Damon walked into the room, he knew what this was about. Just the sight of Colonel Watts' hardened eyes and rigid posture as he sat there, in front of a sturdy wooden desk was all it took for him to put it together. There was a woman beside him, too, who Damon was familiar with. She was probably helping him coordinate personnel for him to take back to Arizona. He could deduce that much from what Rem had told him.

"Corporal Daley, reporting for duty, sir," he said, saluting the colonel.

"At ease, corporal. Take a seat."

Damon paced forward and sat himself down on the chair across from Watts. There, he watched as he looked through some of the papers in front of him. Once he had gotten the information that he needed, it started.

"I understand that you're great at repairing machinery. You helped find and salvage some of the communications equipment we'll see in our safe houses. And you also help to keep the manufacturing facilities here at the Center going."

"Yes sir."

"You scored high on your last combat readiness exam, too. That makes you eligible for a mission that I'll be taking to Arizona. Have you heard of Caesar's Legion?"

"I've heard the name tossed around here at the Center. Early reports stated that they could pose a threat in the future. I'm guessing those reports were correct?"

Watts answered with enthusiasm that he clearly regretted, "Yes, they were. A little too correct for my liking. They've grown since the last time reports came in of them. They claim to have conquered fifty six tribes."

Damon understood the scope of such a statement.

"Any idea how many there are, exactly?"

Watts paused for a moment, staring into Damon's eyes like he was looking for something. Fear, perhaps.

"Hundreds. Close to a thousand, maybe, but there could be more out there that we don't know about."

At Ranger Center, there could only be around two hundred and fifty people at any given time. Furthermore, not even the Brotherhood had reached such high numbers in the area. The only faction he could remember that would rival the number was the NCR, which the Desert Rangers had made contact with in 2253. According to some of the troopers, they were an enormous republic back in California.

"And how many are they allowing you to bring?"

Watts could see where things were starting to sound bad, but it didn't flinch him. He leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as if he were trying to get a closer look at Damon's eyes.

"Not very many, Corporal. Is this a problem?"

It took a while for Damon to think about it.

"No, sir. I'm not afraid. I can't help but consider if whether or not the chances of success are hindered by the President's inability, or lack of desire, to provide you with more than what he has agreed to give you, however."

Watts enjoyed the answer enough to reward Damon with the answer he wanted.

"Twenty."

"Twenty?"

Watts simply nodded.

"The initial mission is much more simpler than you think. We're not rallying troops to charge their front lines. We're rallying a team that can best prepare communities in Arizona against the threat of Caesar's Legion."

Watts leaned back in his chair.

"We can't go to war with them directly. We just don't have the numbers for it."

Damon nodded slowly. It looked like he had an understanding of things, but the questions kept coming.

"How many communities?"

The colonel took a breath, glancing at the corporal with a different gleam in his eye. He thought there was more skepticism than he was interested in seeing at this point.

"Corporal, you might be pleased to learn that I'm only taking volunteers. If you feel you can't handle this, feel free to decline."

The pressure went up, and Damon thought that it was likely nobody had said no yet. He wasn't going to be the first either.

"Sign me up, Colonel."

Watts watched him with a little bit of doubt.

"You sure?"

"Positive, sir," Damon replied, with more certainty than before.

"Get your gear ready. You'll be called when it's time to go."

Damon stood up, placing the chair back where it's supposed to go and turned around. He pulled the door open and then something hit him, so he turned around and looked back at Watts. The colonel eventually returned the glance once he saw that the corporal hadn't left yet.

"Sir, would I be correct in assuming that you would like to take as many Rangers as you could?"

Watts seemed almost tired of the questions. Still, he entertained one last one.

"I would like to bring all of Ranger Center with me, corporal."

"Then there's something you may want to hear," he answered, turning around slowly to face the colonel.

Mojave Wasteland

September 11th 10:03 am

2267

"A, B, C, D, E . . . F, G, H, I, J . . . K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U . . . V, W, X, Y, and Z."

Though she had been tentative the whole way, she couldn't help but feel a tad accomplished by the time she was finished reciting her alphabet. The gladdened expression on Rem's face became infectious as the same smile crept across her countenance.

"Yew got it, Pat," he assured, scooting closer towards her as he held a paper in his hands. She leaned in and looked closely at what his finger was settled on.

"Now let's continue practicin' the pronunciation on all of 'em. Yew know A, I'm sure, and B, but I told yew that C can be pronounced like an S when it's next to yer front vowels and like a K when it's in front of yer back vowels."

"What are the vowels again?"

"A, E, I, O, U," he recited, writing them down on the paper they each were looking at. "O and U are yer back vowels. The others are yer front."

"Why did they have to make this shit so complicated? Why don't they use a K?"

"Hell if I know, Pat," he responded. "That's just how it is. I always wondered why nature made women so damn fussy. Ain't nothin' I can do about it."

"You think I'm fussy?"

"Naw, but yer not a girl, Pat," he responded, his lips forming into a mischievous smile. She turned her body and punched him in the arm.

"Ah!"

A knock at the door kept Pat from continuing her assault. Each of them turned to glance at it, but Rem, as per usual, was the first to stand and answer. Upon opening it, Damon was standing on the other side.

"Morning guys."

"Mornin' Damon."

Pat offered a wave of her hand.

"I have some good news for you, Rem."

"What yew got fer me?"

"Your first assignment has been changed."

Rem was just about to open his mouth and ask for clarification when Damon held the paper out to him. He reached to it and took it, stepping aside so that Damon could step in. As he closed the door and leaned up against it, he opened up the envelope and read through. Slowly but surely, a smile crept across his lips.

"Damon, how the hell did yew do this?"

"Colonel Watts has been assigned a team of twenty people to take back to Arizona."

"Just twenty?"

As he asked, his eyes lifted and a clear expression of concern appeared.

"Well, the mission over there involves supporting local communities by helping them keep themselves fed, armed, and ready to resist Caesar's Legion in any way possible. That's the same kind of work newly appointed privates get as their first assignment. Watts pulled some strings and acquired you for the mission after I told him that an apprentice had been recently promoted to private, and that he was traveling with a seasoned ex caravan guard that he's been teaching survival skills to whose firepower we can also use."

"Ex caravan guard, huh?"

Damon shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know what you did before you got here, but I'm sure you know your way around a gun. I thought that ex caravan guard sounded like a great indication of that."

Pat smirked, "Damn right I know my way around a gun."

While Rem definitely felt glad that he was getting what he wanted, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to his prior mission.

"What about my prior mission? Is anyone gonna handle it?"

Damon offered up an unconcerned glance, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't know. What's it matter? You got the mission you wanted. I'll be coming with, by the way."

Rem lips curled into a crooked smile, "Good to know."

Pat cut in, calmly putting things into perspective, "So we're going to Arizona? To fight Caesar's Legion?" There was a calm, care free tone in her words, like fighting wasn't a hard thing to imagine for her, and rightly so. She had seen many bloody gun fights throughout her life.

"Yeah," answered Rem, turning his attention to her as he continued, "I know it prolly ain't what yew had in mind. I wouldn't blame yew if yew decided to go yer separate way from here."

Her response came without missing a beat.

"I don't have anything better to do, and I still owe you a month or two of watching your back." She waved her hand dismissively.

Her answer amused him.

"Well awright. It's settled."

The next day, Colonel Watts had arranged a surprise for his soldiers, which had turned into twenty two in total with the addition of Rem and Pat. Each of them was called, in small groups, into the sparring section of the recreational center, where Desert Rangers were taught hand to hand combat and some grappling techniques. Rem found it odd that Pat was ordered to be there, too, but at the same time, he was glad. Damon was also in that group. The fourth was a blonde female in her early twenties.

The four of them were wearing clothing that wouldn't hinder their movements, as per Watts' orders.

"Hello," Rem said, pacing along beside the blonde as they neared the sparring area. She turned her head to glance up at him. "Hey," she answered, halfheartedly.

"I'm Rem. It's nice meetin' you," he added, extending his hand to her. She returned the handshake and answered, "Sydney." Then, she turned ahead again. He could tell that she was focused on the task at hand. He thought that introducing himself was the right thing to do regardless of how focused they should be on what was ahead of them.

The four of them entered the area. There were punching bags hanging off the ceilings and matts spread throughout the floor.

"They brought us here to work up a sweat?"

The moment after Pat asked the question with that subtle hint of disdain in her voice, another person answered.

"You're here to bleed a little, too."

Four pairs of eyes settled on Colonel Watts afterwards. Beside him stood Major Dawson, a man of caucasian descent who worked there as an instructor.

"You're here because you all need to be told what you will be facing if you indeed are engaged by the enemy."

"How is it going to be any different from when raiders try to kill us?"

Damon turned his head to Pat immediately, giving her a gentle warning glance before he looked ahead again. Watts seemed undeterred.

"You aren't from here, from what I understand, but since you're going to lend yourself to our cause, I'll take it easy on you for speaking out of line."

Only a small pause ensued before he began.

"The Legionary is not a raider by any means. The Legionary does not spend almost the entire day lost in some chem induced fantasy land filled by Deathclaws in leotards. The Legionary spends the entire day readying himself for the next fight. He runs miles, and runs hard, unless he gets his jollies from being hacked to pieces by his comrades. What part of the day he doesn't spend running for his life, he spends sparring for his life with his fellow Legionaries."

Watts hands were behind his back. His posture was rigid and unmovable, just like the certainty behind each of his words.

"He does this because he knows that if he isn't strong, Caesar will discard him and put the meat to use by feeding it to the mongrels."

His eyes went from Rem and down the line, to Damon, Pat, and then Sydney. Then, he moved along.

"The Legionary is faster than you, stronger than you, tougher, and he prioritizes victory over survival. When a Legionary witnesses a comrade fall in action, he does not weep. He does not lose himself in anger, or thirst for vengeance. No, he envies, and hopes that perhaps one day, he might be blessed with the same end."

Upon stopping, his hands loosened and settled at his sides.

"The Legionary practices total war. He will hurt you physically and mentally, and if he takes you alive, he will nail you to a cross."

His eyes settled on Pat, and then they went to Sydney.

"You, he will enslave. He will take you back to his camp, strip you of your clothes and leave you in rags. Then he will put a collar on your neck and work you like a mule until there is no fight left in you."

The responses inside each of them was different. Pat wasn't afraid. She thought that they sounded just like all of the other predators she had encountered in the wasteland. Rem's eyes seemed to contort somewhat, like Watts' words had sparked some kind of scorn. Damon listened dutifully, and Sydney seemed thoughtful of the idea that these Legionaries would be looking to enslave her. Watts didn't exactly see what he wanted to see.

"But who am I fooling? I guess maybe myself. I could already see it in your faces. You four don't fully understand the gravity of what I'm saying. But I can't blame you. It can't all be as bad as it sounds, right? This is just . . . military theatrics to get some soldiers pumped up."

His voice seemed to soften up a bit, like there was less strength behind them and more sincerity than anything.

"Stuff like this you don't fully comprehend until you're standing right in front of it. Until you've felt the rage of seeing that pretty blonde that used to be in your squad with a collar around her neck," he glanced at Sydney and moved on, ". . . until you've seen that hard ass that saved your skin a few times nailed to a cross."

He shook his head.

"There are Desert Rangers waiting for us back in Arizona, and they know what I'm talking about. They're expecting me to make sure you know what it's like before you get there so you don't choke up at the wrong time and turn into a liability. Part of that's up to me, the rest is up to you. I'm sure as hell going to do my part, and I expect to get nothing short of the best from you."

There, the sermon ended. He seemed to have one hell of a way of putting things into perspective.

As he turned around, Rem spoke up, "Sure as hell, Colonel Watts."

His eyes drew back to them as the private turned to look at his left, where Sydney glanced back at him, "Right?" He turned back to Damon, and then Pat, "Right?" There was encouragement in the way he asked.

"Right," answered Damon. Sydney nodded her head, and Pat followed, reluctantly. Rem looked at Colonel Watts again, seemingly in conclusion.

"Yew sure as hell are gonna git the best from us, sir. We ain't gonna let yer words go to waste."

"Good," he answered. "That's what I like to hear."

After Rem nodded assertively, he stood at attention, and Watts moved things along.

"The reason why we're here is because I want everyone to experience some hand to hand sparring before we go. Legionaries like to get up close and personal, and when they do, things get very, very nasty for whoever they're after. To put things into perspective, if any one of you guys was about to have a boxing match against one of them, my caps would be on the table not in your favor."

His hand rose, motioning them to follow him. They did. As he paced on towards the mats, he turned back to them and motioned for Damon and Rem to step up. Rem's eyes perked up while Damon stepped ahead without putting too much thought into it.

"This will be a grappling and wrestling exercise. The next will be a sparring exercise. Then we'll talk about the melee weapons you each will be bringing."

As he stepped away, leaving the space open for the two of them, Rem glanced at Damon and held his hands out, "Yew ready?" Damon nodded with certainty, and lifted his hands as Rem did the same.

"First guy to put the other on his back ten times win the exercise."

The two of them stepped in with lithe, but conservative, strides. The two paused when they were at arm's reach but Rem feigned it, and only a moment after doing so, he snapped forward and lowered his upper body. It caught Damon entirely by surprise and before he knew it, Rem was tackling him to the floor. His back smacked against the mat and he knew that Rem had gone up 1-0.

"Nicely done," Major Dawson called out as they each stood back up.

Pat turned to Sydney, "Nothing like watching two men kick each other's ass, right?"

The blonde answered with a smirk, "We're next, you know."

Pat's eyebrows raised.

"They'll be saying the same thing about us."

"Huagh!"

When Pat turned to see, she only got a chance to see Rem's body off the ground for a single second before his back slammed against the mat with a thud. His eyes closed tightly, and he writhed.

Damon immediately asked, "Are you alright? Did they open up again?"

Rem shook his head.

"Naw. Watts ordered a stimpak application for me. They closed up pretty well by now."

People who took lashes typically weren't allowed the use of stimpaks because it made the punishment meek. Given the circumstances, however, Watts thought there needed to be an exception.

"Shit. Did he break your back?"

The private turned his eyes to the source of the voice; Pat.

"The hell are yew on about? The damn mat would break 'fore my back does."

"Next round, get it going," Major Dawson's voice ordered from the background.

The two stood again, and on it went. The next rounds were a lot longer, and closer than the first two. Rem and Damon battled for nearly twenty minutes, exhausted at some point, their mouths wide open and desperate for a breath of air, and by the time it was over, Damon came out the winner ten wins to seven. A few times, it almost looked like they were ready to come to punches. When it looked that way, Major Dawson was always there to moderate things.

Through the session, Pat had watched a whole slew of technical movements that she had never seen before. She watched Damon shoot for takedowns only to have them snuffed when Rem lowered onto his knees, and vice versa.

"Next two," Major Dawson ordered.

Sydney stepped ahead with certainty while Pat looked tentative.

Rem and Damon each dropped onto their rears on the sideline with a few bruises to show for what they had been through.

"Uh, I don't know how to do things the way Rem and Damon did," Pat said, glancing out at the Major. Dawson simply shrugged, "Just try to get her on her back as many times as you can."

She turned ahead again and nodded, "Alright, whatever you say." Her hands came up and Sydney did the same, readying her guard and stepping closer towards Pat. Pat looked more defensive than anything while Sydney began to strategically grab at her hands in an attempt to coerce the inexperienced outsider into doing something.

Over a period of time, it started to irritate her, and so she stepped forth to try to grab Sydney's hands with more aggression. The moment she did, Sydney shot forth the same way Rem did. Pat's mind didn't race. She didn't sift through a laundry list of possible defenses she could use. There was just one. And that was to lift her knee.

Crack!

"Oh!" As Rem yelled, Sydney saw her world going black.

When she woke up again, she was staring into a pair of blue eyes much like her own. Rem's eyesbrows were raised. "Sir, she's comin' around."

"Good," said Major Dawson, "Took her long enough."

While Sydney rubbed the side of her head, the memory of what had happened returned to her. Instantly, her eyebrows contorted and she started to look around, searching for Pat until she found her practicing with Major Dawson.

She sat and shot up to her feet.

"Woah, woah, take it easy, Sydney," Rem suggested.

"You better calm down some, Corporal," Dawson mentioned, fully able to see that Sydney was ready to rip Pat a new one.

"I'm calm, sir," she ascertained.

"Good. You'll be continuing your training with the private. Pat here needs some basic lessons."

Sydney didn't show it, but inwardly, she was seething. Especially now that Major Dawson was cutting out her opportunity to return that unsportsmanlike favor. When her eyes settled on Rem, he was glancing at her with his eyebrows raised. There was some concern there.

"Yew ain't gonna take it out on me, are ya?"

She sneered.

There was an enormous bruise on the left side of her face. He half wanted to point it out, but his more considerate side prevailed in keeping him from doing so.

"Okay, let's get started," she said, with more assertion than Rem would have liked to see.

"Well awright, just don't knee me in the face or anythang. I ain't Pat, k?"

"I'm over it, private," she put special emphasis on his rank. "Now are you going to talk or get ready for the mission?"

"Just take it easy on me, ma'am. I'm just a private."

As he finished speaking, she stepped forth and lowered her body. Rem immediately responded by backpedaling from her, very light on his feet. She chased him aggressively until he stopped his momentum and drew her in by the arm, turning his body around and lowering down to toss her over his shoulder.

But before it could actually happen, she stuck one of her feet between his, using the curve of her ankle as a hook to anchor herself. In doing so, she pulled back with her imprisoned arm and was able to keep Rem from pulling hard enough to do what he was intending.

Next thing he knew, her other arm was wrapping around his neck and tightening.

Before long, his knees straightened and in unison, he pulled at her arm, this time doing so sideways to pull her around him instead of over him. He succeeded in doing what he wanted, but she countered, sticking her foot in between his again and tripping him. Rem hit the floor hard on his stomach, and Sydney finished the chokehold by applying her other hand along with it.

Rem tapped her arm, and she let go.

As soon as she did, he called out, "Yer lucky we wasn't really fightin'. I wudda broke yer arm over my shoulder."

"Uh-huh, those Legionaries aren't going to care about your excuses when they put you to sleep and drag you off to nail you on a cross."

"Round two," Rem stated as he stood up. His eyes were narrowed.

The session lasted a total of three hours. All four of them were sore by the time it was over. Pat had been tossed around by Major Dawson like . . . she was a salad, according to Damon.

A few times, Sydney tried to avoid being dropped to the floor by grasping on Rem's neck. As a result, she had left him with a few scratches. Damon had been on the receiving end of Pat's learning process. When the Major taught her something, she practived on Damon.

By the time they stepped out, Pat and Damon were talking about everything and Sydney, as per usual, was her focused self. No matter what Rem said to her, she didn't comment more than she needed. She ended up branching away from the others very quickly, offering nothing more than a, "Take care, guys," as she departed.

Damon tilted his head up, "Not too social, is she?"

Pat chimed in, "She's just mad I knocked her ass out."

Rem smiled, "Naw, she's just focused. Determined. She's the no room for screwin' around kinda girl. Ain't nothin' wrong with that."

The next two days, the same routine was repeated, with the training becoming lighter and lighter. They wanted to avoid injury, of course. As it turned out, the only thing that was keeping them from leaving was the fabrication of Rem's suit.

Mojave Wasteland

September 13th 10:01 pm

2267

The weight of the armor settled over his shoulders and when it did, his hands lifted, fingers trailing along the hard ceramic plates covering his torso now. Upon canting his eyes downward, he followed the brown camouflage patterns painted onto it.

"How's it feel?" The same man who had fitted him for the armor was there now, helping Rem put it on and teaching him things about it. From their exchanges, he was able to tell that the private hadn't forgotten everything about the classes he had taken on the armor when he was younger.

Rem stood up and stretched out his arms, walked, and turned around a few times to get a feel of it. After that, he swung his arms around more thoroughly and was surprised with how free the range of motion was.

"Feels good. Feels great, actually," he responded.

The armor offered up a good amount of protection over the shoulders without messing with how well he could move his arms. At least until he tried to push them straight up.

"Takes work to hold my arms up like this, but unless them Caesar's Legion boys can fly aroun' like birds, it ain't gonna be a problem."

The tailor laughed under his breath.

"Let's see how it feels with the duster on."

Upon turning around, the tailor already had the brown duster across his outstretched hands.

"Thank yew," Rem said as he took it and turned around, slipping his arms through the sleeves and straightening it out on his shoulders.

The duster looked more cumbersome than it actually was, and just when he lifted his arms to see how the sleeves hung over his hands uncomfortably, the tailor stepped forth, holding out some leather gauntlets as his calm, husky voice rumbled out, "These help."

Rem took them and began putting them on, tying the straps around his forearms, glad to see the problem go away just like that.

Afterwards, he was offered a pair of gloves with metal plates attached to the backhands. Rem took them and, as if he already knew what he was going to do before hand, grabbed a pair of scissors in the room and cut the fingers off of them.

The tailor watched as he put them on afterwards.

"Feels much better like this," Rem claimed, wiggling his fingers and turning to glance at the final piece. The helmet was sitting atop a surface, untainted and sleek. As he stepped towards it, a soft gleam crossed the green visors, and then he took it into his hands.

As he held it in front of him, he stared into them. Inwardly, he still couldn't believe this was happening.

In silence, he turned the helmet around and placed it over his head, pushing it down and hearing it click into place. The first thing he tried to do was get used to what things looked like from inside, and then measured how much the helmet cut down on his peripheral vision.

Only a lil. Guess I gotta be more careful when I'm out there.

"Fit right?"

Rem turned around to look at the tailor as he answered. In doing so, he found that the motion of turning his head was as sleek as he needed it to be.

"It feels like I shoulda been born wearin' this thang."