Chapter 25: Explosion

Outside Black Mountain

As Luther scouted ahead, Sato held back as he waited for the motley assortment of Knights and Scribes to join them. From Hidden Valley, the tech experts had brought with them all kinds of radio equipment. Back when he was a child, Sato remembered when he learned about the finer details of non-combat technologies, but that all seemed like a lifetime ago. The modern Brotherhood had few if any children. War or not, time was an enemy that could not be evaporated via a laser blast. All the more reason to make sure that they reach the mountain in one piece, Sato thought to himself.

"Allen, how are your men holding up?" Sato called back to the group.

"Decent, sir. At this pace, we should be able to set up camp at Black Mountain by nightfall," the scribe said as he helped a Knight with his supply pack.

"That may not be soon enough. Sato, I have visual on possible hostiles ahead," Luther reported back.

Sato immediately rushed over to his lieutenant's position, taking the binoculars was he got a better look at their new guests. Immediately, he could thinly make out the outlines of several helmets against the hills. Roughly four, if he counted correctly. No idea how many more there were, but the last thing he needed was to be flanked at this juncture.

"Allen, take the rest of the men with you and scale the mountain. Have the Knights cover you defensively. Luther, Rollins, on me. Fan out!"

As the other two paladins spread away, Sato turned back to Allen one last time. "Allen… If I don't make it back, I want you to have the Knights create a defensive perimeter around the station. Hold them off as long as you can, and send out the signal ASAP!" he relayed.

"Sir, do you really think it'll come to that?" Allen asked.

"No idea, but something about this situation doesn't sit right with me. Now go!" Sato yelled. The scribe hesitantly ran to rejoin his group as they began to scale the path up the mountain. The Knights were armed with sniper rifles, carbines, and the occasional laser rifle, and all the Scribes had laser pistols, so the group was far from defenseless. The Paladins, however, were armed with a Gauss rifle and two miniguns. With the heavier weapons and the better armor, Sato still had an odd feeling about the coming fight. Just why was he so damn nervous?

As he joined the others, he saw the image of a figure approaching them. Pulling out his Gauss rifle, Sato trained it on the visitor. "Stranger, identify yourself!"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. For the sake of discussion, I'll start. I'm Chief Floyd Wilson, of the Mojave Desert Rangers. I'm investigating the deaths of my men from Nipton. You happen to know anything about that?" the man asked, hand hovering over his revolver.

"I may. Strange what raiders can get their hands on these days? All the more reason to justify our continued mission and presence," Sato began.

"Uh-huh, "raiders." I think both of us realize that it would take more than a pack of raiders to undermine a well-fortified Ranger position," Wilson glowered.

"Are you accusing the Brotherhood of Steel of killing your men?" Sato responded.

"Dunno. Why are you guys heading to Black Mountain?" Wilson said as he looked past the paladins at the retreating figures.

"None of your concern, Ranger. If you have no business with us, I suggest you be on your way," Sato threatened as he leveled his Gauss rifle.

Wilson, from behind his visor, saw the faint figures of the rest of his team take up positions around the three paladins. They had them flanked, but without the right firepower, a lot of people were going to die.

"What is the rest of your group doing?" Wilson pressed.

"As I said, none of your concern. Go shoot up a tribal," Sato shot back.

Wilson and Sato stood only forty meters apart. Wilson was a pretty fast draw, but against a T-51, it would be a miracle if he hit something important enough. Sato was nervous too, as only someone with a plan would be standing out in the open against a paladin. As both men tried to read each other, a shot rang out, striking Sato in the shoulder. In the distance, someone could be heard yelling, "Whisler, you fucking idiot!"

Wilson practically had no time to register the whirling sounds of the miniguns before he dove for cover. The noise was deafening, and the dirt it kicked up nearly blinded him. As he peered up, he saw sparks emitting from one of the pauldrons on Sato's shoulder. Already, the other two paladins surrounded him, sweeping the tops of the nearby hills as they aimed to take out anyone who popped their heads up. So, now the war has finally begun, Wilson told himself. Now we see who's gonna walk away…

North Vegas

And here Epps thought Novac was boring. Apparently, when he was setting up the defenses of his city, Mr. House hadn't thought much about the north side of his little town. Epps had seen graveyards livelier than this hole. Still, his order of business usually called for discretion.

Before Epps was born, slavery was something that was practiced openly in large swaths of the NCR. That was until the Rangers got their shit together, coming down on countless organizations like a ton of hammers. Usually, one shattered organization meant giving birth to many smaller ones, but under Hanlon's leadership, the Rangers had gotten to be pretty good at whack-a-mole. Epps figured he was the only slave runner still worth a damn in California and a close call with Ranger Gaunt meant it was time to relocate somewhere else.

Since he had heard of the Mojave conflict, Epps had practically been licking his lips over the possibility of a destabilized free-for-all. His "kind" tended to thrive in lawless areas, and without constant supervision from any law-abiding entity, Epps wondered just how simple the logistics would be to coordinate a network with Arizona…

"Epps, baby, you said we was gonna sightsee? This place is deader than a Wanamingo," Francis complained. The big mutant was just slightly larger than the typical mutant, and most people gladly went out of their way to avoid them. That, or they could smell the skeeze off of him at fifty paces. The mutant had plopped himself next to a bombed out building,

"Shaddup, Francis. We're getting the lay of the land. Seeing who got what, and what have you," Epps replied as he peered past the buildings to the horizons beyond. "A lot has happened in the past few months, so it wouldn't be amiss to try and see just how things are run these days. Hello…" he broke off as he saw some figures approaching in the distance. Bringing out his binoculars, he zoomed in on the few three figures that were approaching. Immediately, two things stood out to him. One was their getups, flight jackets with what was clearly a vault suit underneath. The other was the heavy artillery that they were carrying.

"Bingo," Epps laughed.

"What? You got something cooking?" Francis asked.

"Oh, nothing particularly special. It's just… what've you heard about the Boomers?" Epps asked as he looked around for any other witnesses.

"Ugh… not much. I heard they got a plane or something," Francis tried to recall.

"Not to mention a metric fuck-ton of heavy weapons. And they're tight with the Governor. That might mean…" Epps interrupted himself as he started to formulate a plan.

"You got something to share?" Francis asked.

"Nothing. I think it would be best for you to head back to the motel as soon as you can so Jarrod doesn't get a damn conniption. But first, I need you to do me a huge solid…"

Just as the Boomers reached the city limits, they were stopped by the sight of a man in a tattered coat being thrown from behind a building. As the man struggled to his feet, a huge green mutant stepped from behind a building, cracking its knuckles as it licked its lips.

"Oh, now yous gonna really get it, sweets," the mutant laughed. The man, coughing heavily, looked to the three approaching Boomers. "H-Help me…" he begged through gasps. The three Boomers were running late, but they could not simply walk away from a man in need. The old them would have probably not gotten involved, but if Lars had taught them anything, it was that one should never turn their backs on people in need.

"You, get behind me. Men, keep your missiles trained on that thing!" the lead Boomer ordered the rest of his men to keep their launchers trained on the big mutant. Normally, three missile launchers would have been considered overkill, but it was all the Boomers were carrying. The mutant started to back away; fear seemingly etched on his face. As he stepped back, though, the lead Boomer looked into his eyes. The mutant wasn't keeping his eyes on the Boomers, or even their weapons. He was looking behind them. Before he even realized it, a cold iron grip wrapped itself around the back of his neck.

SNAP!

Enclave Vertibird

"Wake up, Kreger, we have a situation!" Airman Whitman snapped as she shook her copilot awake. The Enclave Captain tried to assess what was in front of him as quickly as he could. An alarm was blaring. Past the control console, all he could see below him was vast, nearly endless desert. In the air, however, several small specks were growing slightly larger. No… closer.

"Kreger, Whitman, what's up?" Lars said as he poked his head into the cockpit.

"Looks like we finally have some company up here. I haven't seen a squadron of Vertibirds like that since Navarro," Kreger said to himself.

"Vertibirds? But, the Enclave haven't been on the West Coast in years," Lars replied as Whitman steadied the craft.

"Exactly. That can only mean we've run into the NCR Air Force. Shit," Kreger swore as the radio started to go off. After losing Navarro to the Brotherhood and NCR, the two factions had divvied up the loot from the military base. As it stood, the NCR had gotten their hands on quite a few Vertibirds, enough to kickstart a fledgling but effective air defense force.

"Attention unknown aircraft, this is Captain Miles Dewitt of the 3rd NCR Air Defense Squadron. Identify yourself, or you will be fired upon."

Whitman and Kreger shot looks at each other before Lars reached over and took up the radio. "Attention, NCR squadron. This is Governor Lars Perez of New Vegas, requesting that you stand down and allow us passage from your borders."

There was a moment of silence, before the communicator finally sprung awake, once again.

"So, we finally found you."

A pit formed in the bottom of Lars's stomach. Looks like Moore was one to hold a grudge, after all. With his free hand gripping the pilot seat in front of him, Lars continued. "With all due respect, I must politely insist that you allow us safe passage through the border. I've got a huge mess to clean up when I get home, and I must insist that you let me through."

"Sorry, my comm line in breaking up, and I can't make out what you're saying," Dewitt answered slow and measurably, betraying his lack of honesty.

"Don't fucking bullshit me, Captain! I am the head of a sovereign fucking nation, and so help me you will let me through!" Lars screamed into the mike.

"My boss just put up a huge price on your head. And even if she didn't, I'd just as happily still shoot you down. My brother died in the Mojave War," the captain replied as his front cannons began to whir.

"Taking evasive actions!" Daisy cried as she dove her craft out of the way. Lars was flung back into the cargo hold; his fall broken by Dog's frame. Orion, Cannibal, Henry, and Ulysses were all holding tight onto the rungs as they could, and they could hear the sounds of laser blasts fly past the craft.

"DO NOT ENGAGE, WHITMAN! WE HAVE A MISSION, DAMMIT!" Kreger screamed needlessly as Daisy immediately broke off, trying desperately to disengage from the bounty hunting aviators. In all her years of service, however, Daisy never had the opportunity to fly against other pilots. The Enclave had jealously guarded its Vertibirds when it was active, but it abandoned many from the Navarro airbase when the Brotherhood and NCR attacked. Complicating matters even further was the damage that her craft had already suffered from Diyu. Now she found herself in a position the Enclave typically never was; outgunned. Wait, she thought, maybe not yet.

"Lars! Can you hear me?" she shouted behind her.

"What?" Lars yelled back.

"Do you still have that grenade launcher?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"I have an idea. Have Johnson and Orion hook you up to one of the safety cables. When they do, I'm going to climb up as high as I can!" Daisy barked as she dodged yet another strafe. "Oh, and tell your two friends to hold on as tight as possible. This is gonna get real ugly real fast!"

For a split second, Lars wondered about what she meant. Hold on? She isn't thinking about… and with a sudden jerk, the Vertibird tilted upwards. Ulysses and Doc Henry wrapped their arms around a cable while Dog gripped onto the Vertibird's sturdy frame. The two old soldiers prepped a harness for Lars, while attaching a cable to the back. Before Lars could protest, he had been strapped in, and the other two stepped back, gripping the safety lines that ran along the sides. Cannibal just gave Lars a thumb up, just before Daisy made an extremely steep climb. Suddenly, the back hatch began to open.

As Lars tried to steady his feet on the floor, now effectively a wall, he looked out at the world in the doorway. It was a strange sight, seeing the barren landscape in front of him like a massive portrait. The only thing disrupting the serenity were the three green Vertibirds trailing him in hot pursuit. As he stumbled a bit against the floor, the lead craft began to prepare another blazing hot volley of laser-fire. Steadying his arm, Lars gleaned down the sight of his grenade launcher. If he could line up a shot on the lead craft…

For one moment, Lars thought about what must be going through Captain DeWitt's mind. Did he realize what was about to happen, or was he too caught up in his anger to see what was about to occur? Images of Boone and Natalie swam through his head, for some reason. The pursuing Vertibird took the bait, matching Daisy's climb, and exposing its cockpit. Despite never even attempting to fire at an angle like this, Lars knew he couldn't miss.

THUMP

A split second later, the pursuing Vertibirds cockpit exploded in flames. Spiraling out of control, the aircraft hurtled to the ground. The other two broke off pursuit, either not wanting what their leader just had or out of concern for him. As the hatch closed, Lars looked at the ground, wondering whether or not the pilot survived.

Serves you right, Lars thought, spitefully, but mostly, he was just trying to tell himself that. Lars had spent a lot of time in California, and despite the occasional ethical disagreement, he had always respected the NCR. During the Mojave conflict, he had made sure that he didn't earn a reputation for wanton slaughter against them, though he more than had his hands full with the Legion. Your average NCR soldier was just looking for a paycheck, or maybe make the waste just a little safer for their loved ones back home. In his private moments of doubt, Lars had a hard time blaming them for the NCR military's opinion of him post-Hoover Dam.

No matter, he told himself. He still had a job to do. Hefting his launcher on his shoulder, he braced himself as Daisy corrected the position of the Vertibird.

"Well, that was certainly exciting. Airman Whitman, keep a low altitude until we reach the Mojave. I don't want to set off any more radar alarms if we can help it. Everyone else, stay on guard," Kreger ordered back to the rest of the men. Lars made a thumb up sign as he took his seat. Right before he was able to get comfortable, a treacherous thought coursed through his mind. If the NCR military is actively willing to kill me, what about the rest of my friends…

NCR Rail-line

"Johnny, are you absolutely sure you can do this?" Arcade asked as he peered over the Deathclaw's shoulder.

The Deathclaw in question didn't seem to register his companion's question, instead focusing on keeping his nose aloft, sniffing the air.

"Johnny, the rail-line is coming this way, I can see the smoke stack from here," Veronica added.

"I know that. I'm just smelling for…*sniff-sniff*… there you are…" the reptile growled deeply.

"What? What did you find?" Arcade asked.

"Shut up and hold on tight," Johnny added as he took a runner's stance at the top of the hill. Johnny and the others had agreed to try and intercept the train before it reached the station near Dayglow. When Johnny told them his plan to board the train, it had taken Arcade an hour of convincing Veronica before he could get her on board. It took nearly as long for Arcade to accept the plan as well. Here they were, at least fifty feet above the rail-line, gripping the burlap cloak of a Deathclaw, getting ready for something Arcade never in his wildest imagination figured was possible.

"OK… s-s-so… how about on… on the count of three?" Veronica stammered as she saw the speed of the train. Johnny just snorted.

"One… t-twAAAHHH!" the scribe yelled as Johnny charged down the hill, running straight to one of the boxcars. Dust and grit kicked up everywhere as the super-lizard barreled towards his target, with the two humans holding onto his back for literal dear life. As he approached his target, Johnny leaped into the air, slamming into and latching onto one of the boxcars.

Ronnie and Arcade continued gripping onto him as Johnny shimmied up the train-car, towards the door latch. Gingerly, he used his free claw to try and rustle the latch. Above the noise of the train, Arcade could hear a hiss.

"What's wrong?" Arcade shouted.

"Damn door's jammed. We'll have to try another car," Johnny shouted back.

"No, wait! Just…leave it to me," Veronica yelled as she climbed up Johnny. Using the Deathclaw's head as a boost, Veronica climbed to the top of the train car, where she looked around the roof. As expected, there was an entry panel on top of the car. She immediately rushed over to the latch and tried to pry it open.

"Veronica, we don't have time! We're almost at the station!" Arcade yelled as he tried to keep his glasses on.

"Hold your horses, I… almost…" Veronica gritted as the latch finally came loose. "Bingo!" she cheered, before being nearly overwhelmed by an almost noxious odor. Coughing fitfully, Veronica practically keeled into the hole.

"VERONICA!" Arcade screamed, panicking.

A few moments later, however, and the latch on the boxcar jiggled loose, allowing Johnny to swing open the door and dive into the car. As Arcade finally pried his grip from the lizard's cloak, he felt something large, cold, wet, and slimy body check him as he entered the car. Before he could get a good look at it, however, Johnny immediately slammed the door behind him, cutting out nearly all light from the shelter.

"Johnny! Veronica! Where are you?!" Arcade screamed.

"I'm over here! Ugh, this is disgusting…" Veronica said a little way away, muffled behind something.

"What… where are we?" Arcade asked as he pulled his hands in front of him. Immediately, the cold, wet, slimy thing reached out again, and Arcade shot his hand back, startled by the sudden sensation.

"Not much of a view, but a least you won't go hungry…" Johnny said as the two humans heard something heavy pried from the ceiling, followed by loud, crunching noises.

"Johnny, where are we?" Arcade asked.

"A lot of you humans have no sense of sport. You want to eat meat without putting in the work for it. You have others kill the Brahmin for you, and then you ship it around the land for others. Humans who can't hunt shouldn't eat," Johnny griped as he bit into the hanging Brahmin carcass.

"We're in a meat locker? Gross! Couldn't you have chosen something that smelled a little less… putrid," Veronica groused as she tried to stay away from the meat.

Johnny then did something neither Arcade nor Veronica, nor anyone else for that matter had ever seen before. He started to laugh. It sounded like a cross between a crow, a Brahmin bull in heat, and an agitated Nightstalker. It echoed throughout the car, bouncing off the heat-insulated walls.

"And what? Spend an entire train ride over with nothing to eat but the two of you?"

Veronica and Arcade were completely silent while Johnny continued to resume eating his new meal.

"You told us that you weren't going to kill us," Arcade spoke tentatively.

"Because you lack sport. But I won't allow myself to starve to death out of sentimentality. You two are still food, in my eyes. Be thankful I chose this place to bide my stomach over."

Before she knew it, Veronica found herself huddling into the corner of the boxcar. She was trapped in a dark, cold room with a flesh-eating monster. What she wouldn't do for a plasma caster…

"Just ignore him. We'll be back in the Mojave before you know it. There should be a juncture by the Hub where we should be able to get off and head out. I think I can hook up with some more of my Follower friends to make the journey easier, and we won't have to rely on… him… anymore," Arcade whispered.

"And here I thought you were his number one fan," Veronica whispered, sarcastically.

"I think he's very interesting from a scientific standpoint, but I'm not stupid. The sooner we get away from him, the better for everyone," Arcade whispered back.

"I can still hear you," Johnny interrupted from the other side of the car. Arcade and Veronica both decided that it would be best to cut their conversations short.

Black Mountain

Wilson's knees buckled under the power of Sato's fist. Since running out of ammo, the two soldiers both tried to settle their fight like men. Or at least, one of them did. Wilson tried, impotently, another swing against the paladin, but it was all for naught. In addition to being completely encased in nearly impenetrable armor, Sato's already formidable strength was augmented. Every hit felt like getting beaten with an aluminum bat. As Wilson stumbled back, he reached for his service revolver, only to have Sato kick him in the ribs as he tackled him to the ground.

It had been a bloodbath for everyone involved. The Desert Rangers tried valiantly to neutralize the Paladins from a distance, but with their chief in immediate danger, many had rushed out of hiding to support him. The result led to a lethal crossfire between the Rangers and the Brotherhood. As the Brotherhood unloaded volley after volley of lead, the Rangers peppered their armor with the special ammo. Wilson himself was occupied with the lead Paladin, exchanging fire as their men were brought down around them. The two other Paladins were burned alive from the inside, and the bodies of Wilson's posse lay scattered around the base of the mountain. All this was lost on the Chief as Sato got on top of him, wrapping his hands around the Ranger's neck.

Sato was enraged. Luther and Rollins, two men he had grown up with, lay dead on the wasteland. Cut down by some tech he hadn't accounted for. A part of him thought that maybe he should take the Chief back to base. As a hostage and as a source of information, he would be an invaluable prize. Thoughts of the raid on Helios, however, put an end to those rational thoughts. The Brotherhood would not accept humiliations laying down. The Chief would have to die.

Wilson managed to grab his boot knife, trying fruitlessly to puncture an important servo or find a vulnerable opening. As his blade bounced harmlessly off of the steel, Wilson started to feel light headed, then very tired. As the circulation cut from his neck, Wilson just about made out a shadow leaning over the paladin. A sharp crack brought him back to his senses.

Sato must have had less than a second to register what had happened before the bullet began to take effect. By the time he realized, it was too late to scream. Sparks emitted from the back of his helmet, drowning out any other sound that he could have made. As his body began to spasm, Wilson used his last remaining strength to push the Power armor off of him. As he did, a hand reached down to pick him off the ground.

"Chief… good to see you're still alive," Whisler said as he picked up his CO.

"What about the others? Did anyone else survive?" Wilson asked, brushing off his deputy's concern.

"Just us, Chief. Just us," Whisler said as he surveyed the carnage. Wilson swore as he looked up the mountain path.

"The rest of their group is going to fortify that mountain as soon as they can. We need to call in some reinforcements as soon as possible." As he said this, Wilson stumbled to his knees. Whisler caught him as his knee hit the ground.

"That scrap must have took a lot out of you. Let's just get you back to HQ. I'll get some volunteers to raid the mountain afterwards," Whisler said.

"Fine, just… do whatever. Do what you have to do. I'll round up everyone else and get to work on an attack plan for the Brotherhood's main base of operations, wherever that is." Wilson said as he steadied himself. "Whatever the Brotherhood wants with the radio station, they've committed quite a few resources to capture it. The sooner we thwart whatever they're planning, the better for all of us. Just promise me you'll be careful when you try and take it, Whisler," the Chief ordered.

"You have my word, Chief. I promise, no more casualties than necessary…"

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE

Desert Rangers: Descendents of various Pre-war law enforcement officials and survivalist communities, the Desert Rangers are famous for their peacekeeping efforts in an era where such endeavors were considered all but impossible. Originally based in Texas, the Desert Rangers had become a common sight in the Mojave Wasteland, and were responsible for the collapse of more than a few organized raider strangleholds. Of particular distinction was the Desert Rangers successful guerilla campaign against the Master's Army, reducing it from an imminent threat to a destabilized and shattered mob. Their fortunes took a turn for the worst, however, with the introduction of Caesar's Legion. Unable to deal with the disciplined numbers Caesar could bring to the fold, the Desert Rangers struck an alliance with the NCR for support in the Mojave. As stated before, however, recent events have led many to question the strength of the recent treaty.