Chapter 27: The Flood

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures."

~William Shakespeare


Weyland had to fly IFR (instrument flight rules), the dense cloud cover and the lack of moonlight severely limiting her visibility. The Terran navigation software running off of the locally engineered electronics didn't make her job any easier, the almost crippling latency from her instruments making their flight much more harrowing than it needed to be. Even replacing the vacuum tubes with TTL circuits couldn't adequately handle the Terran's computational requirements.

Griff kept glancing nervously over the pilot's shoulder every time the craft was buffeted by unexpected turbulence, thankful that the flight would be a short one. He lurched forward as the craft slowed its acceleration suddenly, Weyland cursing as she fought the controls to keep from overshooting the target area.

They both hoped that whatever unidentified aircraft were here experienced the same visibility issues they did, or they could very soon be coming under fire. The craft settled in its hover, and they both held their breath as the seconds ticked by.

Griff chuckled as they both released their held breaths at the same time, the almond shaped eyes of the Lieutenant twinkling in amusement. He gave her a thumbs up and moved back to assemble the team for embarkation.

The wind from the turbines buffeted the team as they rappelled off the ramp from the hovering banshee, each marine taking up position to cover all avenues of approach and scanning the area with their gauss rifles up and ready. Aside from Griff and Jacky, the others were rookies, with the medic Hannigan serving in his first deployment with the CMC-405 armor and the three marines fairly recent inductees.

Still, the Captain nodded in satisfaction at their disciplined deployment, the 3 marines forming a wide wedge as they moved forward behind Summers with Hannigan taking up the center rear. He scanned the area but found no trace of any aircraft aside from their bird, spotlights coming on and aiding the marines with visibility.

Curiously, there were a trio of massive cages that were bent and broken, looking as though they had been dropped from a significant height before bursting open. Summers crouched and brought her rifle up, her right fist raised to halt their advance.

"What is it Jacky?" Griff asked.

"I sense something. Rage, hate and pain, at least 3."

"Whe…" Griff began, but his question was cut off by a trio of ground shattering roars that slammed into him with physical force.

Pandemonium erupted as creatures borne of man's primordial fears burst from the foliage around the clearing and charged into the force, scattering the heavily armored marines as if they were rag dolls.

Griff looked up into the slavering jaws of one such creature, its purplish carapace gleaming in the spotlights and two massive horns curling up from its skull. Its rows of dagger like teeth drew his attention as it roared again, its massively clawed arms extending out from its sides in an aggressive and intimidating gesture.

He fired his flak pistol at near point blank range, his dismay palpable as the rounds seemed to ping off the creature's armored hide. He dove but didn't move fast enough as a burning pain erupted in his side and his sidelong dive turned into a shallow flight over several yards of rough gravel. He slid and rolled painfully to a halt, rock dust clinging to him as blood dribbled from his mouth as he struggled to his feet.

Pain lanced through him as hot blood gushed from the trio of ghastly wounds in his side, his rib bones shining white through the tears in his skin. He fell back, the white hot anguish overwhelming his senses. His boys tried to form a firing line, firing bursts at the creatures as they attempted to regroup, their shots doing little more than to annoy the beasts.

They strongly resembled deathclaws, though those creatures he had faced with Paul Maxson at the quarry near Sloan were much easier to fell than these monstrosities. Their armor was much thicker and as they roared and turned, he noted several spiracle like horns rising from their back.

A marine screamed as he was gored by one of the creatures, the horn impaling him in the abdomen. The man struggled as the creature lifted and threw him with a toss of its head, the hapless soldier cartwheeling through the air to crash in a heap of twisted armor.

Jacky lunged between the swiping claws of two of the creatures, her C-10 canister rifle held across her chest as she attempted to regain some measure of balance. The mutated deathclaws seemed wholly unwilling to grant them any surcease, their aggressive brutality keeping the force from fighting back effectively.

One of the creatures, the one who had gored a marine, turned to fix her with a baleful glare before a series of whumps opened craters on its chest, each successive blast forcing it back. The main cannons on the hovering Banshee smoked as Weyland turned the aircraft to keep the creature in its firing arc.

The gunner manning the minigun howled in frustration as he stood impotent on the ramp of the banshee, unable to fire into the chaos without the very real possibility of hitting his comrades. Making up his mind, he grabbed his gauss rifle from the rack and leapt into the fray, aiming for the back of one of the beasts.

The deathclaw roared in surprise as several hundred pounds of armored marine fell onto him, the man grasping tightly to one its spiracles and leaned forward to jam the muzzle of his rifle into the creature's face. A burst of 8mm spikes impaled the creature's cheek with one lucky round popping one of its eyes as it bored into its skull. The deathclaw went mad with pain, thrashing about to throw the offending man from its back so it could tear it asunder with its claws.

The marine locked the servos of his arm to maintain his grasp and continued to fire into the deathclaw as best as he could, the wild bucking of the creature throwing off his aim. Several spikes embedded themselves in its mouth and snout before his weapon clicked on a dry magazine. Cursing, he extended his bayonet and lifted the weapon high, driving it down with all the force he could muster in between the creature's horns.

The skull was thick and strong, though it proved no match for several inches of nano-forged steel driven into it by an adrenaline fueled, power suited marine. It fell over with a groan, the marine helpless as the creature rolled over on top of him. His visor groaned then shattered beneath the weight and his armor blared warnings as the plates slowly buckled under the weight.

Jacky managed to get some distance between herself and the pursuing deathclaw, albeit only by passing between the two remaining marines which proved a distraction for the beast. She skidded to a halt and loaded armor piercing rounds into her C-10, aiming up into the throat of the deathclaw as it proceeded to claw through the marine's armor like a hot knife through butter. She blocked out the two men's fear and pain edging into her brain as she lined up her shot and fired.

The round smashed its way through its neck, tearing a baseball-sized hole through the creature's flesh. It gurgled, dark blood spurting from the wound and raining over the falling marines in an orgy of crimson fluid. She let out the breath she had been holding but got no chance to draw another as the last deathclaw ran over her and sent her tumbling in a bruised heap beneath its clawed feet. It turned around, its bloodshot eyes narrowed in rage as it moved in to finish her off.

The wind suddenly kicked up and the deathclaw actually mewled in confusion just a millisecond before the armored prow of the banshee rammed into it and lifted it bodily into the air. It held on and glared at the pilot who responded with an over-emphatic middle finger before flipping the banshee over, the force throwing the deathclaw far off into the night. Its receding howl sounded like a bleating Brahmin, the sound cut off with a crackle of cracking wood. Taking no chances, Weyland glided the aircraft over and sent a storm of autocannon rounds turning the deathclaw's landing spot into a shallow series of craters decorated with the creature's spattered viscera.

Hannigan held the Commander down, the man thrashing in agony as he sprayed his many wounds with growth stimulants and pain killers. It wasn't going well, and the former NCR medic grimaced in apology when he punched the Captain square in the jaw, the lighter CMC-405 armor nonetheless enhancing his strength enough to knock the man out cold. He hurredly finished his ministrations before checking on the other marines.

The first he came upon looked up into the sky with a vacant gaze, his torso shredded beyond recognition. Hannigan swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and closed his eyes for a moment, recognizing one of his fellow inmates from the NCRCF. He moved to the other man, who also lay still, but whose wounds were much less grievous.

He was able to treat him quickly, the man astoundingly regaining his feet and nodding in thanks. The last marine was trapped under tons of deathclaw and the two of them struggled to heft the weight off their comrade. With a final heave, they rolled the creature off and were greeted by the shuddering gasps of the man as he struggled to gulp in air as fast as he could.

They were joined by Jacky and the marine who had been tossed out of the clearing, both wincing as they hobbled over to them. Jacky let her rifle droop as she bent over to catch her breath. The gored marine gasping against the punctured armor pressing painfully against his chest. Hannigan and the other survivor grasped both sides of the mangled breastplate and managed to lever it open, relieving the pressure on his lungs.

Weyland landed nearby after verifying that the area was clear of additional contacts, the medic carrying the unconscious Captain and two marines carrying their comrade onto the ramp with Jacky and the last marine taking up the rear.

The group was in shock at how closely they had come to dying, the stark reminder that even their vaunted technology could not defend against all threats lying dead eyed and gaunt at their boots. The trip back to base was a somber affair, the question of who may have engineered deathclaws to be even more deadly and then left them where the Terrans were sure to investigate on all of their minds.


The photo she held in trembling fingers showed a slightly younger version of herself, long blonde hair framing her delicate face as she held a newborn boy with a mop of unruly black hair. A man stood proudly behind them, his arms cradling both mother and child in his protective embrace. He had a classically handsome face, with a chiseled jawline and somewhat unruly black hair. The grainy photo was tear stained and oft-folded, she held it delicately as if afraid to tear one of the few reminders of happier days. The comm beeped, interrupting her malaise as one of the command center crew called her by name.

"This is Bourgeois, go ahead."

"There is a medical emergency in hangar bay 2, Dr. Johnson has asked for you personally." Here the woman paused, "it's the Commander."

Sophia stifled a gasp, the moment drawing out uncomfortably until the woman on the other end of the comm coughed pointedly.

"I'm on my way." Sophia breathed out, barely audible over the hum of the command center.

"Acknowledged."


His wounds weren't closing despite the medical nanites being poured into the ghastly wounds. She could actually see the lacerated lung tissue heaving behind the exposed ribcage as the Captain hoarsely drew in breath after breath. He fought hard to not scream, trying to smile comfortingly to his distraught wife.

"What ze hell happened?!" Sophia demanded, her French accent often coming out when stressed. This situation certainly qualified.

The scans sent shivers down her spine, the anomalous readings reminding Sophia almost of zerg infestation. It was different enough to waylay her fears that it WAS a zerg virus, but the resemblance was frightening.

"We were attacked by three creatures that resembled deathclaws enough for me to guess that they are a further mutated version of the same species. In fact, given that they were dropped off by the unknown contacts before we arrived, I would hazard that they were artificially engineered offshoots." Weyland explained, the pilot chewing on her lip in worry.

"The two other wounded marines were treated on site and seem to be recovering well. Their wounds weren't as deep though." Hannigan piped in.

Sharon was pale as she gripped her husband's arm, stroking his sweat soaked hair while cooing gibberish at him as he writhed on the bed. Nothing said could move her, so the medics merely moved around the beleaguered woman as they worked.

"FEV." Scribe Taggart breathed, the tablet displaying the scans dropping to his side in despair.

"What?!" Sophia snapped.

"Forced Evolutionary Virus. The Pre-War government experimented with it to create biological weapons for their cold war against communist China. Deathclaws were one result of their experiments, but they had since spread beyond the NCR where they originally hailed to spread throughout the wasteland."

"Someone has to have furthered those experiments, those deathclaws are like nothing I've ever heard of." Hannigan added.

"Merde!" Sophia cursed, as she wracked her brain for a solution. Whatever it was, it was attacking Captain Johnson's systems and keeping his blood from clotting correctly and interfered with his cell's healing mechanisms. The growth stimulators could not overcome whatever the agent was doing to him, this FEV. If she couldn't find a way to stop it soon, his wounds would kill him.

"Hannigan, use the terminal and synthesize a vial of GX-232 retrovirus. 30 CC's."

The medic looked at her quizzically for a moment then turned to do as she asked. Sharon perked up at last, her intense concentration on her husband broken by Sophia's request.

"Dr. Hanson's research?" She whispered.

"Oui. It iz similar enough to the zerg virus they use to infest Terrans that it may be effective here. All ve can do iz pray."

Though there was no true cure for zerg infestation, Dr. Ariel Hanson developed a series of retroviruses which would enable the patient's DNA to assert itself over any invading DNA, coupled with the standard growth accelerators, it became a race between the patient's own DNA and the zerg viruses attempted to rewrite it.

She administered the retrovirus and used almost medieval medical methods to seal the wounds in his side, flushing the area with powerful antibiotic and antiviral sprays before suturing the ripped flesh closed with steel clips. She covered it with a sterile dressing and bandaged it carefully. Hannigan began an IV of plasma to replace what the commander had lost and another of painkillers and sedatives to help him rest. Sophia brought a chair over for Sharon to sit in, which she accepted gratefully before settling in another chair herself, keeping an eye on the scans.

The others filed out one by one, each offering comforting words to Sharon which were steadfastly ignored.


"Lieutenant Weyland."

The woman stopped short and looked up at the two engineers walking briskly towards her. They were trailed by a balding man in a lab coat that she didn't recognize.

"Engineer Li, Engineer Giovanni." She greeted, "What can I do for you."

"We just heard about the commander. How is he?" Dominic said, cutting Luca off to that man's irritation.

"It's too soon to tell. Was there something else?" Weyland clearly seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere, anywhere.

"You have the command, ma'am. We have a mission request that needs to be cleared by you."

"No. No more missions for the time being."

"But…" Luca interjected.

"I said NO! And I mean it!" Weyland hadn't considered that as the second highest ranking person, she would be left in command if the Captain was incapacitated. It was a responsibility that terrified her, she was a fighter jockey, not a Commander.

Dominic laid a hand on Luca's shoulder to settle the volatile man down, "Commander…"

"Don't call me that."

"Lieutenant," Dominic corrected, "This is Dr. Haversam. He has helped us solve the vespene problem."

This stopped Weyland short, "What?"

"It just happens to be his area of expertise. He was able to model a process using local materials to create a vespene analog. All we need is a source of natural gas and a catalyzer. We have the location of both. Luca and I have drawn up the schematics for a modified refinery, and once all the pieces are put in place, we will have a steady supply of vespene. You know what this means."

"Of course I know what it means!" Weyland snapped, far more harshly than she intended. She massaged the bridge of her nose for a moment before drawing a deep breath and continuing.

"I know." She said more gently, "What exactly do you need?"

"Aircraft and a team to clear out the caverns of local fauna at Fire Root Cavern near Cottonwood crater."

Weyland thought back to her study of the area's geography.

"That is dangerously close to a Legion encampment." She noted.

"It is, though the mountains themselves and the ambient radiation at the crater would deter Legion patrols."

"We'd need to station men to defend the site regardless." Weyland stated flatly, "and the catalyzer?"

"Scanner sweeps have shown a quantity of isotope-239 near an area called Clark Field, south east of here. We just need a quick smash and grab to get it. The site is highly irradiated so we'd need to be in and out quickly."

"Ok, so how long would it take once the refinery is up to get enough vespene to get us on track?"

"That's the bad." Luca admitted, "We'd only be able to synthesize a trickle of vespene, 1 standard unit per hour. It would take just over a day to have enough to build the reactor add-on for the barracks so we can start producing CMC-660 and 5-4 Armored infantry Suits."

She leaned against the bulkhead, her forehead resting on the cool metal and bringing some slight relief from the near constant headaches she had since they arrived here.

She spoke as if to the wall, though the engineers forgave her eccentricity when it became apparent they were receiving approval for their mission plans.

"We'll take this one step at a time. No half-measures. Our last recon cost us a marine and maybe more if the Commander doesn't pull through. We'll get the catalyzer first once Summers has had a chance to rest. She'll be the lead on the ground. Coordinate with Knight Lorenzo to get some of his boys to help secure the site. We go in ready to level the place if necessary."

Luca and Dominic nodded in affirmation, Lt. Weyland clearly not in the mood for anything approaching dissent.


Two days later, the entire force of 3 banshees, 2 drop ships and 1 medivac took off from the hangars in Hidden Valley and headed south to Clark Field. The aircraft stationed at Nellis were to be on hot standby in case needed. All the aircraft were loaded with an entire platoon of T-72 armored brotherhood Knights and Paladins, the majority of them newly inducted from the Vault 18 personnel and those Boomers who relished ground combat more than flying.

They spread out to the north of Clark Field and dispatched their ground forces. Weyland gritting her teeth as she watched from the CIC in the Command Center, her nerves on edge with sending others into the field. She understood now why Captain Johnson hit the field so often, it was nerve wracking to sit back while others took the risks.

The display showed that their deployment was a little sloppy, the veteran paladins curtly ordering the knights to form up properly. Summers led a small force of marines to the area pinpointed by the adjutant while covered by the BoS troopers. She had them pause before entering the area, the adjutant warning of several bio-signs in the area.

Not wanting to take any chances, Weyland ordered the BoS contingent to take their Rad-X and sweep the site.

Moving in a line, the wall of polished power armor presented a daunting sight, giving the golden geckos who made Clark Field their home pause. The knights and paladins needed no order to engage, no command to open fire, they simply raised their weapons and filled the air with precision laser fire, dozens of the mutated beasts falling where they stood.

The few remaining ran forward, hissing in misplaced bravery as they sought to close with the Brotherhood's advance. Laser fire cut them to pieces before they ever got close, the twitching body parts crushed underfoot as the knights and paladins swept the field from one side to the other.

Summers and her team followed in their wake, the marines taking the occasional potshot with their longer ranged weaponry.

In less than half an hour, the entire force was heading back north, the canister of atomic fuel safely ensconced in a shielded container aboard one of the dropships.

With the success of the operation, Weyland and Paladin Hardin approved the deployment of a second team to Fire Root Cavern.

This time, the more heavily armored marines led the way while the Brotherhood forces took up position outside. It was feared that firing laser weaponry inside would detonate the natural gas, relegating the Brotherhood to a guard role. Still, a squad saw action against several super mutants on the opposite side of the mountain, within Cottonwood crater itself. The virgin knights acquitted themselves well, led by the veteran Paladin Hardin himself, they released over a dozen super mutants and their pet centaurs from their torment.

Inside the cavern, the marines were having a grand time engaging in melee against the geckos that made their home within even though this particular breed possessed the ability to breathe fire, and one of them was twice the size of its fellows. Summers led the way, her lithe frame dancing in between the mutated creatures, slashing open scaly flesh with her knives as her marines pounded the wounded geckos with powerful blows. Several of them had become enamored of the super sledges the brotherhood had stockpiled in their armory and used them to devastating effect.

One marine blasted aside a gecko and called out to his partner, who turned and bashed the creature down on his return swing, the hapless creature broken as it tumbled through the air. They made a sport of it, bashing the poor creatures between them like a game of badminton. Once the cavern was declared clear, the SCVs moved in and began carefully boring pipelines into the subterranean natural gas deposit and constructing the automated refinery along the mountainside.

Weyland recalled the bulk of the team after a relief force was sent to take up guard positions. Automated turrets and firing ports built into the refinery itself provided the men stationed there defensive positions. A missile turret was constructed atop the refinery to provide air cover and for the marines and engineers there to take advantage of its advanced sensors.

Weyland looked up from the CIC display when the lift doors opened, revealing a haggard but smiling Griff walking on crutches and supported by Sharon. He struggled into the command center, the effort clearly draining him as he collapsed onto the nearest chair, sweat beading on his brow. He looked up and around in surprise as the command center crew standing at attention, all of them doing their best to hide their relieved smiles.

"Please, as you were. And thank you."

Weyland eyed him warily, noting how pale he looked. "Are you supposed to be out and about sir?"

"At ease, Lieutenant, "Griff laughed, "Bourgeois thought I could use a little exercise. Besides, I hear you have everything well in hand. Congratulations are in order."

Weyland fought the blush heating up her cheeks and the smile that twitched at her lips. She was still angry at the Commander, after all.

"I am happy to relinquish command as soon as you are ready sir."

"That might be awhile. I'm getting used to being able to rest and relax with my wife."

Her words caught in her throat, the commander hurriedly retracting himself at her anguished expression, "I was only kidding! You'll have the con for one more night, I promise."

Her relief was palpable, her body visibly relaxing at the news that the heavy mantle of leadership would soon be back where it belonged.


"Look son."

The young teenager dutifully examined the ground where his dad pointed, trying to remember his lessons and apply them on his first real hunt.

He saw the depressions in the soft earth, his eyes tracing the contours and noting their depth and number.

"I think there were two of them here, dad." He looked around some more, "They stopped here to nibble on these razorgrain stalks."

"Very good, Scott." His dad beamed, clapping his son on the shoulder. They had followed the tracks of a pair of radstags for about an hour after leaving the settlement, and for the most part, Scott had led them true. David was immensely proud of him, already excited to tell his wife what a great hunter Scott was shaping up to be.

They continued for another hour, slowly following the fresh signs, Scott excitedly pointing out the still steaming spoor of one of the beasts. The two men readied their hunting rifles, heirloom weapons that were the envy of the settlement, as they continued.

Another hour passed and they both sensed that they were getting closer, crouching down and trying to make as little noise as possible. They had to range slightly south to stay downwind and crept along the underbrush as much as possible.

"Wha?" David paused in his survey to regard his son, Scott examining his hand intently.

There was a light fleshy purple liquid dripping from his hand, his son indicating the tree trunk he had leaned against to brace himself.

The long dead tree showed signs of some kind of infestation, more of the purplish mass growing along the trunk in a pulsating mass. David had never seen anything like it. Wiping his hand off hurriedly, Scott peered over the brush and gasped.

"Dad… look."

Looking down into the small valley, David saw what had taken his son aback. The bowl-like depression was covered with the same growth that infected the tree, and more pointedly, the body of the recently deceased radstag lay on its side in the middle of it. The carpet of fleshy material seemed to have started to grow up and over the corpse, tendrils winding their way over the body even as they watched, astonished.

The radstag has been dismembered, parts of its body lying in a small circle with arcs of its blood having sprayed in impressive large jets across the valley. The purplish mass seemed to flex as it 'absorbed' the creature's body, the sickly sweet scent of decaying meat nearly gagging the father and son as they watched in grotesque fascination.

His hunter's instincts screaming, David felt as though something was watching them, and tearing his eyes from the odd spectacle, urged his son back.

Their hearts hammered in their chests just below the edge of panic, fear lending them strength as they increased their speed back to the settlement, all thoughts of the hunt purged from their minds.

Their exodus was marked by a pair of glowing yellow eyes, the zergling edging forward from the underbrush mere yards from where the hunter's crouched. It sniffed the ground and sampled some of the creep growing on the tree trunk, the nutritient rich creep revitalizing the scout. It tensed its hind legs, the wings of the raptor strain zergling vibrating in excitement as it prepared to run down the Terrans. It paused mid-leap, the overriding directive from the nearest overlord turning the scout back. It loped back the way it came and joined its brothers, a band of dozens of zerglings jogging back to the hatchery rising on the horizon.


A/N: And that's the last chapter for a little while, my next update will be for the story I adopted from Fulminanz, The Salem settlement. Although lately, I seem to be brimming with good ideas and have been having pretty good luck at writing them out coherently. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please R & R!