Chapter 35: Rally

Midwestern BoS GHQ

Star Paladin Cross waited patiently outside the communications room while the General was occupied. As the lead ambassador for the Eastern Brotherhood, she was privy to most, but not all, Midwest BoS matters. She had, fortunately, not spent a considerable amount of time with the General, but the time she had spent with her was, admittedly, grating. Cross had shot at Brotherhood Outcasts who were less abrasive then the supreme commander of the Chicago expedition. Were it not for her martial talents, and the considerable force at her beck and call, Cross would have been tempted to write off the entire chapter as a lost cause.

"Cross, I've been looking all over for you!" Brendan called out as he and Charon approached her. Cross smiled. Brendan could always make her smile, though how and why tended to vary on the occasion. His father would have been proud, if somewhat baffled, by the man he had learned to become. A doctor and a scientist in his own right, and he had managed to almost single handedly replicate the Project by himself. Getting him to implement it, however, was complicated.

"So, how's Warmonger Henri's meeting going?" Brendan asked. Cross shushed him. "Brendan, we're in polite company!" she hissed.

"Yeah, Thex invited me for tea and crumpets this afternoon. Isn't that right, manservant?" he said, turning to Charon. The ghoul made no effort to dignify the jape. Despite Brendan's bizarre sense of humor, the two had been inseparable in their years following DC. Brendan always kept Charon's contract with him, but something told Cross that there was more to Charon's loyalty then whatever ownership the paper conveyed. Brendan was a proud humanitarian by wastelander standards, and Charon seemed to appreciate that level of decency in an employer, though he would never admit it himself.

Brendan looked past Cross to see the sealed door behind her. "How rude. She's locking you out. Me, I understand, but a Star Paladin?" Brendan tut-tutted.

"She is talking to the military council," Cross explained.

Brendan's eyes widened in excitement. The Midwestern BoS's military council held Barnaky's leash. They had fully intended to sic their attack dog on Chicago, wiping out the Star Spangled Fuckwits once and for all. A massive army of Paladins, super mutants, ghouls, wastelanders, tribals, and robots would retake Chicago and finally re-solidify the Midwestern Confederacy.

"…Hey, Cross? I remember reading back at the Citadel that the Brotherhood considered the Midwestern Branch to be a small offshoot. Missing this entire army… well, it's kind of a major lapse of info gathering, to be honest," Brendan shrugged.

"It is a small contingent by Brotherhood standards, Brendan. Remember, the Lost Hills Council only count "true" Brotherhood members. The amount of Paladins, Knights, and Scribes in this army are actually quite small, smaller even then the Capital Brotherhood," Cross explained.

"Huh, so you're telling me that the "real" Brotherhood of Steel considers the rest of those guys to be "volunteers?" Hmph, their loss," Brendan shrugged. "Indeed," Cross said to herself.

Despite their small numbers, the Brotherhood occupied the main leadership of the Confederacy. War parties were lead by Paladins, and all research efforts were "supervised" by Scribes. Though the entire Brotherhood functioned in a somewhat chivalric manner, only the Midwestern Brotherhood embraced the feudal aspects of "ruling" in such a way. Cross had a sneaking suspicion that Barnaky had ambitions to capitalize on that status quo, and only the military council was holding her back.

While she kept her concerns silent, however, Brendan wore his heart on his sleeve. As the lead director of the Mississippi Project, he had publicly announced that he planned to create a fully operational replica of Project Purity, thereby unleashing fresh water straight down the continental United States. Privately, however, he had confided to Cross his concerns that Barnaky would use the project in an effort to exert force on any settlement south of the river. Possibly even damming the river to force compliance. Though Cross said nothing, she empathized and concurred with Brendan's suspicions, though still expressed frustrations with Brendan's deliberate stonewalling.

"Brendan, if you don't mind me asking, why exactly are you here?" Cross asked.

Brendan kicked the floor absentmindedly, looking up at an unusually interesting ceiling tile. Cross rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Brendan, there is no way Barnaky will allow you to partake in the expedition."

"What a fucking crock! Barnaky and Thex WISH they had MY experience in killing Enclave flunkies! I didn't haul my fucking Gauss rifle halfway across the country because it looks good on my tent mantle!

"Barnaky believes your value is better suited elsewhere," Cross replied, sternly.

"I can wipe the Enclave out with one hand while writing out theoretical GECK equations with the other! I'm a genius!"

"Evidently. How would I know repetition preceded truth?" Barnaky said as she exited the radio room. "Brendan, I have arranged transport to take you and your research north to Itasca."

"By the time I've reached there, the Enclave will have evacuated Chicago. I know how to hurt those bastards, Barnaky, I've done it several times already," Brendan asserted.

"Cross and her entourage speak highly of your skills, Brendan. And I've gotten radio transmissions out east from your pet hype man," Barnaky added with a smirk.

"Three Dog is not my hype man, he's a newscaster. His news judgment leaves a little to be desired sometimes, but the Good Fight is the Good Fight. That means, taking every precaution towards finishing off the Enclave once and for all," Brendan insisted.

"Brendan, you were allowed here because of your expertise as a scientist, not a mercenary. I have enough men to stamp the Enclave out of the history books, with or without your assistance. If you really need to further inflate your ego, I would suggest proceeding forward with the project and finishing your job."

As much as he really wanted to believe the best in her, Brendan's history had punished him for his naivety. Roy Philips. Crowley. Sibley. Tobar. Werhner. Amata. He had been bitten many times, and the better one's intentions were claimed to be, the louder the alarms in his head went off.

"Of course, I could easily make due with you just handing over whatever notes are necessary to complete the project myself. That way, you wouldn't have had to abandon your beloved hometown. Surely, you'd be happier there then cooped up in our little labs?" she goaded him.

Before he could catch himself, Brendan clenched his fists. Charon, immediately, placed his hand on his employer's shoulder, grounding him back in reality. Intentionally or not, Barnaky had opened a personal wound. Charon had kept it a secret from everyone, even Cross. Returning to the Capital Wasteland was, in Brendan's case, not a feasible option after burning one too many bridges.

"…Whatever you want, Henri. Come on, Charon, we're just wasting our time here," Brendan snorted as he and his bodyguard left.

As Cross watched the two wanderers turn to leave, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, a sneer of contempt pass over Barnaky's face. It promptly vanished when she turned to the other woman.

"So, I take it your meeting with the military council was a productive one?" Cross asked.

"Don't be cute, Cross. They denied my petition to offer support to our Mojave brethren. They are holding away the bulk of the army until I arrive in Illinois to take command," Barnaky sniffed.

"I sorry to hear that, General. I know how much you were looking forward to re-establishing with the West Coast. The council made the best decision they could with the information they had, though. It wasn't a decision they could have made lightly," Cross tried to placate.

"Thank you, Cross. I appreciate your patience with me in this matter. You are free to rejoin your contingent and relay the military council's decision in this matter."

Cross nodded, and after a salute, left to rejoin her men. As she did, a slow smile crept up onto Barnaky's face. Imbecile, she thought. It is hard to appraise who is stupider. Those sniveling invalids in their high chairs or their new pet they sent to watch over me. My personal force is more then enough to send the message to California. I'm getting those airships, one-way or the other. The council thinks the Reavers follow them? Perhaps, but they fail to understand that they will only obey me…

Bishop Caves

Gavino Bishop spared no expense. That was immediately evident when Boone and Natalie surveyed the camp as they exited the truck. The top of the cave was lined with electric lamps, and a generator hummed in the background. Scattered all around the cave were crates, many with "NCR" stamped on the sides, filled to the brim with weapons. The trucks had been parked somewhere deeper in the caves, while the entrance had been fortified against any Van Graff reprisals.

"Here we are, kiddos! My personal home away from home!" Bishop excitedly relayed to his family and guests, to varying degrees of enthusiasm and pep. Natalie looked all around her, seeing crates filled with Bishop property marked with labels like "guns" and "chems." You really jumped the gun declaring me dead, NCR, Natalie thought to herself. I could have made the Rangers year reporting on a cache like this. As Bishop began shouting out orders to his subordinates, Natalie found herself wandering around the storage, looking over the contraband and supplies Bishop had accumulated over his long career as a crime lord.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" Natalie turned to the rude request to see a big guy wearing combat armor, with an assault rifle slung over his back and a shotgun hanging above his ass. The man has an unfriendly look in his eyes, and the scar did little to improve the hostile appearance.

"I'm with Bishop, chill," Natalie sniffed indignantly. The man's mouth curved unpleasantly. "What, you're another merc? You're too soft. And pretty. Bishop been seeing you on the side?"

Nope, Devin, and she won't screw you either," Bishop interjected as he approached the two. "I need your crew ready to move out and follow my lead. How many did you bring together?"

"Got bout thirty guys with me. With ten to a truck, we'll be in Vegas before Momma Van Graff has another kid," Devin joked.

"Excellent. I hope you don't mind too much, but I'm thinking of leading this one from the front. …Is it ready yet?" Bishop asked, tentatively.

"Oh, the… yeah, the last part just came in this week. You can do the honors of breaking it in, Boss. I know how you look forward to that kind of thing."

Bishop squealed and clapped his hands. He actually squealed and clapped his hands. Natalie's bafflement was the only thing holding her back from laughing. Devin, to his credit, made no comment. After calming down, Bishop sent away the mercenary. As he left, he turned to Natalie. "Devin is my "external affairs" associate, much in the same way that Ivan is my "internal affairs" associate."

"So he's just a mercenary, huh? Doesn't look too special," Natalie replied, honestly.

Bishop barked out a laugh. "Not special, huh? That's an ex-Ranger you're looking at, kiddo. Used to have the black armor and everything!"

Natalie's eyes widened in shock. A veteran ranger, working for Gavino Bishop? "What can I say, NCR pensions have nothing on me!" Bishop continued to laugh.

"…So, what is that "thing" you two were talking about?" Natalie managed to ask.

"Oh, you are going to love this! It's a secret surprise! I just gotta… where's your boyfriend?" Bishop asked as he looked around. He looked down the cave and saw a sign with an arrow that stated, "weapons depot." "Mystery solved," he announced. "Be a good girl and give him some air. Oh, and feel free to help yourself to anything that tickles your fancy."

"You're just going to let me make off with anything in your cache?" Natalie asked, skeptically.

"I need you two alive. Anything that helps you two stay alive is merely an investment on my end. I'm a generous, caring man. Speaking of…" he leaned in closer towards Natalie, "…if the two of you need a little extra "privacy," then I'm only a bribe away from… Hey, HEY! I WAS JUST KIDDING!" Bishop laughed as Natalie turned in disgust, stomping away from him angrily.

Secretly, Natalie was kicking herself for allowing herself and Boone to fall right into Bishop's transparent manipulations. A single bed? Bishop wanted the two of them to hook up. Granted, she had feelings for Boone, and he obviously reciprocated, and it was the only private moment they had had since Shi-town, and the sex itself was beyond phenomenal both times, but… Natalie forgot what her train of thought was. As she rounded the corner, she saw Boone looking over a very large rack of rifles, appraising them all studiously. As she approached, Boone turned to her. "I'm thinking of something that says "stopping power" and can bring down a deathclaw at a half mile. Thoughts?"

Natalie looked over the rack. She was familiar with guns, sure, it was part of her job after all, but she was far from a gun-nut. The way she saw Gun Runners drool over atypical specifications like a stripper didn't mesh well with her ideas of "fun." Of course, Boone was a sniper, and his was the duty of a professional gun-nut. "…What about that one over there?" she asked.

The weapon in question was an anti-material rifle, roughly as tall as she was and without a doubt almost as heavy. Boone picked up the weapon, examining it carefully. "…This'll do. Not something I use often, but it'll do what I need it to. I can always carry the repeater as a secondary, I guess," Boone thought aloud.

"Sounds good, Boone. Hey, Bishop wanted me to tell you he had something to show you…" Natalie paused as Boone handed her a brush rifle, and also some binoculars.

"…I noticed you seemed to have a preference to some of the, uh, more "traditional" firearms, so I figured that this one would be right up your alley," Boone suggested meekly.

"OK… thank you, Boone," Natalie replied.

"…And, uh, the binoculars are for… well, good snipers tend to work best in pairs. You know, spotter and shooter, and all that. So I figured that you might want to…"

"…I love you too, Boone." Natalie responded, smiling at the stammering marksman.

"…Thanks for that, Natty. You'd think I'd be better at this talking to women thing by now, but…" Boone shrugged.

"Actually, I kind of like that you aren't much of a talker. Most guys just bullshit girls, anyway. You? You're honest. I don't need you to write any poetry for me," Natty giggled.

"Thank you very much, Natty," Boone replied, grinning.

"Anytime. Bishop says take your pick of whatever you think we'll need. Afterwards, he wants to show us a surprise…"

After scouring Bishop's stockpiles, Boone left with an anti-material rifle, a side arm on his leg, and combat armor in addition to his repeater. Natalie, in her instance, kept the brush gun, chose to wear a bulletproof vest, and a long-coat, in addition to Murdock's revolver. They then proceeded to what they supposed was the cave's equivalent of an antechamber, where a large crowd of mercenary raiders was congregating around the center of the cave. Ex-ranger Gaunt, noticing the two latecomers, motioned both of them to join him. No sooner did they do so then did Mr. Bishop, Mrs. Bishop, and Judy come into the chamber.

"…So basically, your mother and I had the same passion for salvage! And wouldn't you know it, nine months later, you were born!" Bishop told his daughter, who had her face buried into her hands.

"Do you… have to be… so loud… and annoying," she muttered as they passed through the crowd.

Bishop laughed, leaving his daughter with his wife, entered the center of the chamber, and stood next to a large object that was covered with a tarp.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests one and all, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you all the crown jewel of the of the Bishop Empire… other then you, baby," Bishop said with a wink to his wife, who giggled as her daughter rolled her eyes. "Presenting, after two centuries of silence, a work of art, reawakened!" Bishop announced with a flourish, ripping off the tarp. The crowd around the object gasped, and even Gaunt felt inclined to whistle.

In the center of the chamber sat a bright red, four doors, Corvega Minuteman. A pre-war sports car that was designed to give a sense of high speed and style to everyone from rich families to rich playboys. It was one of the first cars to utilize primarily microfusion cells as energy, rather then the rapidly dwindling fossil fuels that ignited the Great War. As Gaunt though over this, he realized he was probably the only true "gear-head" in the room. Most of these people had never so much as really sat in a car, let alone driven one, Bishop's trucks notwithstanding. Just because the man had the resources to put the pieces together didn't mean that he knew the first damn thing about those things.

As the crowd broke out in cheers and hollering, Bishop opened the back door, motioning Natalie and Boone into the vehicle. Obliging the crime lord, he shut the door behind them, and then made his way to the drivers side seat. After making himself comfortable, the crowd dispersed in front of him, revealing a garage door-like contraption opening to the great wasteland yonder. Bishop smirked as he activated the engine. The car spat to life as it began hovering off the ground. He looked into the mirror. "Let's rock and roll, people!" He slammed on the gas… and the car lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop. Natalie practically slammed her head into Bishop's headrest as Boone lurched forward, his seatbelt knocking the wind out of him. Bishop, startled by the abrupt halt, tried again to hit the gas, with the same results. "…the fuck?" he muttered to himself as he looked over the car console.

There was a quick rapt on the window next to him, with Gaunt peering in. "Did you mess with the clutch, at all?" he asked.

"…What's a clutch?" Bishop asked. "Is that the thing next to the break?"

Gaunt stared at the crime lord and novice driver. "…Get out of the car."

"What? No! Fuck you!" Bishop snarled. Gaunt, however, pried the door open and grabbed Bishop by his suit jacket, pulling him from his seat. The mercenary raiders all looked like they were going to fill the ghoul with lead, but Mrs. Bishop halted them all with a gesture. Throwing Bishop to the ground, the ghoul parked himself into the driver's side. "…There's your problem," Gaunt noted as he looked next to him. "Stick shift."

Bishop had finally pulled himself onto his feet, and was about to order his men to open up on the hijacker when the car finally roared to life instead of sputtering. Bishop, trying to regain his composure, strolled over to the front passengers seat in as dignified a manner as he could manage, while also trying to ignore his daughter's giggling. After taking his unofficial seat, he glowered over at his new chauffer. "…You sure you remember how to drive one of these things?" Bishop asked.

"Let's find out," and with that, Gaunt slammed on the gas. The car zoomed from the cave, heading down a long forgotten highway. One that would take the four to Vegas, and to destiny.

Fort Tandi

Major Schmitt was alerted to the convoy after they had entered the walls of the fort. Her life had recently been one bad headache after another, ever since, ironically, the war ended. After the withdrawal, practically every soldier from Dayglow to Redding had to cross through Fort Tandi for processing, and to collect his or her final week of combat pay. Being this close to Shady Sands, Fort Tandi was the obvious choice for the task. Whoever thought that this was a cake-job never had to demilitarize a bunch of conscripts. There were more forms to fill out then she could have even begun to comprehend. Pensions, injury reports, medical notices, civilian job transfers. Only recently had the last of it finally been put away.

Now, however, came new problems. Deathclaws had been sighted to the west of them. An absolutely huge pack, lead by something that scouts had taken to calling a "Supreme Alpha." Or, at least, the ones who came back did. The NCR had allowed no kill orders authorized to take out the alpha; so naturally, the caravan barons were throwing a fit while they had to navigate around the pack. Which made their problems her problems.

This incident was especially insufferable, seeing as this new caravan couldn't even do with the courtesy of calling their arrival ahead of time before making home in her fort. Fort Tandi, unlike other NCR military establishments, was not based on a Pre-war facility. It was built, from the ground up, as the main fortress of the NCR Capitol. What was originally built as a watchtower was now one of the biggest military outposts outside of Sierra. And, when taking into account the skeleton crew she was dealing with, the biggest pain in the ass.

"OK, OK, people, what's the deal for today," she began as she approached the caravan. She nearly stopped in her tracks at the sight of it. For starters, this caravan was massive. Most made due with one or maybe three Brahmin, but this one had no less then twenty Brahmin, with two guards for every head, totaling at about eighty. Secondly, all of them seemed to be wounded, with every one sporting a bandage or wrap of some kind. Many of them were leaning on their Brahmin, even as medics tended to them. They seemed especially fussy, oddly refusing to be examined.

A young caravan gunner, having another lean on him for support, noticed the major approaching and beckoned her over.

"Y-you're an officer?" he stammered.

"Yes, sir. Major Schmitt, at your service," she saluted.

"It's my brother. He's wounded pretty badly. He's the main guy you need to talk to. Please, if you could find him a place to sit…"

"Would my office be sufficient?" the major asked as the wounded man moaned in pain.

"That would do nicely. Please, if it wouldn't be too much trouble," the young man asked as his brother slipped from his grip. The major hurriedly caught the other man, and together they made their way to the main office. As they entered, brushing past the handful of aides outside the major's room, Parker insisted on having the fort doctor look at who she presumed to be the lead caravaneer. Upon reaching her office, the young man settled down the older one into a nearby chair, while pulling another one up to the major's desk.

"OK, you're brother will be tended to as soon as possible. Just… can you walk me through what happened?" the major asked as she took her seat.

"It was terrible. We were running cargo for Crimson Caravans. Something about a large shipment of raw material to the Boneyard. Well, they paid top dollar for a big "raider-proof caravan," and, well, we all have families to feed," the young man shrugged.

"I see. Go on," the major insisted.

"Well, just as we passed Parkerton, we were attacked by raiders. But these guys…" the young man leaned in, "…these guys were different," he said in a hushed tone.

"These guys were organized. They had us trapped, and there wasn't anywhere we could go. Half of us are dead, Major! That's all that's left out there!" he relayed as his voice quivered.

The major looked out the window. Sure enough, the scattered caravan was milling around the base, aimlessly spreading around the ground, the base's skeleton crew too small to properly confine them to a specific area.

"They had… they had these weapons… can't recall seeing anything like them before…" the young man continued. "We… we couldn't rally enough to repulse them. My brother, before he got hit, ordered us to just try and break through the trap. And they kept… screaming something…."

The doctor hurriedly brushed through the doorway, before noticing the wounded man sitting on the seat by the wall. Immediately, he began checking him for wounds, his concern giving way to confusion the closer he looked.

"What did they say, kid? The raiders? What did they say?" the major asked.

The young man looked her in the eyes. "They said… they said…"

A sudden splash and gurgle interrupted the conversation. The major looked over the man's shoulder to see that the fort doctor was on his knees, clutching his throat. Before the major could even react, the young man was upon her, dragging his knife across her throat. As she fell from her chair, desperately trying to cling to life, the young man grabbed her intercom, bringing the microphone to his lips. "Hail Caesar!"

The last thing Major Schmitt ever heard was the sounds of gunfire, and the screams of her dying men.

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

NCR Army: The largest standing military force in the known wasteland, the NCR Army is first and last line of defense for the Republic. Founded not long after President Tandi's second term of office, the NCR military has engaged nearly every hostile threat with varying degrees of success. The Great Khans, the Brotherhood of Steel, the Enclave, Caesar's Legion; all have fallen before the might of the Bear. Citizens can be drafted into military service when the need is dire enough. Though the typical conscript has only an abbreviated time for training, the military's ability to move supplies and material throughout the ranks is unparalleled. Critics of the NCR state that the military does little to actually protect citizens, instead focusing on recent expansionist policies.