So I know this has been a long time coming - class has been out for over a month, and I just kept putting it off and putting it off. I struggled with finding a way to write the battle that I was satisfied with. After a lot of writing and rewriting...this is what I've come up with...
I hope everyone enjoys it.
There's an undeniable truth to war. No matter how much you prepare for it, you're never ready for it. Not really.
You can see it coming a mile away…a hundred miles away. But then, when it's on you…it happens so fast. It always takes you by surprise.
You get this sinking feeling in your stomach. Some mixture of fear, trepidation, and hopelessness.
Time around you almost slows down…but your heart, it races a mile a minute.
Six had seen it coming. He had made his preparations – he'd upgraded his securitrons and he had made all the right connections. In every sense of the word – he was prepared.
Prepared, but not ready.
Any day now. He told himself. He kept telling himself. Everyone knew that Lanius had already set up camp.
But life was carrying on around them. Hours turned into days. Days turned into weeks. The threat of war always on the horizon – looming over them like humid fog rising from the waters of Lake Mead.
Graham had disappeared.
Boone had taken a group of soldiers under his wing – the Misfits. Those kids they'd rescued from Nelson. He had begun training them himself – with Hsu's blessing. His life was a delicate balance – and he almost never slept.
His instincts told him to take First Recon and the Misfits…give chase to the Legion. Hell, Hanlon had more or less given him his blessing to do so.
But he didn't. He wanted to…with every fiber of his being he wanted to. But something Hanlon had said had made him reconsider. It was a suicide mission. Not just for himself, but all of first recon. For the Misfits…and they were just kids. The risk was just too high.
Especially for those kids.
So his days were spent training the Misfits. The group couldn't seem to get away from the name, so Boone suggested they embrace it. A misfit was nothing more than someone who stood out – he'd told them. So do it. And do it they did.
His nights were another matter. The New Vegas Medical Clinic had done all they could for Melissa. Now she lay quietly in a tent in the Mormon Fort; awake…but not herself. Some days she'd sleep for countless hours. Other days…
It had taken some persuasion, but Christine and Veronica had managed to convince McNamara to join their cause. Veronica reminded him of all that Six had done for the Mojave Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel.
When that had failed, Six had stepped in to negotiate.
Raul and the Boomers had long finished the Lady in the Water – decorating the plane with a mural of a much younger Pearl. In her heyday, Six was sure her beauty rivaled even the beauty of the late Joana.
Arcade had traveled to the Remnant's Bunker; and with a few switch flips and button presses he sent out a radio signal to people he hadn't seen in years. Within days they were prepared to move – and now they quietly awaited orders for their newfound purpose.
Benny had the Strip running like clockwork – he and Yes Man worked well together. Of course…Six kept him on a short leash. The newly formed Heartbreak Hotel & Casino and The Inferno, formerly The Gomorrah, proved to be successful.
For a while – it seemed as though the stalemate would never end. It seemed as though the great bear and the raging bull would forever be locked in sort of a stare down – eyeing each other from across the an ocean of differences manifested as Lake Mead.
It was on a Wednesday – a warm spring afternoon – March 15th, 2282 when they marched. When the Legion drew first blood.
They swarmed the Dam like the vermin they were. NCR spotters had been fortunate enough to see the attack coming – but that was by Lanius' design. There was no honor in sneaking in like a shadow in the night.
No. He wanted the Mojave to know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, who their conqueror was. And he wanted to see them tremble in his wake.
In retrospect, the General Oliver felt he should have known when the Legion intended to attack. It would be just like the Roman inspired nation…to attack on the Ides of March. Perhaps Lanius saw something almost poetic in it.
Perhaps it was Caesar's intention all along.
The NCR had buckled down – holding the Dam against the Legion's superior numbers. Their sharpshooters had positioned themselves along the ridge once more.
It wouldn't prove to be as effective as it had been last time – Legion howitzers peppered the mountainside with artillery.
The Rangers, absent Hanlon, threw themselves between the Mojave and the Legion. The Mojave's last bastion of hope against enslavement or annihilation.
Grim didn't begin to describe the situation.
But that's the thing about war. An undeniable truth – it always surprises you.
And that surprise would come from the west – where another army marched. A battalion of steel – Brotherhood and securitron alike. One that could turn the tide of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam.
One that could drive the hordes of Legion east again.
Oliver didn't know if that gave him hope…or terrified him.
Thursday, March 9th, 2282
Six
He had slaughtered her…even know, Six could see her. Life drained out of her eyes – a look of morbid horror forever frozen on her face. Her straw hat strewn to the side – stained red.
He couldn't move…he could barely breath. A powerful crushing force held him in place – pinning him to the ground.
The Minotaur towered over him, hoof pressed against Six's chest –golden armor shining fiercely in the midday sun. His left hand clasped around a monster of a blade. The creature was truly a behemoth…and Six recognized him. That day at the Fort…that very blade…he had used it to send Benny toppling over the cliff into Lake Mead.
Six could recall just how heavy that blade had been – he had struggled to even lift it. This man…this beast had been swatting NCR veterans away like brahmin swatted bothersome flies.
And he had used it on her…as she charged in to Six's rescue. A single swing of that massive blade had cut her down. More than that…he had cut her in half, just above the waist.
Now, he stood erect. The blade casually lopped over one shoulder; blood dripping from it – decorating the desert sand with a dye to rival the crimson of the Legion.
"Will you not attempt to negotiate for your life? Fighting with words, like all beneath the flag of the Bear?" He leaned forward, casually resting his elbow on his knee – increasing the pressure on Six's chest.
Six didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him would probably be closer to the truth. He scowled – his lips twisted and contorted with hatred and anger.
"You will not die this day," the Minotaur's voice was gravelly and yet, somehow, smooth. A battle raging on around him and he had not a worry in the world. "No. I will have you strung up…nailed to the walls of Hoover Dam. Your body facing west so that you may watch your world burn."
Six awoke with a shudder and a cold sweat. He struggled to regain composure – controlling his breathing. When he had regained control, he stretched out across the bed – taking in a deep breath.
A dream. It felt so real…but it was only a dream.
He wrapped his arm around Cass and pulled her close to him. He liked the way she fit in his arms. Something about it felt right – felt natural. The curve and contours of her body seemed to compliment his own.
They'd moved from the presidential suite…taking House's penthouse for themselves. The presidential suite had become more of a guest floor…though these days, it was mostly empty.
Six pushed himself up and made his way to Yes Man's massive terminal. He reclined in a chair before it – his mind jumped back briefly to the day he had pulled the chair to that resting place…when House was still part of this mortal coil.
He felt a pang of sympathy creep over him – remorse for those deeds done what felt like ages ago. House would have a plan…what good can I do? It's all he thought about lately…when the time came, what would he do?
He had toyed with some ideas…but that's all he had, really. House would have had it all figured out by now.
He reached up, rubbing the space between his eyebrows with his index finger. He felt his head throbbing lightly – fantastic. A stress migraine.
But House isn't here, is he? His mind screamed at him.
His lungs filled with air as he took a deep breath. He held it – counting to four – then breathed out slowly.
No. House isn't here…but…
Yes Man's terminal flickered and that ever smiling face filled the screen.
"Good morning, chief! I hope you slept well!"
"Keep it down, Cass is still sleeping," Six commanded, cringing at the sudden boom of Yes Man's cheerful voice, shielding his eyes from the terminal's light.
"Sorry!" Yes Man sang, albeit with decreased volume. "What can I do for you today?"
"Update me on House's bunker."
"Upgrades are complete! The securitrons are ready to march on your mark!"
"No. No, leave them where they are."
"You got it! Any particular reason?"
"Don't want to reveal my hand too early," Six mulled aloud, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "You still have access to House's database?"
"Of course!"
Six smiled. "…Think you can remotely access my pipboy?"
"Absolutely!"
Boone
"How are they doing?"
Boone looked out across the El Dorado Dry Lake. The Misfits were laying in single file, along the edge of the road – their standard service rifles replaced with DKS-501 carbon fibered rifles, chambered in .308, each outfitted with its own silencer. Boone had spared no expense…hell, what else was he going to do with his share of the Sierra Madre riches? Swarms of fire-ants scurried hectically across the sand – fleeing for their very lives.
"They're coming along."
Christine chewed her lower lip. "What the hell are they wearing?"
"Contreras called it…hue…guy…hue…ghost armor," Boone curled his lip and shrugged.
The NCR had found the Hei Gui stealth armor stowed away in the dam and Contreras had stumbled across them in one of his consignments. These suits of "unknown material" had been locked away for the better part of two centuries. Five in total. The requisition form had referred to them as "ghost armor". The suits had a built in stealth field. Unfortunately, they had long ago malfunctioned. Maybe because they were kept near bins of radioactive waste in the dam.
Or maybe they'd simply ran out of juice.
Contreras had offered to acquire them for the group at a discounted price – but, Boone politely declined. A gold bar was all he needed to persuade Crocker to put them on retail. He had given the armor to the Misfits as a rite of passage when they had completed their training – save one.
Trading in their NCR brown for the sleek – but nonfunctional – black Hei Gui armor, the Misfits were specters now – they lived apart from the world. They were like him.
He'd trained them to look at the world in a different light. To see things that others could not.
"Ghost armor…" Christine repeated, more than a little interested. "It looks pretty advanced."
"Yeah…" Boone motioned towards a brown leather rucksack cast aside at the base of a wrecked M-325 transport. "Thought they might qualify as 'invaluable old world artifacts'," he told her, a weary smile across his lips. "Saved one for you."
Christine felt a wide smile spread across her face – something like this would surely pave her way back into the Brotherhood's good graces. "Thanks…"
Boone waved his hand dismissively.
"So…how is everyone?"
"Don't know. Haven't been to Vegas in a while."
"I know…any particular reason?"
His lips curling into a frown, Boone shook his head. "Busy. No time."
"What about…"
"Don't say her name…" He pleaded…swallowing, he let his gaze wander back to the Misfits. Past them. Losing himself in the sandy winds that swept across the El Dorado. "She's good…she's…" he laughed, but Christine could feel the heartbreak in it. "They said her frontotemporal and motor cortex were pretty severely damaged…" He said the words, but he didn't know what it meant…the woman he loved reduced to a diagnosis didn't sit well with him. "Most days I don't even know if she knows I'm there. On good days, she recognizes me. She smiles with everything she has…always so happy. She tries to talk to me…but I can't understand her. I don't know what to say to her, so I don't say anything."
"And on bad days?"
Another swallow – his boot kicking up dirt, he began to pace. He let the question sink in – biding his time as his mind pieced together the words he wanted to say. He was never much one for words, anyway. There's nothing worth saying in a world full of dead men.
She was the first person to ever make him want to talk…and that made him feel even guiltier.
I'm so sorry, Carla.
But it was the truth. Even Carla struggled with that impossible undertaking…
Truth be told, he didn't know how he felt. If it was love…or even what love was. Sometimes he believed in love about as much as one could believe in some benevolent creator in this wasteland…yet, still…there were those that did.
But as someone who had accepted life and death as they were…as inevitable…he found himself feeling hollow.
Christine's question hung in the air like the clouds of dust unsettled by his pacing. His hand clenched and unclenched, his eyes closed…and visions of a past long gone and a future never to be danced in his mind. Inside his chest he could feel his heart racing – his stomach twisted into knots and the bile within swirled and churned with a ferocity that left his throat on fire.
Christine felt a pang of sympathy consume her. She pulled herself up onto the truck bed to have a seat.
"It's my fault, you know?" He told her. "I should have been watching her. Every step of the way."
"It's not your fault…"
"It is!" He spat, raising his wrist to point in her direction – a little more harshly than he intended. "It is." The world grew still and a moment passed between them. After a beat, the Misfits resumed their training. The heat grew more stifling, more oppressive. Then his hand dropped to the ground and he followed it.
He kneeled there, knees in the dust – baking in the desert sun. His heart was heavy – bearing a weight that Christine could only begin to imagine. She waited in silence, letting her hand rest on his shoulder.
"You did everything you could…" She said finally, breaking the silence.
"Shit lot of good it did me…" he stood, slowly – reluctantly – resuming his pacing. "Shouldn't have been there to begin with. My fault. There's no reason she should have been there at all…"
"She was there for you…"
"And look what it got her…" he stopped, casting his eyes at Christine. She could feel the sorrow in his stare even through his shades. "I was supposed to protect her. Now I…when I go to see her, and she's there beside me…looking into my eyes, I feel like a part of me is missing." He started pacing again. "I just don't know how much more of myself I can lose before everything falls apart."
"She meant a lot to you…"
"She shouldn't have meant anything. I should have known better. If she hadn't gotten close…" He straightened out – stretching his back. It cracked and popped. Paced some more…until his boot hit something solid in the dust. He reached down, scooping it up. A small object – not unlike the casino chips on the Strip. He wiped the dirt away – a corroded piece of metal. A coin. Small letters stretched across its face. In God We Trust…meaningless words in a meaningless time. "I sit with her throughout the night…every night. I change her bandages and clean the wound. Fuck me…I even talk to her. Her? It? …whatever she is now. Most nights she looks into my eyes and there's no recognition. She sits for hours on end and never says a word. She pisses herself…shits herself…doesn't even realize what she's done."
Christine felt her stomach sinking…she didn't know what to say. Even if she knew…she wouldn't know how to say it.
"The worst of it? If she were anything else…a pack brahmin, a hound….we'd cast her away…" He tossed the coin away, acting out his misery. It sailed through the air, into the dry lake and out of sight. "Put her out of her misery and never so much give it a second thought. Yet here I am…biting your head off for even talking about her…"
"Why don't you?"
"Why don't I what?"
"Why don't you kill her?"
"What did you say?" He wheeled around, his hand resting on the grip of his pistol. Even in these harsh times, the weathered grooves of its handle brought him comfort. "What. The. Fuck. Did you just say to me?" He was seething…his saliva punctuating the end of every word.
"I mean…" Christine, realizing how she must have sounded, struggled with her thoughts. "What keeps you from killing her? From ending her misery?"
Oh. Not a suggestion…a question.
One that she, understandably, didn't have an answer for.
And neither did he. He had always been a man of reason…maybe not good reason, but reason. And here he was…stumped. Unable to answer a simple question. Why did he keep her alive? Why did he try to nurse her back to health when she could never lead the life she had before?
And it was simple. There on the edge of his tongue. He spoke without knowing it. "Because I can't let her go."
A sour taste filled his mouth. Grimacing…he pulled a familiar flask from his duster. Embroidered with the number thirteen. He twisted the cap, knocked it back and the sweet smell of whiskey filled the air.
"I want to be able to…" His words trailed off…his hand fumbling in the air before him. "To…to take it back. I keep thinking there's got to be a way…something that I can do. I see what she's become. I see how she's changed. It's not her anymore. She's gone. I see that…fucking crater those bastards left in her skull. And I can't take it back."
Crater…a harsh way to describe the woman he loved. And he did love her…of that Christine was certain.
Crater…
Crater. Of course…of course!
And that's when it hit her…dropping on her like a Repconn rocket.
Saturday, March 11th, 2282
Six
"Courier Six…this is a…surprise."
"Courier?" Six laughed. He hadn't been called that in a while.
McNamara sat forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his desk. "How might I be of assistance?"
"Veronica tells me that you're not exactly keen on offering your assistance for the upcoming battle."
"Why would I be? Whichever side wins will take heavy casualties. We bide our time…and we take back not only the solar array station, but the Dam as well."
"You really think that's going to happen?" Six laughed. "Let's say the Legion wins. You know what the Legion does to those it conquers? It doesn't eradicate them…it absorbs them. So every soldier from here to the Pacific…they're going to turn. Eventually. They'll have to. To stay alive. And from there, it'll only be a matter of time before they find you here. Pissing your life away in this little hideaway. I've read House's reports…if the NCR can take six of your bunkers, you think that the Legion can't take this one? They outnumber the NCR a twenty to one. It'll be even worse after they've taken California. This facility. It'll be your tomb."
McNamara frowned – "We'll survive. The Brotherhood have been around for a long time. We'll be around for a lot longer. We'll head east if we have to. Elder Lyons and his group are faring quite well in Washington, last we had reports."
"East…" Six laughed. "So you'll march through Legion territory and hope for the best?"
"No, we'll march south. Cross the border…come up through Texas."
"Through the cyclones?"
"The cyclones are hearsay…"
Six's eyes widened. "Not sure that's a risk I'd take…" He chewed his lower lip. "Veronica tells me you're interested in Helios One?"
His interest peaked, McNamara sat up.
"You help me take the Dam…and it's yours."
Sunday, March 12th, 2282
Cass
"He's giving them Helios One."
Cass raised a brow. "That old power plant? The NCR already occupies it."
Veronica shrugged. "Apparently not for long. It's the only way he could get McNamara to agree to help. The NCR aren't what concerns me though. It's Elijah."
"The guy from the Casino? What's he got to do with anything?"
"Oh…" Veronica scratched her scalp. "That's right…you weren't there. Hm. Elijah was the elder of the Mojave chapter…before McNamara. He thought there was some type of weapon at Helios One."
"What kind of weapon?"
"Something big. Big enough that it could turn the tides of the NCR-Brotherhood war. Problem was…he couldn't figure out how to access it."
"Did you tell Six?"
"Only a gajillion times."
"What'd he say?"
"He said," Veronica conjured up the most masculine voice she could. "'That's what you're there for, Vee.' …then went on to say that he had contingencies in place…"
"And if they find it?"
"I saw the tests Elijah ran…if they figure it out…" She shook her head. "I'll do what I need to. Power like that…it'll be the Great War all over again."
Cass ran her fingers through her crimson hair. It was time for a haircut…"What sort of contingencies?"
"No clue."
Six
"Hello child," the weary old woman smiled at Six as he approached her.
He returned her smile, extending his hand. "Pearl…I see the Lady's coming along very nicely. When can you have her airborne?"
"The week's end, Loyall says – Raul seems to think it could take longer."
Six grimaced. "The Legion is breathing down our neck…I don't know how long this stalemate's going to last. I need that thing in the air, Pearl. We need it in the air."
She took a breath, watching Loyall's protégé, Jack, keeping himself busy with adjustments to the plane's engine. The petite redhead from the Crimson Caravan at his side…the kid was so happy now.
Part of her wished she hadn't opened the gates of Nellis. But after the good that Raul and Arcade had done – after negotiations with Six – she felt it was time. And Jack had been watching this girl for so long.
With infinite wisdom – she watched them. Aware of the truth of Six's statement. She had read the history books. She knew what war was like. And now, more than ever, it was on the horizon.
If the Legion took the Mojave, Nellis would eventually fall. They would fight until their last…but their supplies were limited.
So – at Six's behest – they were going to take to the horizon. They had to.
Jack looked up a moment – as the redhead reached him a rather large wrench. He looked at her lovingly, then – as he turned back to the engine – his eyes met Pearl's. She smiled widely at him, her wrinkled face becoming even more so.
Then she looked over her shoulder at the man who would lead them. A man uniting the forces of the Mojave.
"We'll be ready. We'll bomb along the eastern bank."
"No," Six shook his head. "Not the bank…" he pulled up his pip-boy. "Here."
Tuesday, March 14th, 2282
Six
The streets were empty – the sun was beginning to rise. Six paced through the streets of Northern Vegas, Cass at his side.
"What are we looking for?" She asked him.
"A kid…"
"Why?"
Six laughed. "What, you don't want kids?"
"What?" Her face contorted, slightly confused.
"I'm joking…" He bumped his shoulder into hers. "I did a little bit of research…well, House did anyway. I think there might be something here that we need…"
He pointed to a building some distance away – a dilapidated sign hang out front: H&H Tools Factory.
"House and his brother – back in their day – had a bit of a falling out," Six explained. "But not before they worked in conjunction with one another on a few projects. One was the securitrons…and the other. Well, it was under contract with the military. Some type of…device. The last reported location of that device was here…"
He pushed the door open – as he did, a group of children shot by, giggling and playing. Six's hand caught the youngest child, straggling behind the group. He held a small device in his hands.
"Well, hey there sport. What's your name?"
The kid eyed Six a moment – eventually deciding he was no threat. "Max," he answered.
"Max? That's a good name. A strong name…Max that's an interesting toy you have there."
Christine
Christine dusted off the lab coat Six had given her, straightening it up as she did so. She approached the plant – two hired gunmen in tote. Escorts, hired by Six. Not that she needed escorts. But Six was adamant that she bring them.
One was a dark haired man – name of Orris. Christine wasn't sure about him. He acted tough, but when they had stumbled into a group of Jackals south of the 188, his gun had inconveniently jammed – and she had been forced to take the bastards out herself. Not that it was much of an issue.
The two men walked on either side of her as she approached the station. A petite woman with a broad chin stepped forward. She wore a green beret – the color matched her eyes. She was actually pretty cute…
"This is a restricted area," she said, her hand resting on the butt of her rifle. "State your business."
Christine smiled – "I'm Christine Royce, with the Followers. I've been sent…"
"The Followers? Please tell me you're here to replace that idiot in sunglasses."
Christine laughed. "That's exactly why I'm here."
"Fantastic…ugh," She cringed. "He's ruined that word for me…excellent," she corrected herself, "he's been trying to get this place running for months and has made zero progress."
"I am to fix that, doll."
The trooper raised her brow.
Christine smiled in response – "And what's your name?"
"Can't read?" She motioned to her name tag.
"Read? Well…letters? No. Numbers are another matter. I have a…a condition."
The woman shrugged. "You can't be any worse off than Fantastic…name's Haggerty. April…"
Christine nodded. "Beautiful name…so, about getting in…"
"Uh…right then. You'll find him downstairs," she stepped to the side, "One of yours is already down there. Rivas, I think his name was."
"Oh…of course."
Wednesday, March 15th, 2282
Arcade
The inside of the bunker was cold.
Arcade sat quietly, his elbows resting on the blue luminescent screen of the bunker's central intelligence unit. His eyes silently scanning the map displayed – tiny marks littering its display.
Behind him, the hydraulic door gave way with a mechanical whine – an elderly woman clad in an old straw hat entered. Though her body was aged and her eyes weary and full of wisdom – her smile had a youthful life about it.
"How are things looking?"
Arcade looked up from the table momentarily, then returned his gaze. "Satellite has to make its next round. Troops are en masse east of the dam. NCR has fortification hill locked down tight – but they don't dare push into uncharted territory. Looks like both sides are just sitting there…"
"Happens all too often, Dear" the old woman said, grunting as she sat beside Arcade. "When the NCR moved on the Novarro, it happened almost overnight. We knew they were out there…biding their time. Then they were on us."
"The NCR took Navarro," Arcade said glumly.
"They did."
"I don't like this analogy."
"You have to prepare yourself for the reality of war…no matter which side wins, both sides will lose. They'll have a lot of casualties. A lot of good people will die…"
"I'm not convinced there are any good people in the Legion."
The old woman laughed. "I bet the NCR would have said the same thing about the Enclave not too terribly long ago. Your father…he was a good man."
With a sigh, Arcade pinched the bridge of his nose – somehow staring harder at the central intelligence unit. A bright white line flickered to life on one edge and began a slow traversal across the display.
"Satellite's making another pass," he said, quietly.
They watched the line as it gradually covered the entirety of the terminal. The markings had changed – they were merging.
"Looks like we need to roll out," the old woman said, a smile on her face.
Arcade stood – lifting a helmet from his side. Sleek, well polished steel. He slid it over his head – twisting it gently to lock it into place. Then, he turned to the woman.
"I suppose you should take the helm, Miss Daisy."
Boone
Boone settled in – he didn't like this place, but it was familiar. He knew it.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a steady rumbling.
He felt the kick of his rifle; through his scope, some two hundred yards away, he watched the legionnaire fall. Mechanically, he scanned for his next target – then he squeezed the trigger.
The familiar whistle of artillery fire filled his ears – his left hand grasped his beret and he shielded himself behind the nearest boulder. When the shell hit, the booming sound alone was enough to throw him to the ground; dirt and rock fragment rained down upon him. Making his way to his feet, he looked out over the Dam.
Those goddamn ants.
A second resounding boom and he was on his feet – sprinting from cover to cover. Periodically stopping long enough to eliminate his next target.
The Misfits were scattered along the ridge – each doing their damndest to keep up.
The rumbling was growing louder – what the fuck is that?
Another artillery shell crashed into the ridge – this one far closer than the last.
Mother fuckers.
He rolled to the left and took aim – he could just make out the silhouette of the Legion's howitzer. He wasn't going to get a clear shot from here.
His eyes automatically scanned the battlefield…where…bingo. The Dam's towers offered a clear line of sight…if he could just.
On the dam he could see the Legion engaging the NCR – and the NCR was falling back.
Oliver doesn't have the guile that Hanlon had – and even if he did, where would he have them fall back to? No. If the NCR was withdrawing, it was because they were losing this fight.
"Concentrate fire on the Dam!" He shouted back to the Misfits. "If it's wearing red, you give it a one way trip to Hell!"
The rumbling was practically upon him – from the south, an army approached.
A sea of metallic blue and silver, rising in the distance.
Securitrons and battle ready Brotherhood Paladins.
And at their front – like some goddamn mythic knight – Six.
Whistling again – shit…
Something hit him. Hard, throwing him off the ridge. He felt himself tumbling down the mountain: crashing over stone and pavement. He struggled to push himself to his feet.
Damn howitzer. That thing needed to go. Now.
The securitrons were flooding the Dam now. Legion small arms fire and hand to hand combat were suddenly useless…but even still, their numbers were not to be trifled with. The higher ranking legionnaires were especially resourceful – many equipped with gas chambered, semi-automatic M1 Garands. While the lower ranking Legionnaires served as cannon fodder – the higher-ups targeted the Securitrons' vulnerable regions; wheels, cameras, monitors, hydraulic pumps at the base of the shoulder, even the antenna…if they were lucky enough to pull of that shot, the securitron in question would go berserk. Mowing down anything in its path – friend or foe alike.
Boone rushed from one sandbag battlement to the next – relying mostly on his pistol. Ahead of him, he could see Six; wildly swinging his machete, emptying his revolver. He kept Cass close to his side. He wasn't the same man that ran scared the night they had attacked Nipton: this man had a purpose. One that he was fulfilling well.
He was halfway up the tower when the steady thump of vertibird blades filled the air. No way the Legion could get their hands on a vertibird…is there?
Above him, the vertibird zipped through the air. It doubled back, repositioning itself – then its rotors transitioned themselves above the vehicle. It hovered momentarily – and he could see someone clad in old Enclave armor with blue and yellow resistors, sitting behind a massive Gatling weapon. And from the look of it – lasers, no less. The enclave soldier tipped his head, giving a two finger salute – then turned his attention to the Dam. The whir of the chambered weapon filled the air as it began to spin – a fine red mist peppered the Legion forces.
Boone was atop the tower now – his mind set to taking out the son of a bitch firing the howitzer. He laid his rifle across the tower railing and peered through the scope…just in time to see the howitzer rock as it fired off its next round. He pulled away to look at the shell's trajectory – it was headed straight for the the vertibird. And – by proxy – straight at him.
Could he make it out of the tower in time?
His thoughts were cut short by the vertibird – a barrage of missiles paraded from its wings. Interceptors. The howitzer shell never stood a chance…and neither did the howitzer. Boone watched the VTOL reposition itself – facing the howitzer. Two cannons emerged from the undercarriage – bright blue light emitting from their barrels. With lightning speed the projectiles escaped – covering the extreme distance in mere seconds – and the howitzer was no more.
With the threat eliminated, he turned his attention back to the Dam. Below him, he could see Six, Cass, and a Brotherhood Paladin.
Veronica.
He recognized that power armor anywhere.
Six grasped Cass's jacket and pulled her to him – devouring her lips. She was crying.
Boone couldn't make out what they were saying – but from the looks of it, it didn't seem like Cass was pleased with him. He nodded to Veronica, and Cass slammed her fist into his chest. Then Veronica had Cass draped over her shoulder – kicking and screaming – as she made her way into the tower below him.
Boone hit the ladder quickly – then the stairs. He met them at the tower's base.
"What the hell is he up to?" Boone asked her, bluntly. He didn't have time to play.
"He's going after Lanius," she said, her gaze groundward.
"By himself?"
"Says it's easier to go alone…"
Boone hissed. If it were anyone else – he would have agreed. If Six was going after anyone else – he would have agreed.
But this was Six – his best friend.
And this was the monster of the east.
And he wouldn't let him go at it alone.
Six
"If I don't make it back…"
"Don't say that…"
"But if I don't…"
Six looked at the fiery red head in front of him. Her eyes bloodshot, filled with tears. As red as her hair ever thought to be. Her breathing was jaded – her chest struggling to keep up with the deep inhalations and intermittent exhalations of her lungs.
"Why are you doing this?" she managed to choke out.
"The Boomers are going to separate the Legion forces from their commanding officer…I have to make sure that this is his last stand. Lanius must fall…or he'll fall back and rebuild his forces. And they'll keep beating on our door until it caves in…"
"Let them do it…Let the NCR…I don't want you to leave," she pressed her hand against his chest.
"Didn't I tell you before? I'll still be here tomorrow…"
"And the day after?"
He reached out, grasping the soft fabric of her jacket – he pulled her close and he locked his lips around hers.
For a moment, he wasn't in the middle of an all out war. There weren't people dying around him. The gunshots and the sounds of the dead or dying fell away. There was only her. The way she tasted. The way she felt.
Everything about it was right.
He could feel her tears dripping across his skin – mixing with the blood drizzling from an open wound somewhere across his scalp.
He pushed her away – then looked at the power armor-clad woman behind her. "Get her out of here…"
With a sob, Cass slammed her fist into his riot armor.
Six felt his heart sink – but he couldn't risk anything happening to her.
He just…couldn't.
Veronica's hands wrapped around her tiny waist. Cass fought back – kicking and screaming. She screamed out for him – he could hear the pain in her voice…he had to turn away.
He began fighting his way across the dam – the entire time, her voice rang in his ears. She was calling out his name. Even when he was across the Dam… on the other side, he could hear her; though now, he was sure it was all in his head.
Behind him, the Dam had nearly been won. The Enclave vertibird – true to Arcade's words – struck fear into the heart of the Legion. The gatling lasers ripping them down where they stood…while others were fortunate enough to withdraw.
Around him, the Legion were beginning to fall back. He couldn't blame them - the combined forces of the Mojave were searing through their numbers. Legion machetes were bouncing off of Brotherhood armor - and Brotherhood Gauss rifles were tearing holes through them. The securitrons sprayed scores of bullets across the battlefield with near perfect accuracy; all the while raining missiles down from the heavens. Arcade and his Enclave entourage were every bit as dangerous as the Brotherhood - even more so with the vertibird circling the dam like a goddamn fairytale dragon.
Even with the odds stacked against them as they were, Six knew Lanius would have the heads of any deserters on a pike.
But only if he lived long enough to see them retreat.
Ahead of him, in the distance, the clouds parted. True to their word – the Boomers had arrived. Somewhere up in that massive steel bird in the sky, he could almost see Raul smiling.
Told you'd I'd get it flying, boss.
A hand grasped his shoulder – he spun, swinging his machete.
His target ducked.
"Easy!"
"Boone?! Where the fuck have you been?"
"Busy…what's the plan?"
Six took a breath. "Follow the damn plane…They're headed for the Legate's camp."
Boone took point – his feet kicking up dust as he chased after the airborne machine. They watched as it spiraled groundward – leveling out at the last moment. From the bottom, a barrage of cylinders dropped.
The duo hit the ground – it shook with fury.
"What the fuck…what…what?"
The Legion camp was engulfed in flames.
"Incendiary," Boone told him. "Our job here is done."
"Not until I know…" Six took off ahead. "I've seen the Legate…"
Boone scowled, but didn't object.
Minutes later, they were outside the base. Flames lit up the sky.
In the flames – Six could see the man, standing erect. His golden armor glistening by flame.
He stood motionlessly – staring into the flames.
Past the flames.
At the Duo.
His grip tightened around his blade – death personified.
And he charged.
Boone dropped to one knee – taking aim with his rifle.
He fired once. Twice. Three shots.
A clip.
With each roar of the rifle, the man would recoil – but he kept coming.
Six raised his own rifle…though if Boone's armor piercing .308 rounds weren't slowing him down, he was sure that his own 5.56mm rounds wouldn't amount to much.
The beast of a man enclosed the distance incredibly fast.
"Shoot him in the head! Shoot him in the head!"
"I'm trying!" Boone growled.
Then he was on them – his boot firmly planted into Boone's chest, sending him toppling backwards.
Then he turned his attention to Six – he swung with the flat of his blade. It connected firmly into Six's sternum, cracking his riot armor. He found himself flying – high above the Mojave sand. He felt his back and neck jolt as he slammed into stone.
The Legate turned back to Boone. One massive hand enclosed around his throat and he lifted him high.
"Do you think this is over?" His grip tightened. "When this is over, the blood of your NCR will fill the Colorado. Your men will be crucified. Your women will beg for mercy. Your children will burn!"
With all the strength he could muster, Six raised his revolver. His breathing was shallow – his vision pulsed.
He fired…
The Legate's helmet spun on high – crashing to the ground. The man turned to look at Six – his hair dark, a handlebar mustache decorating his face.
"I'll be with you soon enough," he barked. Then he turned back to Boone – who's legs dangled lifelessly. "You will not die this day…I'll hang your body…"
"Don't lay a hand on my babies!"
Six instantly recognized the roar – a faint smile spread across his face.
An angel…in the form of a demon.
Lily raced across the battlefield, a blade far more fierce than the Legate could have ever dreamed in tote.
The Legate dropped Boone and braced for impact. Lily's swung her blade wide and it found its mark. The Legate spiraled through the air, crashing to the earth below.
But he didn't stay down. He was on his feet in an instant – and Lily charged again. This time the Legate doubled back when she swung – his hands reached out and grasped the blade. The sound of scraping steel filled the air. Blood trickled from the Legate's gauntlets – but he held firm.
"All that exists beneath the flag of the Great Bear exist only to prove the strength of the Legion…" his grip on the blade tightened. "I am the heir to the Legion throne…and this gate to the west shall be ours on this day."
He spun violently, ripping the blade from Lily's hands – sweeping back with the blade's hilt, knocking her legs out from under her. Then he arched the blade high and brought it down…severing the mutant's head from her body.
A look of horror forever frozen on her face…and her straw hat stained red with blood.
The Legate stepped back, appreciating his own work.
Six had never seen a man take down a mutant with his bare hands…how could he hope to kill this man? This…monster of the east?
Graham
The Legion had fallen on the dam.
Graham watched, discontented…his heart heavy with regret.
Atop the ridge, he could see Boone and his soldiers picking off the men he once called family.
In the distance – he could see a river of steel fast approaching the dam.
The Legion would not prevail this day – of that he was certain.
He started towards the ridge – his hand gripping his pistol tightly, his rifle slung over his shoulder.
Before long, he was on the ridge. Around him, the earth shattered and shook with howitzer fire.
But his eyes were only on one man.
Craig Boone.
He just needed to get close enough…
He watched Boone stand, narrowly avoiding death by howitzer. Boone was looking out over the battlefield – then he looked towards Six.
Whistling filled the air…
Graham rushed. He threw the weight of his body into Boone, sending him toppling over the cliff and onto the Dam below. Into the heat of battle.
Go protect him, my friend.
Graham felt the impact of the howitzer as it crashed into the ground nearby. The force of the blast threw him from the cliff.
Darkness. The very same that consumed him that fateful day so many years ago.
Someone calling his name…a voice. Familiar.
"C'mon! Don't you die on me!"
Pressure on his chest. Air filling his lungs.
"C'mon! Breathe! Graham!"
He opened his eyes – the woman. Cass.
"Graham!" She gripped his shoulders. "You're alive?!"
He swallowed, sitting up. He pulled the gauze of his bandage back over his face. "So I am…"
He looked out over the Dam – it was littered with the bodies of man and machine alike. Men in power armor…some familiar, some alien…walked amongst them. Armed with weapons that cut through swathes of Legionnaires with little effort.
The Legion was in full retreat.
"Where is Six?"
"He went after the Legate."
Graham's eyes locked on Cass. "No…" He made his way to his feet. "I've seen this man…I've been scouting the Legate's camp, searching for a way in. This man is no ordinary Legionnaire…Six will fall."
"Then we have to save him…"
Before she finished the sentence, Graham was on his feet. In the distance, he could see a behemoth of a creature – swatting Legionnaires like flies.
"Lily," Cass explained. "I've already sent her to help."
"She won't be enough…"
Cass struggled to keep up with Graham – even now, despite his injures…old and new…he seemed inhumanely fast. They zipped across the dam – but even they couldn't keep up with the nightkin as it raced to Six's aid.
By the time they had caught up – the nightkin lay slain at the feet of the Legate. Who now, turned his attention to Six.
Graham swung his rifle around – taking aim. He let out a burst of gunfire. The low caliber rounds pelted against the Legate's armor…but it was enough to get his attention. He glanced over his shoulder…his eyes locking on Graham.
"Lanius!" Graham dropped his rifle and entered a dead sprint. The Legate followed suit.
Graham drew his pistol – firing as he ran, counting each bullet.
One – the bullet struck the Legate in the chest, bouncing off his armor.
Two – missed.
Three – another miss.
The Legate scooped up his blade and raised it high – part of Graham wondered how he could move with such agility with that large blade above his head.
Four – hit the Legate's left arm, leaving a trail of crimson. It didn't affect the beast.
Five – connected with the steel of his blade.
The distance between them was closing rapidly.
Graham counted back from each shot he fired…and at the last second, he ducked back – sliding between the Legate's legs – aiming skyward.
Lanius swung the blade down vertically, narrowly missing Graham. The blade dug deep into the Mojave sand.
Six – the bullet pierced the underside of the Legate's skull.
Lanius slumped forward – his massive body resting on the hilt of his blade, his feet still firmly planted, he stood erect.
The Legate was no more.
Graham pushed himself up from the ground. He looked towards Six – who sat slumped against rocks, a silly grin across his face. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the monster of the east.
"Sic simper tyrannis."
Welp. That's the battle...I hope everyone enjoyed it, and I hope I did it justice.
For those of you who follow my rants - I finished my first year of grad school with straight A's...so that's pretty rad. Outside of that, not much has gone down. I'm also pretty far in my outline for the Fallout 3 story. As much as I didn't want to go with a name - I've decided to use the "canon" name for the Lone Wanderer (i.e. the one on the the Fallout Wiki - "Albert").
I have some pretty cool ideas for the Fallout 3 story - so when it comes time, I think you'll all enjoy it.
I won't rant much tonight - I have work early in the morning. So, I suppose I'll hop off here. Ciao.