Chapter 52: Backup

Edge of the Big MT

The last thing the vanguard of the Glorious Cause had expected to see as they were camped outside the massive crater of the Big MT was quite possibly three individuals coming over the top carrying a white flag. While the local command staff bickered over how to deal with the potential threat, Jiasheng immediately made his way up the mountain to meet with them. While conventional Stronghold wisdom dictated that officers meet with outsiders via low-ranking expendable emissaries, Jiasheng felt that it was at times more prudent to assess newcomers personally. He always felt he was a reasonably decent judge of character.

As he approached them, he made out their outlines. The one in front was a woman, her red shoulder-length hair hanging loose from her head. She appeared to be wearing something like a dark grey bodysuit, covering every inch below her neck as it clung tightly to her skin. Next to her, carrying the clear white standard, was yet another of those armored soldiers. Unarmed, and the sole member of its kind, Jiasheng noted with relief. Bringing up the rear was a ghoul, which struck Jiasheng with the oddest sense of déjà vu.

They met roughly halfway up the mountain. Jiasheng, for his part, took a slight bow towards the newcomers, who looked upon him without judgment. Well, mostly.

"It would seem your ghoul does not look fond of me," Jiasheng started.

"You ran me through last time we met, pendejo," Raul stated, flatly.

"I was trying to kill you. I'm surprised you are still alive," Jiasheng continued.

"I got better."

"Indeed. Now, if we can dispense of the pleasantries, might you three be so kind as to tell me of your collective purpose?" Jiasheng began.

"Fine. You're trespassing," the red-haired woman stated.

"Truly? I was under the distinct impression that whatever lay beyond the crater was abandoned."

"This "crater" belongs to the Mojave nation. Last I checked, nobody disputed that. Not the NCR and not the Legion. Even so, I really suggest you and your tailgate party find somewhere else to park," the red head continued.

Jiasheng couldn't help but chuckle. "And the three of you are enough to persuade us?"

Cass snorted. "We're all adults here. No need to play stupid. You know we have a better idea about what's up there then you do. And we know that your boss probably sees that crater as a milk run on her way to Vegas. So here is what I'm going to propose to you and your army," Cass began as she closed the distance between her and Jiasheng. "Come and get us."

Jiasheng blinked, and allowed a small smile to cross his face. "Come again?"

"You bring every single soldier you've got with you out there up that mountain and into that crater. Every last one. Even those two train-cars you got with you if they can handle the drive up. Hit us with everything you've got," Cass egged him on.

Jiasheng gave away nothing. "You have an army waiting for us?"

The armored human stepped forward. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it's a super-weapon. Maybe we've rigged the whole place to explode. Maybe you going over the top risks waking up something you really shouldn't. Maybe we're just bluffing and trying to buy time for our friends north of here."

Jiasheng then turned to the armored soldier. "So why force my hand?"

"So I can piss in your bitch boss's noodles," Cass growled. "And because no matter what happens, tying up a chunk of that Chinese Napoleon's army will make Lars's job easier, and he'll owe me one something fierce," she grinned.

"Should he survive," Jiasheng retorted. "And Madame Zhang will do everything within her considerable abilities to see that made impossible."

"You mean she isn't here?" Cass perked up. "Shit. And I had this whole revenge speech written up and everything. Figures that she'd rather send a lackey then finish me off properly," she sniffed, indignantly.

"I am sure you will find me more then adequate," Jiasheng offered.

"Leave him to me, boss," Raul growled. "He's the one who brought down Lily. I didn't really need my liver much anymore, anyway."

Jiasheng thought back to the skirmish at the Petro-Chico Boy station. "The Nightkin. A rather intuitive fighter, very unlike most of its kind. Or, her, I suppose," Jiasheng offered.

Raul spat at his feet, not interested in continuing the conversation. The armored human looked at a small display screen on his wrist, motioning Cassidy to notice it as well. She looked up at him and nodded, then turned back to Jiasheng.

"So you aren't interested in turning tail and running?" Cass asked.

"Why? The fun has yet to begin," Jiasheng answered, sarcastically.

"You have no idea," Cass muttered under her breath. She reached behind her and pulled out a pulsing blue device. Raul and Arcade both put their arms on her shoulders. "Well then, see you in Hell!"

A flash of lightening shot down towards the three, blinding Jiasheng, as the companions were teleported deep within the crater. The white flag they had brought with them fell at his feet. Not five seconds later, Jiasheng heard screams and shots coming from the base of the mountain. Looking down, he saw what appeared to be three score giant metal scorpions rising from underneath his battalion's encampment and began attacking his soldiers. Though outnumbered and outgunned, the scorpions caught the army flatfooted, and were inflicting casualties. Jiasheng sped down the mountain as quick as his feet could carry him, unsheathing and activating his shock-sword as he did. Dirty trick, he thought to himself, despite the smile on his face.

Des Moines Central Command Center

Paladin Cross had grown tired. With the invasion force gone in the wrong direction, the military council had been screaming for someone to answer. Cross, being the highest-ranking remaining Brotherhood member in Iowa, and to try and answer on behalf of warmon… General Barnaky. The last few hours had been spent making excuses for someone she had no control over. As she had stated over and over, she was an ambassador, not Barnaky's controller. Truth be told though, she was not even an ambassador.

She had her own reasons for leaving DC, not unlike Brendan. Though Brendan's were more… personal, Cross had actually completely lost faith in her original chapter. The representative line she had fed to the Midwestern BoS was an embellishment. She was actually a deserter, she and the rest of the Lyon's Pride.

When Elder Owen Lyons's succumbed to cancer in the weeks following the destruction of the Enclave's base crawler, Sarah Lyon's had done everything in her ability to hold the rest of the Brotherhood chapter together, to little avail. Not helping matters was the reorganized remnants of the super mutant clans in the wake of the destruction of Vault 87. Faced with oblivion, a mutant who went by the title of Shepherd launched attacks at many of the outlying settlements in DC. Big Town, Arefu, and the Republic of Dave were all slaughtered to the last man, woman, and child. With morale at its lowest point, Sarah Lyons took matters into her own hands, gathering her strike team together to find and eliminate Shepherd and drive the mutants out of DC once and for all. Her final act would be her undoing. Cross would never forget seeing the image of her shattered body impaled onto a power line, the greatest of many mocking statements the mutants would leave the Brotherhood.

With her death, Brendan's will to work with the Brotherhood was depleted, and he retreated into his home in Megaton to tinker and archive his work. Cross had tried for months to get his attention, to no avail. That ever-loyal bodyguard of his rebuffed any and all of her attempts, on strict orders from his boss. The next few months had been a flurry of ineffective new elders, attacked water caravans, and internal bickering within the Citadel. Much to everyone's surprise, and to Cross's personal disgust, salvation came in the form of the Outcasts. All it took for those traitors to come back into the good graces of the Citadel was a smattering of mutant scalps.

With the Outcast's returned, it was only a matter of time until the Brotherhood once again lost its way. The path that condemned their west coast brothers was entered once again with renewed vigor.

It had been too much. Her and the rest of the Lyon's Pride all agreed to walk away from the new leadership. Brendan, by now with his… own issues… finally agreed to join with them on their trek back west. Their plan; link up with the Midwestern Brotherhood.

"*static*…Broth…Attent…Shot do… Legi…"

Several scribes immediately went to work trying to scrub the channel, trying to clear away the static and mess from the message.

"This is Des Moines Central, state your identity and situation," the lead scribe ordered as the static finally died away.

"This is the MBAS Javelin! We've been brought down in Legion territory! The airship had been damaged beyond repair! The Legion is engaging all our survivors! We cannot hold out! Please, send helAAAGH…"

The message cut out. The staff sat in stunned silence until Cross started barking orders at everyone. "Find out where that signal was coming from! Triangulate the Javelin's last known coordinates! Get back in contact with Barnaky! Let her know the situation!"

Barnaky had a reputation for recklessness, but loosing a third of her army would not sit well with her. That being said, risking at least another third to save it, or pulling away any other support to salvage the situation was against what pieces of her nature Cross had been able to discern.

Her train of thought was interrupted when a small device started buzzing by her leg. It had been something Brendan had been tweaking, a direct line to connect with his scant few trusted allies. Ducking towards the back of the command room, Cross brought it to her ear. "Brendan?"

"We just got word about the crash. Is it true?"

"Where are you?" Cross hissed.

"Going west."

"Barnaky ordered you north!" Cross growled.

"And I don't work for Barnaky, so I ignored it. Again, is it true?"

Cross sighed, letting a small smile escape. "You'll be the death of me."

"Don't even joke about that."

Cross became serious once again. "The Javelin was shot down somewhere between Arizona and Utah. We also received word that the Legion is attacking the survivors."

"A bunch of cross-dressing raiders? Julius shouldn't have too much trouble with them."

"Brendan, these raiders aren't like the ones back in the Capital Wasteland. They're different. Dangerous too. Even Barnaky hesitates mixing it up with them."

"Does she, now?" Brendan stated, before pausing. Cross's eyes widened in horror. "Brendan, do not do what I know you're thinking about! I swore to your father…"

"KAT! Change of plans! Follow that distress signal!"

"Brendan!" Cross howled, drawing the attention of the rest of the command staff.

"Tell Barnaky if she wants Project Purity for the Mississippi, then she's going to have to come by and bail me out!"

"This is insane," Cross hissed.

"And if this saves lives, so be it. Later," and with that, the line went dead.

Atomic Wrangler

Epps leaned on the balcony as he waited for his brother to bring up the whiskey bottles. Taking one of them, Epps brought the whiskey to his mouth, taking a whiff before gingerly taking a sip. "This is just disappointing," he muttered.

"Hey, we're outside the strip and our selection is limited. This is the best room I could find!" Whisler whined.

Epps brought himself out of his funk long enough to acknowledge his brother. "Oh, I wasn't talking about that. I was thinking about how this was the second time I've been able to enter this rat hole without as much as a peep from security."

Whisler thought for a moment, and then nodded in agreement with his brother. "You weren't kidding. Amazing what some new duds can do for some brothers."

Epps picked himself up from the railing. "There's nothing to do here. This place is boring as shit. So," he sighed. "…I guess it's time to get back to business."

Whisler leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. "What do you think?"

Epps grinned. "I think that all those Securitrons going back to their holes is something that our "good friend" the governor did not see coming. We haven't even gotten word from his government about what's happening, which means…" his grin widened, "Something else has his attention."

"Like what?" Whisler asked.

"Hell if I know. Anyway, the point is that his attention is away from his folks, so I would suggest that we start selecting our samples right away."

"Samples, huh? What strikes your fancy in this town?"

Epps scratched his chin. "Well, there was this one blonde I saw in the strip. Would've been worth a lot to the right buyer, but I don't see it happening any time soon."

"How come?"

"Too deep in the city, too high profile, fucking the governor, some kind of mental illness thing, just way too many variables to consider. Besides, her biggest buyer would've been Gomorrah, problem is that they've had a change in management recently."

"I heard about that," Whisler responded. "Burn victim, right?"

"Frowns on our type, at any rate. Still, we need to think about the big market in the east. The Legion needs bodies more then they need bombshells. If we're going to make a profit, we're going to need to sell in bulk."

"And that won't attract any attention," Whisler sneered, sarcastically."

"…If my theory is correct, that may not be a problem," Epps figured. "If the governor is ignoring all the unrest in his city, it might be because, and hear me out, something big is coming."

Whisler took another sip as his older brother continued. "And if something big is coming, he might order the bulk of the city to evacuate. And when that happens," Epps held out his whiskey glass towards his brother, "…we make our move."

Fort Tandi

Gabben poured over the maps set before him, while his closest aides talked and mingled amongst themselves. Here, the Frumentarii were at their best. Secure behind enemy lines, their targets completely unaware, and all the time they needed to scheme. Before him were two maps in particular. One was a critical NCR rail-line juncture, and the other was the heart of the Bear itself. Shady Sands. Gabben grinned in anticipation.

Even the weather outside did little to nothing to dampen his mood. The storm had came as fast as it did hard. Already, the sky was blackened and the downpour was heavy and steady. The CO office, however, was toasty. With most of the men in the barracks, and only the essential guards patrolling the watchtowers, everyone in the fort had been accounted for and was where they were supposed to be. With one exception.

Titus came in late, wearing a slicker as he dropped a cattle prod and dog-leash by the door. He didn't even acknowledge Gabben's glare as he proceeded to open up a toolbox, shuffling though its contents until his superior officer cleared his throat.

"I take it our "guest" has settled in for the night?" he asked in a bored tone.

"The accommodations are, admittedly, somewhat lacking, but who is she to complain," Titus responded, pulling out a pair of pliers as he inspected it.

"You two have been inseparable as of late. I'd shudder to think of what would happen were it to detract from your duties," Gabben growled, making his dissatisfaction transparent.

"Angry that I keep her for myself?" Titus goaded him. "I have deprived you of nothing meaningful. Her sole value would have been birthing a new generation of legionaries, and I've yet to see any evidence she can even do that correctly."
"So why keep her alive? Just cut her throat and be done with it. You're wasting time," Gabben stated, flippantly as he went over the maps again.

"That's because you've never heard her sing," Titus grinned. "You'd be amazed by how much I've learned. Once she starts, there is nothing she won't tell me."

"Anything important?" Gabben asked, interested in spite of himself.

"She started talking about a talking deathclaw so…" Titus rolled his finger by his ear, "…I think I'm close to tapping her out. I'll go check up on her once more," he answered as he left the doorway. Gabben sniffed, then went back to his work. The plan so far was thus. Come the morning, his men would raid the ammo stock to put together an explosive device. Then, using their disguises, several of his men would approach the juncture, commandeering one of the train cars to place the explosives. Thus, when it finally arrived at the NCR Capitol, the explosion would reverberate throughout the NCR, all while his men slunk their way back the Legion. The details were still in need of being ironed out, but as it stood, it seemed per-

FLASH

The power shut off. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could hear the grousing of his men as they stumbled around the room. Looking out the window, he could see the lights out all throughout the fort. "Anyone know where the generator is?" Gabben asked as he felt around for his coat.

"North side, I believe. Under the watchtower. Right next to the outhouse."

"Stay put, brothers. I'll fix everything up as soon as I am able." Gabben then stumbled out of the building, holding a flashlight as he covered his face. Instantly, he was soaked. Swearing to himself, he cursed as he sloshed through the damp ground towards the transformer. He wasn't an engineer, but if he flipped enough switches, it would probably reactivate the power.

Ignoring the intermittent flashes around him, he kept making his way towards the watchtower. Looking around him, he could see all the lights in the barracks were already out. He growled. Idle hands killed legionaries. Frumentarii doubly so. His irritation was temporarily forgotten by a tremendous bang from the southern end of the fort. Trying to look through the darkness, he could see the dying flash peter out by the gate. It sounded as if the thunderbolt had struck the inside of the fort. Granted, it was very unlike any thunderbolt he had ever heard before. From the cattle pen, he could make out the sounds of the Brahmin bellowing in unison. The panicking beasts must've been as spooked by the bolt as badly as Gabben was.

Steeling himself yet again, Gabben managed to finally reach the watchtower, his flashlight finally illuminating the outline of the power box. As he opened it, the calls of the Brahmin began reaching a fever pitch, bellowing and stomping their feet as Gabben could hear several men come out of the barracks to tend to them. Looking though the switches, Gabben experimented with flipping them all at once, trying to make sense of the technology before him. For a moment, he wished he had some torches with him, only to realize the futility of trying to implement them during a rainstorm. Finally, he grabbed what he believed to be the "master lever" or whatever it was called. He flipped it on, and the spotlight above him came to life, revealing the massive shadow cast over him. Before he could do anything, the creature slammed his palm into the back of Gabben's head, smashing his face into the transformer box, sparking as the power went out.

The sentry above, trying to stay warm and awake though the storm, heard the crash below. Grabbing his rifle, he gingerly peered over the ledge of his tower, just in time to see two yellow eyes swiftly scale the side of his tower and grab him by the neck in its jaws. By now, the Brahmin were all but howling, and the men checking on them started to scream. Finally, the backup generators began to kick in, and all the spotlights throughout the camp lit up to reveal a horrifying sight. Scattered throughout the fort, surrounding the occupied buildings like wolves, were scores of deathclaws. Agitated by the sudden illumination, the deathclaws began tearing into the buildings, catching the legionaries off guard. Clinging to the side of the watchtower, the Alpha watched with pride as his pack began tearing into their surprised and unsuspecting prey with ferocity and precision. Veronica was right. His pack would eat well. Below him, a small outhouse door opened to reveal another legionary who had been oblivious to all that had been going on. As he left, he looked before him to see the howling of the deathclaws and the panicked screams of his brothers.

"Hey, up here!"

The legionary, too confused to be scared, obliged with the request. The Alpha leapt towards him, claws lashing before him. "HEEEEEEERRRREEEEE'S JOHNNY!"

(A/N: You don't want to know how long I've been sitting on that one.)

EXCERPT FROM THE WEST COAST WASTELAND SURVIVAL GUIDE 2282 EDITION

Frumentarii: A significant component to the Legion's military successes, the Frumentarii serve as Caesar's Legion's primer intelligence division. Specializing in infiltration and sabotage, these agents of Caesar are often the first contact the Legion's opponents meet long before any battle. Capture by the Frumentarii is strongly not recommended. While the regular rank-and-file of the Legion could be compared to beasts on the battlefield, the Frumentarii carry with them a refined, somewhat disconnected sense of cruelty.