Trooper's Morale – Passing Time
As more troopers filled the Observation line, the memory of losing nearly a whole company remained, and more of the issues with those things came. I mentioned boredom being the primary concern of troopers on the Observation line, and thus came more ways to pass the time, some even being required by command.
You'd think the removal of the most dangerous "Line" would improve morale, but it didn't… necessarily. Like I said, all the assignments were still there, but now run from the Observation line. Troopers would still have to go out and fix the wire, and recover those who got dragged away from the 100 Line. The only up side was that the trapper teams didn't have to go too far out into no man's anymore, and their work was more effective. Anti-personnel mines would line the winding trail down to no man's before storms and at night, and since the trail was on rough dirt, the mines weren't buried by sand anymore.
On the other hand, between the jobs, there were a lot more troops waiting on the line or filling different watch posts. With more troops in the camp proper, it was easier to allocate sufficient troops for night watch on camp and on the Observation line. Also, with more troops manning the Off line duties, patrols were extended to the ends of the canyon passes out of camp. So, we were able to better monitor Legion activities along the desert stretching to the 95. Despite the new focus and bodies manning the old jobs, boredom was still a large issue, and many troopers had nothing but time on their hands between Legion attacks.
Some of these things were there from the start of Forlorn Hope as a frontline camp, but some were added with the removal of the Trench line. In the end, troopers combat boredom and maintain their morale in a few ways:
The big morale booster was probably cards. After all, we were close to New Vegas. When I sat down with a group of troopers, I usually saw they were playing "Caravan" and then left. Caravan was definitely the most complicated game of them all and surprisingly the most popular. Despite how complicated it was, I once met a trooper who couldn't even read or write absolutely destroy three players in a row. I considered myself somewhat smart, but no matter what I did throughout my entire time in service, I couldn't understand it.
On a particularly slow day on the Observation line, I once spent nearly 12 hours of the shift studying a couple troopers who were having a tournament, asking questions, and making notes about the rules. I don't think I studied that hard since schooling back home, but in the end, I had my chance to play a young Hub trooper named Flatwood. Using a spare deck from one of the previous troopers, I instantly forgot all the answered questions, and looked to my notes only to see they were chicken scratch. Instead of playing off the trooper's hand, I got up and left the 3 cigarettes I put in the pot as they laughed at my surrender… Joke was on them since I didn't even smoke.
I think they called that game "Caravan" because I would rather join a 5 week caravan through Arizona while wearing an NCR uniform than play that game. Anyway, if the troopers didn't play that, they played poker, or freshened up their blackjack techniques during their dreams about New Vegas or New Reno. I enjoyed some poker, and a little blackjack was fun too, but most troopers got really excited for the other forms of losing pay.
Some troopers captured hairy desert spiders, or half radioactive scorpions or ants for fights. Certain kinds of fire ants can grow to the size of a dog or even man, but they were rare around this part of the Mojave. Instead, days on the lines were spent covered in the tiny ones. On the rare chance a trooper found a baby ant with mutation potential, he'd hide it from his corporal and ask around the line for anyone who's got an opponent. Upon finding a challenger, a crowd would form the second a sergeant steps away, and we'd put tobacco products (Lower enlisted currency) on who'd win. Even though baby ants were strangely more vicious than baby scorpions, the little nature struggle would commence with their human audience, only for the best part to be missed by a "Send'em Out!" call… Then there'd be two missing creatures loose in the camp.
As humans tend to do whenever they're risking something, some troopers drink. Most troopers don't drink because alcohol has a way of dehydrating you in a way that the Mojave was already good at. Troopers also didn't drink because that was a strict no-no in the eyes of anyone with more than one chevron on their collar. I never really drank because I never liked the taste, and have seen too many vagrants in San Fran fall victim to alcoholic stupidity. However, another interesting thing about people's habits is that they tend to answer depressions with depressants. For some people, it seems kinda hard not to drink when they watched their best bud in the trench get dragged into a dust storm only to watch them get hauled up on a cross the next day. Whether a trooper wanted the alcoholic beverage to forget, or in order to celebrate their birthday away from home, punishments were still doled out for engaging the habit.
It wasn't all that hard to get alcohol, surprisingly enough. The Mojave Express couriers dropped off Forlorn trooper mail at Helios One, where it was then sorted by a team there for contraband. Some guys at Forlorn Hope were from Helios, and knew a buddy who'd turn a blind eye. Other mail inspectors saw bottles of whatever, and let it through anyway after seeing it marked for a trooper who died upon getting reassigned to Hope. However, some troopers who requested stuff from home were crafty, and tasked friends or family members back home with hiding the shot or two in a separated part of a thermos. The mail inspector would then think Private Joe at Forlorn Hope was just getting sent a cup of his mama's homemade soup. Occasionally, the trooper had other less desirable items secretly sent to him, and those were met with their own punishments.
If it wasn't alcohol, gambling, training critters for fights, or other habits I'll mention shortly, one universal pass time regardless of if you and your pal are on alert duty, or sitting on the line, was complaining. If someone hears a lower enlisted complaining, you can place good money on a camp veteran interjecting his own bit about how things were worse "Back in My day." This especially became a point of pride for people who were around when the Trench line was a thing. Later on, I would personally go on to tell a new guy or two about how his misery "Ain't nothing compared to what I had to go through" as if that was some kind of boast. Either way, trooper misery bragging matches were a thing that usually ate up plenty of time before an attack or end of shift. I usually liked to sit back on those because later on, I could almost always win with the whole "I am one of the few survivors from the Nelson garrison." I usually took pride in that as I saw the face of the complainer I just out-complained... Then I'd think about those moments and how traumatizing that was... Anyway, aside from that, there were a few other ways troopers kept their spirits up, some even mandatory.
Shortly after command got rid of the Trench line, even they began to fully embrace the common name of Forlorn Hope. Nobody had told me at the time, or the LT forgot to mention it at formation, but I remember I was sleeping on the Observation line before my night shift when I was kicked awake. Sergeant Holms gave me a light kick, I lifted my helmet up, and saw him standing over me, blocking the sun with the widest grin.
I struggled to get up and to parade rest when he said, "Harton. Get yourself up and freshened. It's time for your worship service."
That statement woke me up more than standing, I leveled my helmet, and asked, "What was that, Sergeant?"
His grin was wider than any I'd ever seen on a man of his rank as he clued me in. "It's mandatory religious service time. Command knows that morale is in the *Profanity* and you've always been a chipper one. Now, hurry along, and go form up with the Hubologist group by Bravo's shack house…"
I dropped my military demeanor for the first time since acquiring it, "You woke me up for that, Sergeant? I made 'Hubologist' my religion as a joke… I'm not going."
Sergeant's grin never wavered, he only reached at the chain around my neck, turned around my dog tag, saw the "HUB" on there, and said, "Command made religious attendance mandatory for camp morale purposes... You're going, Harton."
"No, Sergeant… I am not" I said defiantly to no one as I made my way to the Hubologist meeting.
Bravo company was on the line as well, so we had one of their shacks all to ourselves. There, me and three other more devout Hubologists at Forlorn Hope ran our mandatory worship service. I wondered what the other religious groups were discussing or doing. I think the weekly two hours of torture weren't too bad though. We "Hubologists" spent that time discussing the "Great Hub" and his third book released after his death, and I later learned that the atheists had to spend that time on the line during the afternoon sun... Pros and cons I suppose.
Though I would've rather been sleeping before my night shift, I didn't mind the short break from the line. When it immediately came out to the other Hubologists that I wasn't actually a Hubologist, the "AHS-4" (Most senior member, and corporal from Shady Sands) made me an "AHS-1" promising he owed me one "Zeta Scan" when we get home. My parents would've killed me for being titled anything in the weirdo cult that's plagued everyone back home since the bombs, but I at least went to my night guard shift in peace. The peace of mind in knowing that if I was killed by some legionary, I'd join the Star Father on the planet Quetzel.
At the night shift, the rest of the Observation line was asleep, and I was on the line with the rest of the crew, heads up, and guns pointed at Nelson. Some of them saw that business with Sergeant, and razzed me a bit about my supposed faith. I couldn't help but laugh as well.
The night guards around camp or on the line were spent with heads up since the night concealed our visibility from any potential Legion gunners. So, with eyes and guns facing south, the line watched over no man's land for any suspicious movements, and swatting ants off our arms. A trooper then puts in a good lip of chewing tobacco, sometimes a dried old prewar can, or sometimes an organic can from the coyote tobacco plant. There were a few makers of that natural stuff in the Mojave whose sole customer was the NCR military.
I tried chewing tobacco one time before the Trench line was removed, and my world began to spin. The stuff was so potent, and it made me want to throw up. A corporal thought I was coming down with heat stroke that time, and a few recovery boys were about to take me up top as the corporal began writing down my name for the punishment sheet.
I fell from my post on the line, and when the recovery trooper asked, "How many fingers?"
I spat the ground leaves from my mouth and said "Two."
Some of the troopers saw what I spit up and laughed while the corporal ripped up the charge sheet calling me an idiot. Those troopers chuckled at a new trooper's first run with nicotine, and PFC Watley who gave me the pinch disappeared into the ether. I got back to my post, and swore I'd never do chewing tobacco again… At least until the night shifts up top got the better of me.
Some nights, the constant waiting for a sniper to start firing at a Legion raid team got to your nerves. Feeling my limbs bouncing up and down, I often asked the trooper next to me what made him so calm.
The trooper would reply with a long spit off the cliff followed by, "Nothin like a good lip. Lookin to bum a pinch, Harton?"
I said, "No Way!" too many times in the past, but eventually took it up in an effort to combat nerves and boredom. I entered it with the mindset of a preference to throwing up or making the world spin, rather than sit in the day's heat or chilly night any longer.
Yep, chewing tobacco was simply "Something to do" for most people in the military. Starting with the obligatory tiny pinch, and moving up, I ended up getting my own cans through buddies or through "Pen pals" since I thankfully hadn't been found by Mama or Pop (I honestly felt I'd be safer in Legion hands than my adopted parents'). Anyway, I'd get me cans through friends, or I'd collect cigarettes in gambling or gather favors in exchange for dip. I did say that I didn't smoke. That was all fine though because tobacco of all kinds was essentially its own currency at Forlorn Hope. Money didn't have any value since troopers needed tobacco at every moment.