Morale Isn't Always Good

We got a new doctor who was a veteran of Hoover Dam, and he supposedly had a story about all the work he had to do after the battle. Apparently, he went through some stuff, but the vet story I heard firsthand was after 1st platoon's LT was killed leading a recovery team. The man died when a mine went off under a barely conscious trooper trap. So, a week later, the boys at Hoover Dam sent a new LT who was also a veteran of the battle at Hoover Dam, and very familiar with the Legion.

Bored on the Observation line, I was passing out some magazines (Of ammo. Not nudie mags… This time) to the guys on 1st platoon's end when I joined a huddle near the Colorado end of the line. Despite being in our company, I never got the new LT's name, mostly because we had to remove our observable uniform tags at Forlorn Hope (Never got the reason why).

So, unable to see his dog tag tucked under his chest protector, I got hooked when he thumped said chest protector and said, "… Oh, ya know, I'd seen ol vets o Kai-zar put a machette straight throo-one'a these brahmin ahsses…"

I couldn't quite place the new LT's accent.

He went on, "Back'en them Enlisted days o mine, Mojave troopers were a sight tuh see, and one for runnin to if yer lookin for safety. Ol Kai-zar really took'us by surprise when that crimson wave came pourin down from the east Dam. Gave'us a good thrashin, n so much so that we outright lost the thing. I was dere up top when some 7 foot Arizon'n was starin down the young Staff Sernt yer lookin turn L-T. After'd gun jam, I'd try convers'n with the fella, thinkin the faceless'n might at least be courteous'nuff to hear me out. I say to the beast as he's swingin' a Machette, 'I know yer one'a them Legion boys. B'lieve me, I know m'self a ranger fella who's bin swattin at y'guys forever back'n Arizone. I get yer Lord wants this ol Dam, but I promise you'll have'a real rough go'of it if we win the day.'... None'ta'say, fella wouldn't listn'ta reason. I's getting a fair winded'n I ducked the twenty'th swing. Finally say'ta the guy, 'Mkay there, tried given'a warnin.' Then I stuck'em good wit'muh bayonet, but'th thing didn't land. Fella was'a vet, and'th ol sportspad's lined'th sheet metle. Ol Chief must'a bin lookin'ovr yers truli cuz'I gave another thrust'n landed'it in his neck despite my aimin fer'is machettin arm…"

I surmised he was of tribal descent based on that bit about his "Ol Chief" looking out for him. Which was odd considering his unusually pale complexion and waxed facial hair looking like something out of an old west comic book about gunslingers. I'll continue his story with my translation:

"After seeing about the Arizonan, I saw everyone dropping left and right. Legion, troopers, didn't matter. The troopers were getting hacked away, and the Legionaries were getting dropped by ranged fire from the sharpshooters in the cliffs or troopers on the rear line. Seeing I was the only one in brown, I knew it wouldn't be long before one of the legionaries picked me as his next target. I fell back. Running back to the sandbags of the next line, waving my arms like a maniac and shouting, 'Don't shoot! I'm NCR!' Considering I was covered in blood, I worried they'd shoot at me. After all, the orders to 'Shoot at anything not tan' came from somewhere. Just before reaching the line, the troopers unleashed a volley. To my surprise, I was not hit. Then again, training for troopers was a bit longer in my day, I wouldn't trust some of you guys in the same situation, Haha!..."

I'd heard stories of the battle for Hoover Dam before, but none from a guy who was there. He went on;

"Leaping over the bags, I caught my breath, for one second exactly. The next swarm of Legion seemed to follow my lead, and piled into the last line. The sharpshooters were doing their work, but legionaries excel because they actually enjoy getting killed or getting crippling injuries. Troopers tend to prefer Not dying, and I'm the same. So, we found ourselves in yet another spot. Wasn't long before I got a rifle off a poor trooper who went back home. Joining in the fray once again, Caesar's boys didn't seem to care that their feather heads were dropping, so long as there was a fresh looking Californian in front of him. Wouldn't you know it? I found myself in the same spot, except this time the red guy had a few feet distance. I guess that's what guns were made for. I was too tired to try and scrap with him. Anyway, there weren't but fifteen of us left when someone above my meager enlisted grade ordered us to get the Heck out of there. I said, 'Say no more' and bolted with the remaining troopers and some of the fellas who were down below during the tussle up top…"

We all know what happened after the Legion took the Dam, but I didn't know this next part;

"So, me and not but twenty or thirty of the whole Dam garrison bolted for the road. I was thinking command said, 'You guys can have that place. We don't want it anyway.' Ignorant me didn't know that the official order was given to fall back. Needless to say, I was a bit surprised when two miles up the road, an officer led the surviving troopers off to an impromptu field hospital at the turn off to Boulder City. It was then that I finally realized none of the legionaries were following us. I guess I was so used to feeling the swipe of a machete at my back that it became a natural feeling. Yep, you guys heard it before. The Legion won the Dam, but they couldn't celebrate their victory with our sharpshooters still picking them off while sorting the holdouts or few they caught. I can't say for sure why the Legion didn't just smash their way below until the sharpshooters ran out of ammo or they got reinforcements, but Old Legate Graham ordered the charge forward with his best. Nearly 200 legionaries stormed down the road, chasing the sharpshooters while Hanlon was busy fixing up that little surprise. I was handed an unofficial Followers medical degree at the injured camp outside Boulder City, and ended up helping the wounded alongside our new Doc here. At the same time, Legate Graham got busy disappointing Caesar with the help of Chief Hanlon. After the big boom and about two hours, the few remaining troopers in the whole Dam sector were ordered back to Hoover, with Caesar's kids running back east. I swear, that was the only time I saw any legionary run Away from a fight. Back at the Dam, we got busy bagging up the dead of both us and Legion. You wouldn't think it if you've all seen the sort of action I heard about at this camp, but the Legion has spirits too. We saw them kicking dirt east, and I think I saw Old Legate Graham the evening after the battle. I was busy helping stack the dead, but I swear I saw a lone figure looking down at us from the eastern cliffs, seeming to know the failure he made… Then again, you all heard what happened to Graham, and those first crosses atop Fortification Hill were likely decorated by the Legionaries who ran. The Legion's 'Fat' if you will. I-"

The new officer was then cut off by the crack of a ranger's rifle from the Colorado watch post. It was dusk, and those who heard the officer's story felt a wave of inspiration and glory as they aimed their guns south. The order, "Send'em Out!" was given and all guns blared as 2nd platoon troopers on the western line manned the winding trail, ready for if the Legion made it that far. A few grenade rifles manned the line, sending high explosives out into no man's land, scattering the legionaries who scurried across the barbed wire. Flares popped over darkening landscape, showing silhouettes that dropped slowly to the earth. Troopers on the line ducked at the ranged legionaries' accurate shots from below that occasionally wounded a man on the line or trailhead. The Legion never stopped and more guns popped off as the fire order turned to "Pour it on'em!"

My witness to the glorious and inspiring spectacle was suddenly interrupted by the shout of my sergeant that pierced through the roar of gunfire:

"WHERE THE *Profanity* IS HARTON WITH THE AMMO!?*

I was still carrying that crate full of magazines.

Seeing a typical Legion dusk raid through the lens of that LT's inspiring story of service made me forget that I was part of what was happening… and that I had a job beforehand. Morale and inspiration aren't always good things.

Making my way down the line, tossing ammo at troopers. I completed my assignment, but the delay was noted by my sergeant, who took time out of the skirmish to reprimand me. There were no real casualties in the fight, at least nonlethal, or ones that couldn't be fixed with a stimpack, but sergeant wasn't too thrilled with me.

Apparently, "Getting caught in a patriotic trance about glorious service to the Republic" wasn't a good excuse for delay under fire. He said the army retired that medical condition with the first draft of 78 (I was just amazed that was an actual excuse used by past NCR troopers).

Anyway, that was my first time getting added to the "Crime Board", "Punishment Sheet", "Discipline Roster", "Correction Report", or the sheet occasionally referred to as, "The MP Cat's Paw."