Dealing with Tragedy

They say that "Denial" is the first stage of dealing with any tragedy, and I'm inclined to agree. The patrols that entered the trade post after the lockdown soon shut their stupid mouths when they learned that our leave was from Forlorn Hope. After that, they just felt sorry and apologized, but their apologies didn't resume the leave (Worthless).

Officially in that denial stage, our group collectively thought, "It's delayed, so what? In an hour, we'll be heading out to continue our vacation."

Then, the 1st hour went by and we thought, "Okay, next hour…" and it went on like that until the day was nearly over. No word from the radio at the 188 outpost. Night was soon upon us and that was when the "Anger" stage really set in.

The caravan traffic was almost dead as the city was alight in the distance, mocking us. The two other patrols merged with our group and we made a big fire where we collectively hated the world. One patrol group was doing a midnight run south of McCarran when the order was called, and 188 was the closest outpost. The other patrol was from Helios, and would've rather been there instead of this dumpy little rest stop for caravans. But none of them were as hate filled as our leave group.

I knew with 100% certainty that this lockdown was because of me getting selected for leave. Though I had zero proof, I knew for an absolute fact that Sergeant Holms, or Corporal Jisun, or any of my so called "Friends" couldn't stand the fact that I got to go on leave. The whole camp collaborated to falsely shut down the roads because they knew that I was given a vacation! I wasn't alone in thinking this way. Every other member of the leave group admitted every order they ever subverted as a reason why this happened.

The third morning came, and every trooper still held only a little bit of hope that the "All clear" order would be given at any moment. The anger was vented in the night, but that morning was when the next stage came, "Bargaining".

Most of us spent our time around the outpost tent with the radio and home of the power armor troopers, waiting. The leave corporal shouted to anyone who would listen, "This is an outrage! They can't do this to us! It violates the New Vegas Treaty!..."

I heard about that before. That was some treaty signed with that "Mr. House" fella who was supposedly the head honcho of New Vegas. The part of the treaty the corporal was referring to was the fact that the treaty stated how the NCR wouldn't obstruct the ability of troopers to go there on leave. I suppose it didn't account for the fact that leave can be cancelled at the drop of a hat when sector lockdown orders were given.

One of the patrol troopers backed up the statement, and then the corporal brought out his inner lawyer by announcing to the whole outpost, "The very act of canceling our leave on route to New Vegas is itself a restriction of our access to the city, lockdown or not, and therefore, a violation of the treaty."

There was more "Look how right I am" talk until one of the metal troopers had seemingly been waiting for this very conversation. The armored trooper sergeant pulled a paper, pen, and envelope out of nowhere, then slapped them down in front of the corporal.

The metal trooper said, "Go ahead corporal… Go and write down your grievance to Mr. House… Tell him or it, or whatever he is, how unfair the army is by cancelling your days of hookers and alcohol… I know House doesn't even talk to our ambassador, but I'm sure he sets that time aside for reading the letters of pissy troopers."

More arguing, and more bargaining about what was owed to us commenced. If we got the "All clear" that 3rd day, even in the night, we could still have a decent day or two in New Vegas before having to report back in at Forlorn Hope. We all knew in our hearts that wouldn't happen. So, I, and a few others bargained with something else. Sitting on a rock near the 188 army tent, I looked to the sky.

"Star Father? Great Hub? Sole Redeemer of the Unworthy Rim Meat?..." (I picked up a thing or two at my mandatory Hubologist meetings)

"... If you end this lockdown and let me enjoy this leave period, I swear I'll be the most devout Hubologist since Alfonsoid the Rocketeer from Battlefield Quetzel 6, the Moon Worm of Mal-solzock…"

I don't think "The Great Hub" much cared for me because the outpost radio got a transmission from Forlorn Hope asking for the leave commander… And it wasn't good news.

The corporal got on the radio and checked in with the comms officer. For starters, they were making sure we didn't sneak off to New Vegas anyway, then they gave word about an incoming crew that was gonna need our help with a supply list. That confirmed it. Our leave was officially done for, and now a crew was coming to give us orders and what not. Then came the "Depression" stage.

Visions of that pool, that cold drink, and that soft bed vanished in the blink of an eye, and I almost wanted to cry. Weeks or months, or however long I was at Hope under fire, crawling through dirt, or recovering the mutilated dead couldn't make me cry, but I wanted to at that moment. Some of the leave troopers considered desertion or doing themselves in, but knew better (Deserting or killing yourself weren't authorized actions in the NCR Army). All the while, the other stuck patrol troopers looked at us like puppies in the middle of bleeding out.

The outpost got more lively as the caravan traffic passed by in the day. Then, at sometime in the later afternoon, the peak of our sadness hit when we saw the brown uniforms coming up from the south tugging along multiple brahmin. When they showed up, us leave troopers reported in with them, and that was when our depression finally turned into the last stage "Acceptance".

I had all but forgotten that these troopers sent to us were from the front as well. When the leave corporal asked what cargo they needed help with, and how long before heading back, the trooper in charge of the supply train, an exhausted looking sergeant said, "Don't know. My crew and I have special clearance during this sector lockdown, and I'm milking this for all I can."

The supply train had no intentions on rushing to get back, and the sergeant seemed "Certain of caravan delays" for some of the items on his list.

Although I didn't get to experience New Vegas on leave, and I was technically back on active duty, the whole leave group got to enjoy their "leave" at the 188, and away from the strict discipline and danger of frontline life. Our acceptance stage was making do with our hand that didn't turn out As bad as others... But certainly not as good as the alternative.