The Forlorn Fighter

This story comes from everyone at Forlorn Hope, and is not based on the list for troopers in search of pen pals. Some of this story applies to me, some of it applies to a bit of everyone else. The story is the amalgamation of everyone who's ever been on the Observation line, had a gun pointed south, or eyes set on the no man's. You can get the story by asking anyone who's been at Forlorn Hope, but I wrote it from the view of "Trooper Joe". Here's the story of Trooper Joe:

Trooper Joe grew up with stars in his eyes and dreamt of greatness. He joined the NCR military because it seemed like the only thing to do considering his upbringing. Joe had never seen real conflict, but he knew all about it from his parents. Knowing what he's about to take part in, he enlists, and gets put into the 5th Regiment, 14th volunteer battalion of home guard infantry. Immediately assigned to the Camp Seth training corps outside Shady Sands, his hometown, he felt pride in no longer just seeing it from the distance. Training of course was hard. The four weeks were more than any of those conscripts got, but he fell right in line and thought of his family's legacy. The only other thing that kept him going in training was images of those posters in his mind about what was threatening to take over the Mojave.

Training had ended, and he was finally able to call himself a "Private of the New California Republic Army" a title he dreamed made reality. The unit being a hometown one of volunteers, the city threw a parade in honor of the valiant new soldiers offering themselves in service of those in a foreign land. Marching through the streets, the parade dispersed, and all the new soldiers found their families.

Joe's family embraces him with tears of pride in their eyes, and Joe sees the organization he was now part of in his family's eyes. Joe saw the lasers and plasma beams across the landscape, just like his mother saw at Navarro. Joe saw the bullets and bodies his father saw while defending the borders against raiders. Joe even saw the crimson wave his brother saw come down on Hoover Dam. He even saw his brother's experience against the Great Khan menace.

Trooper Joe knew war, he'd been raised by heroes. Joe was ready.

Even though he was ready, Joe found his pack unusually heavy as the wasteland sun came down. His battalion was of course, on its way to the Mojave. Even the corporals, sergeants, officers, and everyone in between hated marching in the heat, but everyone's spirits were high with dreams of New Vegas… Everyone except Joe. Trooper Joe didn't join up to gamble in a neon town; he joined up to save it from the menace trying to destroy it.

Trooper Joe's battalion arrived at the famous border of the Mojave, and through the monument they went. It was there that the battalion was further divided by company, and Joe's heart sank when he learned he was going to Camp McCarran. All his friends in the company cheered, and Joe grumbled.

As his company arrived at McCarran, things were looking good. Arriving in the day, the company set up in their section, and Joe was still pissy about not going to take his brother's place at the Dam… That was until he saw the lights of New Vegas. There was something magical about those lights that made Trooper Joe's brain say, "Maybe this won't be so bad?" and it certainly wasn't.

Trooper Joe adapted, and fell into the routine of McCarran. He was part of patrols that helped fend off the outer Vegas raiders, and he took a lot of pride in that. It wasn't until the weekend hit, and his company was given liberty that things were changing. On liberty, Trooper Joe made it a point to stay away from New Vegas after seeing the drunk troopers stepping off the train, and getting into trouble on base… That was until the attractive magic of those lights finally broke him, and he decided to check it out. After all, might as well see the town the military he joined was keeping safe?

It wasn't long until Trooper Joe became complacent. This was his life. Trooper Joe lived for the next liberty. He started skipping out on his patrols by feigning illness, only to miraculously recover the second liberty hit. He forgot all about the enemy across the Colorado as he blew his pay on drinks, rooms, and luxury in the fancy bright casinos. Trooper Joe's drunken binges and good times with his pals got him in trouble, and soon enough, he was well known by all the MPs of the strip.

The MPs brig was a second barracks for Trooper Joe, and his CO and sergeant had bailed him out for the last time. The LT of his platoon wanted him sent to Camp Golf to wait out the rest of the tour doing menial work in disgrace, but Trooper Joe's record was too good for that. Trooper Joe had the badge of an expert marksman from training, courtesy of those gecko hunting trips he always went on with his dad. The infamous Camp Forlorn Hope had a vacancy for a decently skilled, if not a bit rowdy trooper. So, Camp Forlorn Hope it was.

Trooper Joe made the march to Forlorn Hope with three other New Vegas brig regulars, and six other troopers randomly selected to fill the ranks at the destination. Even though he was more than angry by getting kicked from his hometown company, he was more upset that he was leaving the town he spent more than one great night in. Although, he did find some comfort in recalling his old dreams. This was destiny. This was Joe's chance to see the frontline and do something that mattered. This was his chance to follow in his family's legacy… Then, they arrived.

The camp was made of bullet ridden tents, scrap, trash, pouring sandbags, and an entire company was facing south on an earth and scrap fortified barricade. He saw the troopers getting carted to the doc, those dirty men coming in from patrols, and the 100 Yard or Raid boys covering their bodies with dirt and mud before going out. Not one of the troopers he saw had a regulation haircut or a proper uniform. Then he saw the not yet familiar horror show of a recovery team pass the trail sentries carting a bag full of exploded human. Trooper Joe wouldn't have known it was a human in the bag if it wasn't for the trail of blood that seeped through the sack and left its mark on the sands.

He saw the ridge of crosses in the south, and one of the sentries asked the recovery boys, "You seen Trooper Bill up there?"

The man with the bag said, "Think so. Wish they'd keep'em in mercy range."

Just then, a trooper on the line of guns shouts an indistinct command, and all the guns blare. The Forlorn troopers scatter to their prospective duties during an attack, and Joe leaves the company of those he arrived with to see what was happening. Atop the cliff, he watches a line of red storm across the battered grounds, and hack away the men in brown who were part of a mistakenly sent out wire team. The men in red collapse across the sands as the guns on the line continue to burst.

Through the volley, Trooper Joe's trance is cut short by a hand yanking him down, and a dust covered trooper shouting, "Get the *Profanity* down! You Idiot! Legion got guns too!"

The guns bursting only stopped when the dust settled and there were no standing bodies in red. Not one of the enemy ran away, and there was more work for the recovery team. The corpses of savage men in masks almost reached the top of the trailhead, and Joe thought about the patrols he went on before moving into the Vegas brig. If those raiders of outer Vegas weren't high on something aggressive they would've ran away at the first shot he fired… Not this enemy. Stone cold sober, and still they died to the last man in attempt to kill Joe and this sand covered band only slightly resembling the troopers at McCarran.

Joe did his best to fit in, and tried his best to adapt to the camp. Though scared by the conditions and still missing New Vegas, he held onto that little part of him that wanted this kind of service. He was finally in the thick of it, and at least somewhat proud to be there… At least until that particular vacancy causing event happened.

The camp had much more strict discipline than McCarran, and it wasn't long before his friend he made on the way to Forlorn Hope was put on the 100 Yard Squad. A slap on the wrist incident at any other station, made a coin flip death sentence at this camp. Trooper Joe's friend was hauled up on a cross on the southern cliffs. Atop the Observation line, that cross forever seeped its message into Joe's head. The joking with pals wasn't funny anymore, and none of the stories from them interesting. Joe was good enough to avoid a camp punishment, but his sadness built up as the days went on. He wrote his will at the advice of camp veterans at the start, but Trooper Joe started writing more and more. He didn't have to write to his favorite girl on the strip, he had a family back home, even a girlfriend! Each night, he'd write:

"Dearest Sweetheart,

That night back when we were kids, or when we were in later schooling, or when we did that simple yet sweet thing was the moment I fell in love with you. Every night I look at your picture and stare into your green, brown, or blue eyes and dream of you, only to reawaken in this horror. Any day now, they're sending me into the no man's land where I may not make it back. If I die, know I'll always be with you and love you forever."

To his brother, he writes:

"To: Brother

I never thought you were serious about what you went through at Hoover, but I'm sure that was nothing to what I go through daily. I know your reenlistment guaranteed you an admin job at some nowhere duty station back in California, but I'm in the worst of it. Things are worse here than the stories can even describe, and those jerks around Nelson aren't sane enough to back off. I didn't imagine this when signing up, so I may not make it out. I love you Bro, but you better avenge me and get off your desk when I die… I'm also sorry about that thing I did to you when we were little."

He writes to his mother:

"Dear Mom

Things are pretty bleak here. I don't think I'm going to survive this one. Every day, theres fewer of us, and those crazies just keep coming. You were the best mom a boy could ever ask for, and I'm sorry for any time I made you upset. You were right, I should have done that thing that would've led to a stabler life. I suppose it's too late for that now. I love you so much, and I'm going to miss you."

Dad's letter goes:

"Dear Dad,

They're sending me out to Nelson soon. I'm not likely to come back from that trip. I was foolish to follow in your footsteps. I suppose I was just a kid trying to be more like his old man, but the Legion keeps hitting us, and any day they're going to call my ticket. I'm sorry dad, but know that I am going down fighting. I hope knowing that I'm fighting for what's right in this desert makes you proud."

Days, weeks, months, years passed, and Trooper Joe got only sadder and sadder, which was strange because he thought he got over that. Any day now, the Legion was going to overwhelm the line and kill everyone. Any day now, he'd screw up and be sent 100 Yards out, or put on a Raid squad. Joe began to hate those who seemed fine, continued to joke, and or didn't show any emotion at the terrible awful world around them. The anger, fear, and sadness built up in Joe's mind until he couldn't take it anymore. It occurred to him that he had a lot of leave saved up from his time in service, since he discovered very early that "Weekend Liberty" didn't exist for those on the front line. So, he approaches the LT with his question.

"No" was the answer.

Another day on the Observation line, the order "Send'em Out" is given, and Joe's rifle jams. The rifle might as well have been held together with bubblegum and cleaned with mud. Joe shouts, "Is there anything more terrible than this!?"

A dust covered trooper shouts in a disparaged yet somehow still sarcastic and friendly tone after the volley, "You weren't here for the trench line, kid" and gives a dry chuckle that is despised by every fiber in Joe's body.

Later, it occurs to Joe, "Why are we here!?" Sitting, and waiting, and for what? There has to be something we can do here, or to those at Nelson!?"

The sadness turns almost instantly into an urge to fight that consumes Joe for the longest of time. How on earth could Trooper Joe be the only one who wanted to fight while everyone else seemed content with the awfulness? Trooper Joe made his argument known to his pals one day, and he didn't quite understand the response.

Everyone there wanted to fight. Everyone there wasn't content with the constant heat and thunder of defensive guns. They were just a little more in touch with the reality. Joe immediately learned that his fantasies of glory in battle were just that: fantasies. Even when Joe reimagined the same things his mom, dad, and brother went through, he only saw what he wanted to: the story. He didn't account for the entire experience leading up to the fantastic moment. However, that only angered Joe. Trooper Joe clung to the story he'd tell his kids and that fantastic moment as if it existed at all.

More days, weeks, months, years, or however long went by, and the cocktail of emotions still plagued his mind, making him crave a cocktail. One of his pals back at McCarran smuggled him some smooth liquor. Anything to beat the horrible world around him. It wasn't until after drinking it all that Trooper Joe realized that his tolerance wasn't as high as it was back at McCarran. Trooper Joe took his spot on the night watch drunk as could be, got a 10 day CDL-2, and had to join the Raid squad every one of those nights.

Spirits low, that wasn't the only CDL he got, he just kept getting sent out. A horrible life made worse by the punishment from his own leaders. Something out there kept him alive each time he went out whether or not the squad encountered red. Punishment after punishment was issued, and Joe was still alive. The sadness, anger, and fear only got worse with each night out in no man's, which he didn't even think was possible. Hardly any ammo, and gun almost broken, Joe sat on the Observation line away from those he used to call pals.

Dusk was coming, and it wouldn't be long before he had to meet up with the Raid squad. He pulled out a cigarette to calm his nerves, and felt for his lighter, but it wasn't in any of his pockets. Did he leave it here, there, or ten million other places? Did it fall? Was it stolen? Who knew? All Trooper Joe knew was that the one thing he wanted before going into the dangerous night was unattainable because he didn't have his lighter. This was where everything Joe went through fell apart. The planet was exploding, the life he lived went nowhere, and the apocalypse was happening right there and now.

Suddenly, the world froze as he heard the words, "Need a light?"

Trooper Joe's world was put back together in an instant by the dirty trooper without a dust jacket handing him a grey steel lighter. Joe accepted it reluctantly, but something washed over him before the calm of nicotine, before even lighting his vice. Trooper Joe lit up, thanked the nameless trooper, and something changed in him. Though he didn't know why, he realized that he wasn't scared, sad, or angry about going out for his punishment. Joe began seeing things he hadn't seen before.

Joe actually started seeing when that other trooper handed him a better conditioned rifle for a dangerous task. Trooper Joe saw when his pal on the line gave him a new pair of boots from the care package, that was too big for the owner. He saw it when he lost a game of cards and a nameless trooper said, "Stay away from Corporal Bob, he's a cheat." He also saw it when his abnormally mean sergeant handed him a slice of bacon because Joe was too slow that morning. Trooper Joe was then injured on a raid squad, and Trooper Smith, that scrawny pale man used his entire might to drag him back through the sand. Getting patched up with the doc, he knew the concern for him wasn't a side effect of the anesthetic. Back on the line, it was seen when Joe forgot to fill his canteen during morning chow and that other nameless trooper tossed him his second canteen.

As Joe started seeing all these little things, that sadness and rage turned into confusion. Joe couldn't piece together why he was just now seeing all that. Everything was still terrible, but everyone around him was trying to help their pals make things suck even a little bit less.

The confusion showed itself in the picture of Joe, and one day, he found himself sitting with his pals he used to keep distant of.

On the Observation line, his pal, Trooper Bill saw Joe's mental battle, and said, "Cheer up, Joe. You forget tonight's the last night of your CDL? No more raid squads for you."

Joe found himself mutter, "At least until the next one."

That caused a laugh in the gaggle of dirty troopers drenched in Mojave sweat. Joe's response made himself laugh as well. Confused by that, he tried to figure out what was funny when the others joked and Trooper Bill said, "Everything'll be fine. Besides, you got Trooper John watching your back out there."

Joe took comfort in that, seeing Trooper John for the first real time since clarity. A man Joe's friends back home would've called "Junktown Trash" was a muscular beast recently given a raid squad punishment for dropping some crates for the logistics boys. Joe's life was still awful, but Joe realized that Trooper John was headed out there with him that last night. Both of them would crawl through the dirt after being punished by their own commanders, and come back to their pals up top in the morning. Suddenly, that thought, and the whirlwind of confusion he'd been battling for weeks sorted itself out in Joe's mind.

Joe had been so self-involved, so self-pitying, so angry, and so set on glory, that in that moment; he just realized what he'd been seeing since that trooper offered a lighter. Trooper Joe saw all the real glory in the monotonous, frustrated, and coping dirt around him.

At that revelation, Joe's world made sense. He hadn't heard from his parents, his brother, or his girlfriend in some time, due to a lockdown, but that didn't matter when he saw his dust covered pals on the line.

Dusk inevitably came, and he gladly stood himself up to join the congregating raid squad with Trooper John. He happily headed down the winding trail with them, and marched out into no man's at nightfall with a new personal mantra.

"After this, I'm gonna head on back up to camp and turn things around. If I'm making it back for anyone, it aint for NCR, for my friends back home, or even my family who might as well just be a dream. It's gonna be for my pals up there on the line."

The only problem was that Trooper Joe didn't make it back.

The raid squad was countered by a Legion night raid. Emerging from the sands, some mask covered face killed Joe almost instantly with a few well-placed slashes. Joe laid there with the moon high above and his friends dying all around him. The legionary towered over him, looking down at Joe as he rapidly bled out, and Joe had one last thought before leaving this world.

"Don't let my body hurt my friends."

A recovery team found Joe's body in no man's a few days later, given back during a dust storm, and trapped of course. The trooper steps forward, looking at the mangled mess that was Joe.

The recovery boy asks, "Is that Joe?"

"Can't tell." Says another trooper, as they use their rods to turn his mutilated body over.

The body detonates, but the team is ok from behind the safety of a dune. Once Joe is all collected up, there was no sign that body ever was Joe. The Legion stripped his tags, and the explosion removed every other piece of his identity. It could've been Joe or one of the other fallen.

Back up top, the casualty listing from that failed raid confirmed that Joe was at least one of those out there or one on a cross. Joe was gone one way or another.

The remains of Joe were buried on that little cliff overlooking the Colorado, no flag, and no box. Another man was added to that mass grave, and whether the remains were his or not, a post was added with the inscription:

"He didn't deserve that."

Trooper Joe understood his world and himself before dying. Joe knew what happened to him would horrify those new to the camp, and knew some sentries would've tried to add a little dead joke upon seeing the recovery boys haul him up. Joe knew the jokes and simple ways of coping with the horror were from minds screaming and crying about the world around them, but were too tough to let show. He knew his place at the camp, and learned about true heroism in the sand around him just in time to enjoy the rest of eternity with his fallen pals on that cliff overlooking the Colorado.