Was it Worth it?

I awoke in a way similar to what I experienced before or during the amputations. In that locked state, I couldn't feel the pain from that incision, and only really wondered if I would have to be put under during the actual installment. If that pain was just from the prod into the later surgical site, I didn't want to know what the pain from the real procedure was like. None of that mattered in the moment, I was numb to the world again after spazzing out from prep work and staring up at a darkness fringed ceiling.

I realized I was actually thinking about the new limbs I was later going to get, noticed I had all my thoughts, but again wasn't able to move. I knew I'd awake still limbless, and so my thoughts moved on in the familiar numbness trance. I thought about a lot of things during however long I was there. I thought about Stacy, who I really quite liked, about my pals in the hospital, and about all those strangers who came to meet me those days ago. My thoughts trailed into ones about getting injured, who else got killed or injured during our attack, about all that time on the front line, and all the misery coupled with that enemy at Nelson.

Then, I thought about Mama and Pop again.

It had been a while since I really thought about them, instead of shrugging their image or memories of disappointment out of my mind.

I didn't even have any thoughts about them, I just thought Of them. I saw their faces, and wondered what they were thinking all while my eyes were locked on that ceiling. They probably had no idea where I even was, if I was alive or dead, that I lost an arm and leg, that I was scheduled to get new ones, or anything. All they knew was that I didn't come back from that trip to Sac Town, and whatever Xiang might have told them after the big lie.

As strange as it may sound, I still didn't even know how long I'd been gone.

Yes, despite everything I went through, all the news I got caught up on, all the people I met and things I did, I didn't know what date it was when I was put under in the hospital. I knew the date I enlisted, but I honestly couldn't tell you at the time when I was put into this particular coma, when we lost Nelson, when I was first punished, when my failed leave happened, etc., etc. I really couldn't tell you anything about when a particular event took place during my entire time in service. Whether I was in the army for a few solid weeks, a few months, or even a year or more, I couldn't tell you at that point in my life (I was pretty sure it was more than a few weeks though).

I suppose my thoughts about everything, and Mama and Pop in particular, started to play tricks on my mind because I began hearing them as I continued watching that ceiling.

I heard Mama's belligerent voice in the distance shouting, "You let us see him right now!"

Then I heard a foreign voice that sounded like one of the nurses respond, "We can't, it's hospital procedure. PFC Harton isn't-"

The shouting voice of my Pop cut the nurse off, "It 'Heilong' in there! Not this 'Harton' you talk! You NCR run big army and don't know you own soldier names!?"

"That's definitely what Mama or Pop would say if they ever found me, even down to the slight errors in English speech when he got really frustrated" I said internally.

The Nurse said, "I'm going to talk to the duty office-" but the voice was cut off by more muffled uncooperativeness.

It was after that when the voices became distorted, and blackness consumed me again.

My eyes fluttered open weakly sometime later, and I was pretty sure I was dreaming. I had all my senses, and my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. What made me think I was still dreaming was how when my eyes adjusted, there were two faces hovering over me. Not a nurse, not the prosthetics specialist, not Stacy, or my checkup doctor. The faces above me were those of Pop and Mama standing on the left side of my bed, smiling, and waving those little NCR flags on a stick the parade spectators had.

I took their sight with bewilderment, and said the first thing I thought, "I'm dreaming, right?"

I definitely felt those words leave my mouth, and nothing was blurry. What made me sure it wasn't a dream was the reactions on the faces I didn't imagine seeing in a thousand years. Pop scrunched his face in such a way that was either sad, confused, shocked, happy, angry or all of those. Mama on the other hand, pulled up the lower part of my blanket, whispered something to herself, and switched her eyes from my face to my missing appendages before letting out a shriek and a cry. I had never seen my Mama cry before, and couldn't have imagined what that looked like if I were still dreaming.

Still reflecting on reality, I asked, "You're really here?"

Another screech from Mama as she balled crazily. Pop drew closer at the side of my bed and said with that same concerned or astonished face, "Yes, Ed. We're here…"

I watched Mama continue to pace back and forth sobbing hysterically as I felt Pop's eyes focus on my face. He said, "Don't mind your Mama… She's just glad you're safe."

I knew it. This was and wasn't a dream. This was a dream made reality. Mama and Pop really were here, and they really did care about me.

I continued watching Mama blubbering and pointing at my lost limbs as she paced, and I asked Pop, "You and Mama aint mad I ran away?"

I glanced back at Pop but refused to make eye contact out of embarrassment or confusion. Pop said, "Of course we're mad you ran away, Ed. But we love you more than we could ever be mad. We love you with all our hearts."

After that, I had to focus on Pop's face. He sat at the side of the bed, eyes red, and holding back a sort of emotion I never thought the man had in all my life. Mama was still an incoherent, wailing, and endlessly moving wreck.

I wanted to believe this was a dream only because I didn't want to start tearing up like Mama. The more I looked at the care and concern in Pop's face, and the more Mama's shrieking wails pierced my eardrums, the more I felt myself welling up.

I quickly looked at the little flags resting by my side in Pop's hands, and asked, "… Wel- Welp… You mad I joined the NCR? What about NCR sucking?"

For precisely one second, Pop's face switched to anger as he said in his familiar deathly stern way, "Language, Ed." Before going right back to desperate concern and care.

This wasn't a dream; he Would reprimand me for using a "swear word" even if I said it while that dog was eating me… and I couldn't have been happier? Sadder? I didn't know what I was feeling.

Not sure why, but I would've rather they been angry with me than learning how much my adoptive parents truly cared. Pop still answered my question about the army I joined, with, "We support anything you dedicate yourself to. Anything you're willing to sacrifice yourself for."

Darn it.

I again am not sure why I wished he didn't answer like that. I think part of the reason was because of the tidal wave of confusing emotions and welling tears I felt upon hearing and let alone seeing my parents. Initially looking at those flags as a safe spot to look that reminded me of my own life turned into additional reminders of Mama and Pop loving me after what he said. There was no place to look for toughened emotional safety and I didn't know what to say or feel as my emotions almost got the better of me.

Just then, Mama stopped her pacing and her wailing weakened. She wobbled in place and fanned herself with her hands. Pop took his eyes off of me to look at Mama. Upon seeing her weakened state, he got up and put his arms around her as he escorted her into the hallway. A minute or two later, I still wasn't any better emotionally. Pop came back through the door and took his seat next to me again.

He said, "Sorry about your Mama. She never thought she'd see you again, but I tell her, 'Ed is a strong and smart boy.' You know you're Mama though, Heh-heh"

Did he let out a light laugh?

The way he referred to me as a "Boy" made me feel warm, especially since I was in my 20s and felt like I'd aged 30 years in the army. But, what really caught me was the laugh. I couldn't recall ever seeing my Pop laugh before (Like, ever)… Or ever describing me as "Smart."

Hearing Pop laugh made me think this was a dream again. So, I asked a dumb question just to test reality. I asked, "What's the date?"

Pop's face never changed as he pulled out his pocketbook. He said without question, "October 19, 2281."

The question to confirm reality didn't help with my take on it in any way. It could've been February 20th, 3928 for all my brain knew, but I believed him. I only said, "Thanks… Been wondering that."

Then there was silence.

As the silence lingered, I wondered how Pop and Mama found me. As I started wondering, I felt a new wave of exhaustion coming over me again. Still wanting to cry at the sight of my parents, and the true revelation of how they felt about me, I laid in that bed feeling warm, loved, and safe for the first real time in too long. Pop still watched me silently, and I moved my arm to feel the hand of the man I didn't think cared for me in such a way. I then remembered that the hand I reached with was still gone. Pop saw the gesture and knew it. He put his hand on what was left of that arm as his eyes scanned me up and down. He focused on my missing leg and arm while I watched him do so.

Pop's eyes finally met mine, and he asked in a tone mixed with worry, confusion, pride, relief, curiosity, and wonder, "Was it worth it, Ed?"

The wave of exhaustion and comfort halted as the words entered my brain.

I thought about the teeth of that dog, the heat of the Mojave, sleeping in the sand, awaking to gunshots, walking into no man's, the kick of my rifle, the lack of water, crawling under barbed wire, losing friends, seeing them on crosses, not having food, digging trenches, filling sandbags, watching the fallen explode, seeing the Legion come from the sandstorms, repairing the barbed wire, getting shot at, watching Dawn's death, burying Dawn, burying other friends, getting yelled at, fighting heatstroke, fighting legionaries, stepping over shell holes, sleepless nights on the line, the cold winds of the night, hauling the remains of friends, the burst of grenades, the screams of those maimed, and the tensity of every moment we were waiting for those maniacs to storm across the sands.

Then I thought about the feeling of a shower after coming up from the Trench line. I thought about the regulars of the 100 Yard or Raid Squads who came to terms with everything. I thought of the smiles at the horror, the fun leave stories, the fun and dumb soldier songs, the pals who gave me something I needed, or the times I gave a pal something they needed. I thought about comforting the corporal, and about every man who left his pal a joke before never returning. I thought of the whining on guard duty, the fun bragging matches about who's more miserable, and the fluctuating attitudes. I remembered every time I thought I was losing it only for my bud to give me a lip of chaw, or an "Are you alright?". I remembered every trooper who pulled his pal from no man's, or comforted a pal who was about to leave this world. I thought of the jokes from the doc, and the sarcastic remarks while hauling a bud who fell victim to the sun. I remembered every time I was low on ammo and a trooper gave me some of his, all the times I gave a pal some of my water, the hand I extended to a struggling man, every man I helped up the winding path, and every man who returned each of those favors to me. I remembered all the great stories I heard, the interesting people I met, and what they did, or how they ended. I remembered the hate felt in my failed leave, and the way we made the best of it. I thought of every single time someone's life was made even a little less terrible by his bud's assuring nudge when things were particularly awful. I thought of all the guys who had my back and all the fellas who's back I had too in the no man's or on the lines. I thought of those terrible folks around Nelson and the dirt covered boys in brown filling the lines. I thought of all those buried on that cliff side overlooking the Colorado, and about all those exhausted, dirty, and crude mannered fellas there in that moment, smiling or singing at the doom they faced in the heat. I thought of their determined eyes and grinning faces as the guns popped and explosions boomed, knowing that if they died, they wouldn't have to worry anymore, and if they lived, it'd be because of their pal only arms reach away. Then, I thought of the monolithic and monstrous horde that all those men alive and dead were holding back, and saw my dirty ragged self, aiming a poor conditioned rifle or busted shotgun in the same direction, standing right there with them.

I met Pop's eyes and responded, "You bet."

Why do we fight? It may start as patriotism, a chance to escape some situation, or one of a million other reasons, but that's not it. The enemy we fought was a bad one, bent on destroying every freedom and life that wasn't in line with their own. Though some back home may not understand why we're in that desert of the east, every trooper, conscripted or volunteer, can be sure that their fight is a noble one. Even though the faces come and go, or no matter how many graves are added to that little cliff overlooking the Colorado, the fight we fight is one that makes the hardships I felt on the line nothing compared to the price of losing. No matter how terrible the world around us is, or which enemy is causing it, all the Trooper Joe's out there are all going through the Shit together, and I was more than proud to be part of that. (Sorry for the profanity)

(END)

...

Epilogue

After another couple days in the military hospital, Ed got the new prosthetic limbs and was given time to recover further alongside his parents who refused to leave regardless of whether visitor hours were in effect. It wasn't long before Ed was officially discharged from the service and given disability for his service to the NCR. Before leaving the hospital, he began writing this story and had plenty of time to write it out on the slow walk back to San Fran with his aging adoptive parents. He completed the work upon arrival in San Francisco, and began making copies of it to sell to the caravans. Ed's story quickly became a good read for caravan hands with NCR patriotism and simple travelers visiting the San Fran markets. It wasn't long before the story was discovered and bought by a publisher in Shady Sands. After that, the story became a hit amongst the people of NCR considering the increasing unrest in the Mojave.

With the success of Ed's story, he was contacted by the NCR government and formally employed to tour the country for public readings from the book, and inspirational speeches about his time in service as part of a grand recruitment effort. Ed continued to assist with the government he lent his hand to, even helping to direct patriotic NCR movie holotapes. Ultimately, Ed retired back to San Francisco for a predominantly quiet life helping his parents, and still adjusting to his prosthetic limbs.

Ed did stay in contact with Stacy, and eventually forgot about the angel medic he instantly loved. Ed always liked Stacy the best of his in-service pen pals. Despite all the great treats Ed got from Andrea Walker, she didn't really fit with Ed's personality, and he had long since "Broken up" with Damien Torres (Not to mention Ed was straight). Still keeping up with the little Trooper Alisa, Ed found himself more focused on his increasingly busy life and relationship with Stacy. Stacy later moved to San Fran and married him in traditional Shi fashion.

Together, Ed and Stacy live a peaceful life in his neutral and Shi occupied hometown. He never concerned himself with matters of the Mojave after his service, only praying that the service he offered helped, and occasionally assisting NCR holotape movie directors with the portrayal of soldiers. He continues to love and support all the members of the army he was part of, and continues to be especially generous in donations to the garrison of Sac Town. With all the money from his story going straight to the army's supply corps, Ed is quoted as saying;

"Perhaps this money can get our fellas out there some ammo, maybe even some air conditioners or less frustrating bandoliers."

Edward Harton/Ed Heilong currently presides in San Francisco with his wife and parents, raising two boys and one girl in a traditional Shi fashion. Ed says he is still adamant about raising the kids to know what is and isn't worth fighting for.

(Why We Fight)

*Thanks so much for reading! For any question, comments, critiques, etc. leave a review or PM me with a subject other than "Hi!))" (Or I'll assume you are a virus) and I'd love to chat about my story, Fallout lore, or whatever you want! Stay tuned for the final chapter that will be my personal note about why I wrote the story, what inspired me, and other bits about me, if interested! Thanks again, and definitely leave a fave or follow if you got this far, it really helps letting me know what works and what doesn't! Take care :D*