Patrolling the Mojave

by Vanto

Max, a young Californian woman, decides to enlist into the army to see the world beyond Shady Sands. Soon brought to the Mojave as a soldier, she quickly find herself embroiled in her Republic's vicious conflict with Caesar's Legion, its allies and hostile third-parties. As a new threat emerges from a shallow grave in Goodsprings, Max must adapt to the ruthless wastes to survive...

6. Don't Be Cruel

It was unfortunate to admit it, but she'd never expected the average Wastelander, as described by Emma, to be so… friendly. But horror stories of the uncivilized people were common in Shady Sands and other core cities like The Hub, where merchants often traveled past "civilized" lands and straight into the nuclear unknown. There, they would tell dark tales of bloodthirsty tribals, who coat their arrows in paralyzing poison and devour their enemies conscious and alive. Those who avoided the tribals still needed to beware some lunatic survivors, who got rid of any ammo surplus by emptying it all into the closest living being in the area. And be aware of "civilized" settlements, where you are likely to be stripped of your valuables and hard-earned caps and sent into slavery.

More imaginative survivors would describe encountering figures in recognizable black armors, wielding weapons far more precise and lethal than any regular firearm. But death by a laser was a kinder fate than what wandering troops of super mutants held in store for humans, taking them apart limb from limb and then devouring the remains. But none were quite as perfidious as Wastelanders who would look friendly enough, and even trade, before fiendishly slipping a knife into your back as soon as you lower your guard. Yes, there were plenty of horror stories in the Wastes, and that's without mentioning the mindless Feral Ghouls, the dreaded Deathclaw or countless others mutated animals who battled to stand at the top of the food chain.

But she thought that surely this could not be awful. Humanity had thrived on enough to establish cities, didn't they? Certainly, the wastes were awful, but what was real, and what was the byproduct of a merchant's desire to earn themselves an audience? But still, those tales left her with a certain apprehension of what was outside. And Emma's efforts to hammer pragmatism into her also helped with that. She would never reject someone else purely because they were born in the wastes, evidently, but the soldier still feared that first interaction with a local who wasn't hailing from a pocket of civilization like Vegas. And until then, most of her encounters had been with fellow inhabitants of the NCR or what she guessed to be "special" inhabitants of the Mojave.

But, most luckily for her, that first interaction was going… surprisingly well!

"… That's a pretty name, Veronica I mean. I heard it meant… victory? So I guess that I'd want you on my side!" Max had decided to sit a fair distance away from the car, sitting with her back on a railing and her knees close to her chest, though she held her rifle in front of her face in case of anything. Veronica was standing further away, likewise pressing her back against the railing but not sitting. She was doing a good job of both staring at Max when she spoke yet detecting any potential intruders, far and few as they were.

"Why thanks! Though I don't think I'd be too good of a recruit for the army if you're asking!" The young woman held her hoodie to keep it raised against the wind. Briefly, Max wondered why she'd do that, but perhaps that was just to protect herself from the heat? With the wind picking up very recently, the heat had become a bit less of an issue. A bit. "… I'm awful with guns!"

"Well, I was bad with guns but there's a neat trick to it!" Max smiled, attempting to remember the lesson. "It's like… huh, BRASS." Max held her hand up and lowered a finger per word. "Breathing, relaxing, assessing… Aim?"

"I appreciate but… nope! You're better off giving the gun to a blind molerat, he might press the trigger in the right direction sometimes! But I'm surprised you know about that shooting technique. I've heard that NCR troopers don't…" She leaned her head to the left, pondering on what to say. "… Well, it's not exactly the kind of training that'll knock you out, you get me?"

Max nodded her expression a tad somber. "Well, yeah. Emma taught me BRASS, actually. The coaches… they're neat, but sometimes they disguised as Legionaries and threatened to rape us. Huh, well one did."

Veronica nodded very slowly. "You're a nice gal, Max. But would you mind if we carry on this conversation as if you never said the second part of the sentence?" Max tactically agreed with a nod, and the hooded girl clapped her hands. "Great! So! Emma taught you that, huh? I'd have thought that it'd be taught by whoever is in charge of your training."

"Well… I guess she just likes me? Maybe I've got charisma and I don't know it," Max got up and pointed past the car, towards what seemed to be a truck. Earlier on, she had spied on Emma and noticed that the wasteland veteran had headed to this portion of the outpost. It had looked hypocritical at first since she had chided Max at the outpost for doing that, but she had some company out there, in the form of a woman merchant. Since she didn't want to be constantly next to Emma, the young soldier had decided not to barge in their conversation. "Here, ya see? It's the chick with the black buzzcut."

"Oh wow, straight out of a Legionary's nightmare." Commented Veronica, whistling beforehand. "She looks a lot tougher than some of the troopers who pass by… no offense."

"I think she lived out in the Wastes, so that's why she's got more experience than me. What she's doing in the army though? I haven't figured it out. It must be something personal and I don't know her well enough yet." Max scratched her chin. "It's been just over a week and I'd rather not alienate her, ya know?"

"Hm-hm. Sure… So you're from Shady Sands, right? What are you doing out there? I've heard that it's pretty cozy by the standards of the waste. There's no shortage of food or water, no big green mutants, no raiders… Is that a sense of personal duty?" She deepened her voice a little, putting up a character, and raised her fist at the sky. "Do you perhaps strive to correct evil and kill those spear-chucking bad guys east of the Colorado?"

"Y-yes, why not! I mostly wanted to… well, explore the world, you know? It's dangerous, but I'm sure that it'll make for a unique experience. I'd rather not live and die in my city, without ever leaving it. Saving people is important as well! I heard that there's a lot of poor folks who need the assistance of the NCR to thrive on."

"Well, have you ever considered that some of these folks would not want the assistance of the NCR? I've talked to a few traveling souls and they were… hm, a little harsh about the kind of help that you soldiers give." Veronica raised a finger, interrupting Max before she could speak. "Nothing against you! I'd simply like to hear out what an NCR trooper would think of this. If some Wastelander refuses your help, what would you do?"

"Huh…" It was a question that she had pondered a little over. Sure, there would be reluctant people, but she'd never thought that they would refuse help. NCR soldiers are far from perfect, but still, it's not as if they're worse than… whatever is out in the Mojave, right? "… I'd probably try and convince them to accept my help? My purpose is to be of assistance. So if I happen to give up after the initial "no", then what am I doing here? I need to stand firm and tell them that it's for their own good." Max immediately proceeded to mull over the end of her sentence. "… Well, I wouldn't want to strip their freedom either. I guess if they get really determined over it, well, I'll back off, because it could result in a pointless battle."

"Oh, you almost had me worried for a second," Veronica swiped her forehead, to get some imaginary sweat out of the way. Unlike the countless troopers before, she was seemingly utterly unfazed by the heat. But she guessed that it had to do with her having much more experience with it. That unbearable sun above may be a cruel challenge for her and her fellow Californians, but for Wastelanders, that was simply a fact of life to get used to. "I thought you were going to go on about how "they" don't get it and that it's for their own good."

"You don't like the NCR much, do you?" Said Max, growing slightly more uncomfortable. Was it a test on her? Did Veronica want to see if the NCR was good or bad and desired to check it out by asking some fairly loaded questions to a random trooper? She could get it, but the Republic almost had a million people in it. To judge a whole nation on the merits of one person looked fairly short-sighted, especially of someone like her.

Veronica shook her head, meanwhile. "They're better than some of the other options and they've got it sorted out in the center apparently. I do think they could do a better job protecting the frontiers and not stretching themselves too thin, see? Also, I've got a bit of a bias because of what they did." Veronica turned around to point at a set of ruins in the distance. Max promptly got up and, after cupping her hand over her eyes, indeed noticed what seemed to be a bunch of debris in the distance. While most of the Mojave had apparently recovered well from the bombs, though she'd heard that they apparently weren't hit, to begin with, this one particular location looked like it had attracted the direct wrath of several bombs!

But it had to be younger than that, she thought. Two centuries was plenty of time to rebuild, after all. Was it…

"… O-oh, you're from Boulder City?" Max asked, perhaps too bluntly, looking away from the town and back at Veronica.

"Ohh, direct! Well… yeah. I guess you know what's up with it, right? Legion and NCR fight over the dam. The former isn't up against hapless tribals for once, so it's getting its ass kicked, but the NCR knows that it'll need more to truly nail them…" She stopped as if challenging Max to finish it. The latter did so without question, having read all about the NCR's crushing victory against the Legion earlier on.

"… So they kill the Veterans via Snipers, and the unexperienced Legionaries rush to their certain doom when the NCR seemingly give way and retreat for Boulder City. They actually had lit the place up with explosives though, and when the remaining hostiles make their way to the town… KABLOOEY!" Max widened her arms and took two steps back as if overwhelmed by her own blast. Then, she remembered that Veronica had probably lost a lot of things in that explosion, and stood still for a few seconds before resuming a neutral stance, her face blank to hide her sheer embarrassment. "… It was a victory."

"That was a pretty adorable retelling of a town getting blown up," Commented Veronica, smiling in disbelief. "But ever since the accident, we had to live in a camp. NCR promised to help us rebuild but then they got caught up in, well, everything, and "giving us our town back" fell down their priority list. Sure, Hoover Dam is a much bigger priority than some small town out in the wastes, but… well, I liked my room, you know? I had it done right before the evacuation."

Max thought carefully about what to say next. She couldn't understand Veronica's plight, after all. The young woman was born in the safest city in the wastes and never had to suffer from the actions of the NCR, while Veronica had lost her home to it. If she had been Deacon or perhaps Emma, perhaps she would've told the hooded woman to get over it and use that car to find herself a new one, but that would only make her even more cynical with the Republic. It was perhaps best to approach it with… a smile, yes. Be understanding of the problem, but without empty promises of helping out. She had certainly met her fair share of troopers who had told her they'd fix things, only to never do so. "W-well, I'm terribly sorry about what happened. I know it's not a great consolation, and I also know that there isn't much for me to do given my position in the army, but…"

"There's nothing that you really need to apologize for," Shrugged Veronica. "Unless you personally destroyed the town, of course. I'm not out to guilt-trip you or something. I just wanted you to see what the NCR may sometimes accomplish to "win". Sure, the bigger picture and all, but it's not especially pleasant to be a part of the smaller picture, you get me? Even troopers tend to be victims of the ambitions of their higher-ups."

"You're right on that aspect. I'm certainly not going to be the one to put one in between Caesar's eyes," It would make a hell of a story to tell back at Shady Sands, though, and the chief of the Legion dying at the hands of a woman was a sweet thought. "… But, well, maybe I'll make my own small changes you know? I can't repair a whole town on my own, but if there's anything I could do to make it better for you or any family you might have, do tell me! I could… buy that car if you want?" Veronica glanced at her in surprise, looked back at the car and her smile slowly stretched apologetically. "… Huh, it's too costly?"

Veronica whistled and looked to the side. "…How many caps do you make a day?"

"Well, it's more like dollars. Our President really wants for the dollar to remain the top dog of the economy even after those Brotherhood jerks destroyed our gold reserves. So I guess…" Max looked down at her hands and once again began to count on her fingers, quickly slinging her rifle around her shoulder via a small rope beforehand. "Well, huh, 100 dollars is worth 40 caps and I make a dollar a day… Huh… How much does the car cost?"

"1000 caps." Answered Veronica, matter-of-factly.

"Whoah! That's less than I thought it'd cost, but it's also way more than I can afford even with the plasma rifle money from earlier… why's that?" She asked, glancing at the vehicle. It would be a waste of caps to buy that, of course. It was certainly a sweet ride, but not one that could fit in a dozen troopers at once, unless some of the troopers had the physical and mental constitution to hold their breath for the duration of the trip to McCarran. Also, she'd never been behind the wheel of a car, and the Mojave wasn't the friendliest environment to learn in.

"Well, the caps would really help out with getting supplies," Admitted Veronica. "… I kind of stumbled upon this by accident, in fact. The Mojave is full of buried car parts, and some of the cars themselves have been worn by time, but not having nukes dropped by time did wonder in keeping them intact. It was a dare, at first. I wanted to see if I could do it, I did it, and now, here I am, giving it away." She gave a wry smirk.

"You could leave the Mojave with it, right? They built those to house families, didn't the-whoah careful!" Max pointed at the vehicle, but Veronica had turned around faster and made a warning motion at what Max assumed to be a prospector. Caught off, the woman quickly ran away before changing her pace to an inconspicuous walk once she had gained enough distance. She even whistled, quite nicely at that!

"There isn't much to go to. Not much future for a woman out in the east, besides being a baby factory, and my brothers deserve better than fighting in a skirt and football pads. West would be fine, and there are roads to drive on, but the rest of my family isn't too big on the NCR. They'd have thrown that Brahmin cheese your way, ya know? It's why they do not approach the outpost. Too many NCR folks they said, so they hang around the ruins and try to find anything to sell."

"I kinda like Brahmin Cheese, so it'd be fine." Brahmin product was very common back home, after all. She wasn't too sure of the wisdom in eating or drinking anything out of a mutated bovine, but, well, nobody had dropped dead from that yet so it was probably safe enough.

"And, well, I can't blame them, you know? My grandparents and parents lived a pretty quiet life in that town. It was too big for raiders to mess around with, and the proximity to Lake Mead gave them a lot of water to trade with... So they'd rather not try to live in the Republic that took their home away from them, and instead stick around hoping that they'll witness it repaired once again in their lifetime," She sighed wearily. "… We could settle in Novac, maybe, but even that is… well, you know how stubborn our dear elderlies can get, right?"

"Yeah. You can't tell them the simplest solution!" Max grinned. "They always know better than you do, and won't ever change their opinions. My dad's like that… sometimes my brother and I try to convince him with something and he's so stubborn! You could get General Oliver to bark orders at him and he still wouldn't be doing anything! I'm… stunned at times. I wish I had that kind of confidence in myself. You know? I sort of envy how he's able to stand tall and say no, no matter what?"

"It's good to have a spine… but a brain does wonder too," Veronica made an apologetic smile, but Max shook her head. "Sometimes, some people get too caught up in a plan or idea and refuse to hear out anyone else. Then, when it ends up biting them right up the ass, they get all surprised!"

"Right? My dad, huh, worked as a prospector and is still trying to do that even though most of the sites in California have been cleaned dry of anything of interest. He'd want us to follow in his footsteps but… well, prospecting doesn't seem to be really too fun," Veronica gave Max a pointed look, more exactly, at her uniform. It took Max a second to register what she "meant", and she immediately shook her head. "Being a trooper isn't fun either I mean! But it does… pay the bills to be in the army."

"Well, you'd be right that being a prospector is dangerous. There's a lot of fine gentlemen who will wait for you to be done with your digging and then steal whatever you've found. Or, if they get there first, they'll put traps over the place to take out the competition… All is fair for them. I was never too bothered by them though. It's the desert out there. Once you dig up your first derelict car parts or cowboy hats, you get the tip and head somewhere more interesting, like Vegas."

"You ever went there?" Max asked. In the corner of her eye, she noticed that Emma was getting done talking to her new friend, and was starting to head towards them. Inwardly, the young woman hoped that she wouldn't come to blows over Veronica. Her mentor seemed to take the army seriously, even with her cynical attitude with the Republic itself.

"Hm, not really. At first, it was mostly tribals occupying the ruins. And they weren't the nice kind of tribals. Then arrives and, after a while, mostly shunts everyone but the three families to Freeside. It'd be a good place for refugees but it'd make a lot of mouths to feed at once, it'd be a trip straight through the territories of the violent junkies with advanced energy weaponry, and Freeside in itself is a mess, or so I've heard. At least here, we can get food and water pretty easily."

Max gulped at the mention of the Fiends. Right, she'd need to fight them too, wouldn't she? "… It does sound dangerous. But, well, that's what we're here for, isn't it?"

Veronica lifted a finger to wage it at Max's face. "Empty promises!" She had a chiding tone to her voice while remaining light, like a parent giving some mild scolding to a child after catching the latter swearing.

"We'll see about that. I may end up going through here again when I take my leave back to California. And I swear that I'll have made a difference by the time we meet again." Max smiled confidently, and tried to do as she said earlier: She straightened out her spine, adopted a more solid posture, slammed her fist against her chest, and looked up a little bit past Veronica and into the blue sky above. She tried to picture General Oliver looking down at her from the heavens, proud of what his little trooper was doing. "I'll have stories to tell you, and most of them will have a happy ending. I promise!" She was disappointed when Veronica smirked back at her, disbelieving.

"Well, try at least not to die, right?"

"That's a promise!" Said Max, right as Emma came up to the duo. "Oh hey Em! This is Veronica! We were shooting the breeze." She looked down to notice that her friend's revolver had received an upgrade while she wasn't looking: A scope had been attached to the weapon, which she saw as unusual. Even if the scope was small, surely other weapons would benefit from it more, right? She'd never taken revolvers as something that sharp-shooters would use across long distances anyway, not when bigger, meaner options existed.

"Well, you're going to be shooting something else soon," Emma nodded to Veronica curtly and laid a hand on Max's shoulder. "We gotta gather up. It's going to be the start of another journey." She gave another, discreet glance at the hooded girl. "So let's go."

"Huh-huh… Well, see you, Veronica! If I get the time, I'd love to meet your family!"

"Oh, you're looking to have some Brahmin cheese thrown your way huh?" Veronica said, keeping her tone even. "Well, I can't promise! Focus on making it through," The hooded girl gave a wave, but then immediately wheeled around to point at the NCR soldier from earlier, who had tried to open up the car. "Hey! You again!" With a frightened cry, the trooper bolted past the trio. Max laughed, but Emma remained much calmer and instead moved towards the largest gathering of troopers, dragging Max along. After waving at Veronica one last time, Max turned around to walk, and Emma simply let her go.

"Huh, I didn't tell her anything about where we're going or what we're doing," Max declared, preemptively avoiding any argument or lecture. "I'm also pretty sure she's not a Frumentarii because she's a woman."

"I think she'd know where we're heading anyway," Said Emma. "This outpost is mostly for troops that move to and from McCarran. Some also head to Forlorn Hope, but there's no way in hell we're getting there." Forlorn Hope? That seemed obvious enough.

"With a name like that, I bet that it's not a great place." Max recovered her rifle, and set it against her shoulder.

Emma chuckled. "With bets like that, you're gonna rock the Strip. No. We're gonna stay at McCarran and we're going to be shooting at Fiends until we get rich off that." She dug into one of her pockets, and pulled out a magazine full of bullets, holding it up to her friend. Max moved to acquire the clip, with a grateful nod. "And that's how we'll do it."

"Oh, thanks! Where did you get it from?"

"That lady at the end of the bridge gave them away for caps. I bought that scope and some magazines for the rifles out of her. I'd have brought it for myself but… well, you probably need those more than me, since I'd rather use that revolver," Emma grabbed her revolver and held it up, keeping her index off the trigger for now. She glanced at the weapon almost in adoration, like it was her god, and then carefully put it away once more. "… I guess you're sort of influencing me here."

"It's always good to give out stuff to the people that we like, don't be ashamed! I swear that each and every one of these bullets will find its mark. I guarantee it."

"If they don't, you'll give me twenty again!" Emma lightly hit Max in the arm with the back of her fist, almost making the latter flinch. "Anyhow. Let's go."

Max agreed, and they both set out. Inwardly, she thought back at what she said. The more they got to McCarran, the more they were, ironically enough, approaching hostiles. Before too long, she would need to kill someone. But would the soldier be up to the task for that rite of passage? Could she have the grit to do that? More than ever she needed to be ready for that because she could very well be fighting a Fiend today. Luckily, she kept her inner troubles silent, allowing her to make her way to the gathering of troopers.

Deacon was standing in front of them all, looking slightly happier than usual, since his lips were curved upwards ever so slightly. It sounded a lot more ominous than it should be, but Max refused to let her fears be displayed, lest the lieutenant latches unto it. "Good news, everyone! We'll all be in McCarran by the hour! I've… arranged with a merchant who is dealing with McCarran, and he has much generously decided to loan us his vehicles so that we can quickly finish the rest of the journey. He will, of course, have them back before night." Deacon slapped his hand on the shoulder of a nervous-looking man next to him, who looked barely tall enough to reach the military man's waist.

"W-w-well, I'd very much like to, because those trucks are pretty important to me, and if they get destroyed…"

"They won't get destroyed, little man. Go spend these caps." The mustached man made a dismissive gesture, and the nervous merchant quickly skittered away. Upon turning their heads to the right, the soldiers could indeed see at least five parked trucks near the outpost, though they obviously weren't in the greatest of condition compared to the Corvega. The wheels worked well enough, but the windows were tattered, the paint had been scrubbed off by time, the headlights were gone and there was a worrying amount of bullet holes or soot over it, and that was the parts that the merchant hadn't bothered to fix. It was no tank, certainly, and those in the back would be crammed together and vulnerable to attackers.

Some of the troopers were also crawling over them, inspecting for bombs or anything else that could doom a troop and ruin supplies. Some men and women in tattered grey uniforms were watching them along, sitting on the sidelines and drinking cigarettes. The supplies meant for McCarran were arranged in black boxes, and ready to be guarded by some of the troopers stationed in the outpost. Even to the untrained eye, the move reeked of desperation.

"… Is it… safe to enter these trucks?" Max pointed.

"They tend to carry out supplies from McCarran to the outpost, so it should be fine, yes. It'll make for a hell of a shorter journey at least." Emma looked around. "We're cutting into Fiend territory though. I hope that Deacon has a safe road to himself because there'll definitely be bullets or plasma flying at one point." She smirked, looking down at Max. "Your baptism by fire is coming soon… But at least the NCR watch out for its roads. I don't think we'll have to deal with the nasty Fiends. Only the dumb or craven ones even get close to McCarran, coz they know that they'll get a body full of lead."

"There's smart Fiends?" The remark could seem humorous, but Max was genuinely curious. Going by the descriptions, they were blood-thirsty raiders so doped up on drugs that chems would leak out of their body instead of blood when they got themselves shot.

"Yeah. They've got some bosses, exceptionally cruel even by their standards, physically strong, equipped with deadly weapons and cunning, without being intellectuals. Then there are the regular fiends, all hopped up on illegal stuff, not too smart, but able to follow orders and use weapons, and the last category features the dumb ones. Junkies who barely know what's going on and wander off to get killed by patrols, since they don't even know how to use what they've been equipped with. Fiends tend to degenerate into the last category sooner or later. Hell, even the big mean ones are probably going to end up lobotomized by Jet at a point," Emma snorted derisively. "... But we can always work on speeding that up if you catch my drift, right? But don't get your panties in a twist. We're going to be fighting the ones who make feral ghouls look brilliant, shouldn't be too hard to kill them."

"W-well, it'll be my first serious gunfight," Tempered Max. "I'm not sure I'll be able to shoot them all in the head." She wasn't sure she could do it even if she had more than two weeks of training and knowledge of a basic marksmanship technique.

"Don't worry, I've got tips. Had to deal with chemed-up bastards before. They're tough, but I think they're sort of more manageable than some of the stuff that's out there… Anyway, ya mind accompanying me? I gotta see the Lieutenant." Emma began to walk past the crowd of soldiers, most of which we're discussing the truck idea. Some seemed to be cautious, others warier, but few seemed to be overly enthusiastic. Had Deacon gone mad, practically throwing away the actual content of these trucks just to get the soldiers faster? Was he desperate to get them to McCarran on time or unwilling to dwell any longer in the Mojave? The latter didn't seem likely: As they got closer to him, Max could notice that he was barely sweating from the heat, and stood tall against it even without the protections that many of his men had taken up to wearing. Well, perhaps he was looking out for them then?

"Ah, private Varzi! Doleetle…" Deacon wordlessly shooed away another private and turned around to face them, his eyes first setting on Max. "… Nice work on distributing water. Not many would pay for total strangers like that out of their own pocket." Max smiled slightly at that, relieved at the compliment. "But I expect you to be mean when it matters, soldier, understood? If you want to help out strangers in Nipton and distribute water, then you should've joined the Followers. We're here to wage a war, and we can't really kill our enemies with hugs or compliments."

"Huh, S-sir yes sir!" She saluted, glad at the fairly light reprimand she was given, and he glanced at Emma.

"Private Varzi. You have done well leading your squad against the ants, and lead them to the rendezvous point in time. However, do not be careless…" The older man pointed at Vegas in the distance. "Overgrown critters are easy to deal with compared to what's ahead. Do not get confident off that success, understood?"

"Sir yes sir! But… If I may, I would like to take a chance to prove myself again," Deacon, who had turned around to perhaps organize where everyone would go to, turned around to give an annoyed glare. Emma stood firm against it, but without being defiant. "May I be in charge of the first truck to go? I will protect my assigned squad of soldiers until we reach the gate of McCarran, and help them fend off an attacker on the way. I will also be ready to provide assistance should another member of the convoy be attacked, or should we meet a struggling patrol."

"You have a troubling case of short-term memory, Private Varzi. Fighting the Fiends is much more complicated than dealing with those giants ants back at the outpost," He gave her a glare. "You must know that giving you the vehicle and soldiers is a massive gamble, right? If you prove unable to handle the enemies that could be ahead, I could end up losing several soldiers at once… and the big wigs at McCarran would lose a truck, that's their problem. A private is a private, and I won't let you take charge of things. You may take command of one of the other trucks if you wish."

"I understand that it is a daring demand, sir, but I must ask that you consider it, with all due respect," There was no nervousness in Emma's face or tone, but Max could see her fingers of her left hand lightly tapping against her leg. "I am familiar with the Mojave and have visited it before. There will be no problem in accessing McCarran itself through the guidance of the driver and will take full responsibility should anything happens to the truck or soldiers."

"Full responsibility or not, it's still my ass on my platter if you screw up. Lieutenants don't simply hand authority over to Privates. There's a reason why these ranks exist," He mulled over briefly. "… And there's no guarantee that you won't set out to sabotage things. You may not be a Frumentarii, but the NCR has made some enemies in its attempts to bring back some measure of civilization to the wastes."

"I swear on my soul that I am not a Brotherhood spy," Using her not-so-idle hand, Emma checked into her breast pocket to pull out a set of papers, handing them over. "But you would probably prefer written-down evidence. I am a citizen of the NCR, born in California, raised beneath its sun, sworn to defend its interest against evil of all forms." Deacon listened with care while consulting the papers. Once done, he lowered them and took a deep breath, which was apparently encouraging enough for Emma's hand to grow idle once more.

"... Sounds like to me you could've joined the army earlier, then."

"That is very much correct, sir, but I wish to prove myself now and make up for my earlier reluctance to take up arms. If there is a danger to be found in the road ahead, I wish to disable it first, so that the rest of the convoy may not have to fight." Deacon looked down at the ground for a moment, wondering, before he looked up.

"Just so you know, Private Varzi, my gut instinct has never been wrong before… But I'm going to ignore it for this one and allow you to handle things," Emma smiled slightly but didn't speak up. "I will, however, be present on the vehicle to watch you handle things. If you fail to provide adequate orders, deliberately harm the truck or the soldiers it carries, or even get distracted in any way, I will have to take charge," There was a moment of silence, and the lieutenant proceeded to lean in. He'd have drawn his gun, to add more emphasis to it all, if he wasn't surrounded by soldiers that would very likely be alarmed by the gesture of pulling out a weapon. "This means that I will kill you if I think that you could put my men's lives in danger."

"I will not. Thank you for granting me this opportunity, sir," Satisfied, Deacon took a few steps backward while staring at the duo. He pointed at his two eyes using his index and major and then pointed back at them, before finally turning around to walk at the trucks. As soon as he was done looking, Emma lowered her arms and shoulders to sigh wearily, which gave Max the idea of putting her in the back to try and cheer her up.

"Good job convincing Lieutenant Deacon, Em! I'd pay you a drink but-"

"Not on duty. And besides, they don't sell good alcohol here," The black-haired woman placed her hands on her neck, and shifted it around a little. A rather disagreeable pop ensued, but she briefly emoted pure bliss before slipping back into her cooler demeanor. "… But thanks. Now what matters is actually living up to what I promised, and not getting you guys killed."

"But… if I may ask, why though? It does sound stressful to manage the convoy. Are you sure that Lt. Deacon…"

"What can I say? I know the place well and I want to demonstrate my skills to someone who's higher-up. If we're unlucky, we might be assigned to some droll outpost like the Aerotech one, where the worst kind of enemy that we'll be fighting is… an angry junkie with a cutter. It's not a place where I can really show that I've got the skills to become a leader of the army," Emma took a look at the various troopers assembled at the outpost as if trying to deduce each of their strengths and weaknesses. "So I need to show them that I'm serious business while I still can. Leading the war against the ants was one thing, but arriving at McCarran brandishing the heads of some dumb Fiends? That's going to get some attention on me and you." She gave Max a light shove to the side with her elbow, and the younger woman chuckled.

"Y-you seems awfully sure that we'll be fighting them."

"Oh, we sure are. But dumb ones!" Her voice was reassuring enough, but Max gulped. "They won't even know that we're coming. It won't be much of a glorious victory, but small steps, you know? Besides, it may be good for the brass at McCarran to see a private who's up in arms for her country and willing to take the fight to the enemy, instead of waiting to get to the Strip."

"Well, that's true, but isn't that kind of "glorious combat" thinking a teeny bit…" How to word that without offending her? Max eventually joined up her index and thumb, keeping a mere centimeter of the distance between them. "Teeny bit, legion-y?" Emma snorted and looked down at her pants.

"Well, can't promise I'll be joining the Legion anytime soon though."

…

The heat. Her knees crammed against her chest like she was trying to crush her inner organs. The muttering and occasional awkward attempts at discussion, cut off by the occasional awkward silence when people realized that they had run out of things to generally say. There was no Brahmin this time, but perhaps the troopers would've liked having such a meat shield around. At least they could easily move: Emma had scattered them along just enough to allow them to move about in case of an attack, and by that, she meant that they could slide on their back or stomach and use what little cover they had to fend off bullets and low-powered energy weapons, though they'd still need to move fast since the back of the trailer lacked the little protection offered by the rest.

"… Who the fuck are you, you're not in a uniform!" Shouted a male soldier, in an accusatory tone.

"I told you!" Shouted the one man who was unarmed and dressed in grey rags. "I'm the driver! I'm being dragged along because these two egomaniacs in front said they could drive on their own!"

A female soldier noticed this, glancing away at the road to instead look at him. "You've made that trip multiple times then?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Whenever I met a Fiend I'd need to accelerate but that's all that it'd take. These guys wouldn't hit the truck even if it was standing still, after all! So for sure, they won't do the same here, right? We'll skip past them if they come at us." Another silence settled in, and Max turned to look at the road, attempting to distract herself from the coming fight by glancing to look at the Mojave, and those rows and rows of derelict houses, some eaten entirely by the desert. Now wouldn't it be funny if Fiends were posted there, waiting to ambush them?

Max bit her lips and made a grab for her rifle, which she kept tucked against her chest in case of an attack. Once she had the weapon in hand, Max took the magazine off, slammed it back into the gun, and pulled the bolt like it had insulted her family. Once satisfied, she then contemplated re-doing it again but feared that an immediate attack would ensure during this. And she knew that it was "bad" for her to get that panicky before a fight and that she'd have to suppress that urge, but how could she stop this? It felt like a Deathclaw was reaching into her stomach and twisting everything it saw! How could she… urgh… actually, never mind. Let's not think Deathclaws, let's think… baby Brahmins.

"… Oh hey, huh, Doleetle," A timid voice snapped Max out of her baby Brahmins thought before they could occur: It was that woman from earlier, Morales going by the nametag. "Thanks for the water. I really appreciated it."

"O-oh, it was nothing…" It was a hefty amount of caps, a little voice told her. "… Or something, but what matters is that you're fine thanks to it."

"'Course, but… Well, with everyone so high strung, some of them kinda forgot already, so I guess you'd like to be thanked. Soon as I can, I'll pay you back."

Max immediately held her hands out. "No need to! I'm doing this because I wanted to help you guys. I'm going to feel bad if you just give me your caps away!"

"Huh? Oh right, you gave us the water, right? Thanks!" Said another trooper, intervening with a bright smile. "I was seriously considering drinking my sweat before you proposed to help out!"

"Same! Well no! Without the part with the sweat, what is wrong with you?" Intervened one last one, glaring at the previous trooper. Max gave a weak smile, the circumstances making it hard to appreciate the gratitude as much as she could.

"Long as you're not thirsty, I'm happy! Huh, that almost sounds like an advertisement," Mulled Max, before realizing that a shadow had felt over the group: Looking up, she and the others smiled in relief when they noticed that the truck had reached the enormous walls of McCarran, the main base of the NCR army in the Mojave. And if they were there, then the rest of the convoy was mere minutes away from safety too! "Look, it's McCarran!" She'd be intimidated were it anywhere else, but right now her most pressing matter was to be on the other side of these walls before Fiends could show up.

"Coward." Hissed that same voice from before, deep within her. But luckily, the soul-searching would come later: Gunshots resonated ahead of them, causing the soldiers to simultaneously turn their heads to look ahead of them. One soldier, who sat at the other end of Max's location, up and grabbed his rifle, but everyone else either froze or immediately glanced about, fearful of an attack.

"There seems to be a Fiend attack up ahead!" Warned Deacon, turning around in his seat to speak to his soldiers, for the first time since the beginning of the trip. "But we're coming here and bringing reinforcements along! So get ready to fight! You're all becoming men and women here today!" He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed that his soldiers had frozen looks on their faces, a far cry from the determination that he was probably expecting to see. "… For the love of- Being a soldier means killing people! It's a part of the job! Do you think that Brahmin farmers recoil in fear at the sight of their own cattle?! Hell no! Get the fuck out there and murder these drooling imbeciles or I'll kick your ass back to California, you privileged twats! This is what your ancestors had to do to give you that cushy life you've been enjoying way too much!" He turned to that one soldier who already had his rifle ready and nodded. "Not you. You're gonna do good work."

Emma was driving, but she could tell that, in the absence of anything too dangerous for the truck yet, she was staring back at Max. This and the speech prompted the young lady to at least hold her rifle correctly and display the correct expression… Though this changed nothing inwardly. Her legs were shaking at a rhythm only matched by her beating heart while beating so fast that she was almost afraid it'd catch on fire. Staying conscious was already a feat, how could she even get out there and shoot? The world in front of her, including Morales, became a blur, and sounds came off as distant echoes kilometers away from her. Nausea made her feel like she could either pass out or vomit by the next minute and neither would be approved by her superiors.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" She regretted the walk in the desert, droll, uncomfortable yet safe. Or not talking longer with Veronica. Or just seeing that fucking movie… What if she dies here?

"Put the truck… cover… three… anything…"

The bumping she felt snapped Max out of her thoughts and did the same to a lot of soldiers apparently. All of them "woke up" to find that the truck had been parked behind a derelict house, to protect it from enemy gunfire and shield the troops while they were deploying. Said enemy gunfire was still going on beyond the shack, being way too close for her to handle.

Almost mechanically, Max lifted her body up and stepped out of the cargo hold, since she was probably going to vomit on Morales at this rate. As soon as she was out and into solid ground, the young woman turned back to the lieutenant and her friend. "E-em-" Her eyes widened in shock and terror before she could complete her plead: Beneath the now blood-soaked wheels of the truck were at least two fiends, covered in grime and blood. While the others fiends were most certainly dead, one of them, while his nearly entire body had been doubtlessly crushed, was still smiling dementedly and clawing with his one unbroken arm at an arriving Emma… only for a shot to the head to brutally send him off to meet his maker.

"Like hell, I'm wasting revolver ammo on that," The impromptu leader of the squad blew on the smoking barrel of her pistol, and holstered it. "Alright, Maxxie, we-"

"No! Why'd you run over these guys? I'll have to clean up the blood now!" Complained the (now former) driver of the vehicle, who still hung out in the trailer. "It's taken off my salary when that happens!"

"Just say it was you who did it! That'll impress the ladies. Now shut up before these jet addicts hear ya," Glared Emma. The driver wisely didn't protest, and instead sat down. "Alright, Maxxie and you guys, we'll form squads. From what we've seen, there are about six Fiends ahead, but there may be more in waiting," She pointed ahead of them, to the shack. "If you go to the right of the building, you'll directly flank them. Execute them, but keep your weapons ready even if you do. There might be more. Don't relax until we meet up."

"I'll handle half the squad." Deacon stepped forward and pointed at several of the soldiers before pointing back at himself. Emma winced when she turned out to be one of the "chosen". How would she do it without her friend around? "No time for chit-chat. Go." Emma, who had stepped towards Max, stopped reluctantly but agreed with the order, stepping back as the troopers gathered all around her like baby Deathclaws around their mother. Certainly, they were trusting her demonstrated experience and murder aptitude to carry them through that fight.

"Don't panic, Max." She grabbed her revolver, and promptly went left. Max, meanwhile, set out to the right, terrified but unable to do much to protest. Even being generous, reinforcements weren't coming for several minutes away, and both Emma and Deacon were confident the attacking Fiends could be wiped out, so she couldn't even wait for other people to do it!

Indeed, to the right of the shack, several Fiends were exchanging fire with soldiers from the NCR, using derelict cars or debris as cover. One dead trooper was laying in the middle of the road, surrounded by the corpses of several of the bloodthirsty junkies. This left the Fiends with, indeed, about only six fiends trading fire with the soldiers in the distance. Most of the Fiends were using fragile rifles or pistols to trade fire, bar one who instead used a plasma rifle to send green energy spheres at his enemies. Luckily for them, his aim was terrible, and the projectiles crashed into the road or even the walls all too commonly, leaving burn marks but not much else. He was as accurate as the rest of his crew, who were missing by miles. That they could be so focused on the fight, to the point of missing a whole truck passing by, but still miss so much would be comical if she wasn't so terrified.

"Kill them." Ordered Deacon, stepping out of cover and drawing a 10mm gun from a holster. Upon drawing it, the older man immediately used it to shoot the one with the plasma rifle in the head, dropping him like a ragdoll and showering his surroundings in blood, bones, and brain matter.

"DIE YOU MOTHERFUCKING JUNKIES AARRRRGGHHHHHHH!" One soldier jumped out and immediately blasted at the Fiends with a burst of full-auto, apparently thinking that he would get them through sheer bullets. Unfortunately, he was holding his rifle one-handed, instead of using his other hand to support recoil: After the first few shots, his hand lifted up, and his gun was now shooting up the clouds, instead of the murderous drug-addicts in front of him. Needless to say, his gun went click long before the Fiends dropped dead, and they wheeled around to stare at the soldiers.

Some had bloody little holes in their torso, apparently a result of the careless trooper's maneuver, but they ignored that and lifted their weapons, intent on gunning him down. Seeing that another person was in danger snapped Max out of her daze, and the instinct motivated her to push past her scruples: The youth raised her rifle and pushed past her fears, remembering only what Emma had taught her about BRASS. With a squeeze of the trigger, she let out three bursts of gunfire while aiming at the center of mass of the closest Fiend. Several more bloody holes erupted all over the raider's chest before he could pull his own trigger, and he fell limp and dead. The deed had been done too fast for her to register what just happened.

Certainly, she could mull over her first kill, the life she had taken, and how she'd think back of this for years to come, but the adrenaline formed a barrage as unyielding as Hoover. None of that mattered at the moment! All that stood in her way was danger, and until the danger was removed, then everything else was secondary. The troopers around her had come to a similar conclusion, though they were distinctly less economical than her with their shots.

The shots were nothing but echoes to her, however. Everything but the danger around her was irrelevant at best, not even worth contemplating at best: She looked for Fiends that hadn't fallen yet and shot at them with the same controlled bursts. She avoided harder shots to the head or limbs, deciding to instead prioritize their torso instead of wasting bullets. The 5,56 ammo tore through the flesh and weak armor with ease, but Max still swore that some of the fiends were still standing long after their chest and stomach had been shredded into fine gruel, though even they finally fell on their back.

The gunfire ceased, and the silence settled in once more, punctuated with the occasional heavy breathing. Max, and a few others, lowered their rifles in disbelief. Some even checked their bodies for any injuries, including that particularly brave trooper, but were thankful to see that they had taken none. Overwhelming joy embraced Max, shortly before being interrupted by yet another nauseating feeling of dread, but why? All around her, the soldiers were either coming off their adrenaline rush, experiencing that particular mix of relief and dread, or calmly reloading, as done by that one particular trooper from earlier.

"Hm. Not bad. Could have done without some… characters," Deacon approached the fiends, keeping his gun handy. "Reload and keep your senses sharp in case more of the approach. I'll handle the double-tap." Max wondered what he meant by this, but he made himself clear enough when the sound of gunfire resonated close by again, lightly startling her: He had shot at the heads of two of the dead Fiends. Frightened at the overkill, Max quietly reloaded, although her trembling hand made it difficult to feed the magazine back into the rifle.

"Can't believe we've made it."

"Did you see how I shot that guy in the head?"

"We wiped the floor with them, they can't be that dangerous!" Pondered the other soldiers. Instead of partaking in the discussion, Max simply completed the reload and got up to approach the corpses, wanting to check the Fiends out for herself, and see them up-close, either as a desire to see the enemies she had triumphed over. The first men and women that she had murdered, perhaps to Emma's satisfaction, and without much hesitation once that got going.

"Murder", it slammed around her skull in repeat. She'd murdered them. Were they very much the typical raiders, flaunting patchwork armor, skull-hats, and broken-down weaponry held together by tape and glue? Yes. Would they have murdered her and her whole squad? Certainly. But below all that, below the grime and dirt on their bodies, she could see that some of them were young. Younger than even her, and so thin they probably struggled to brandish these weapons.

When the Fiends were described, the words "junkie" often came back up, but shouldn't that word be used with pity instead of contempt? They were certainly locals or travelers who fell prey to a vicious cycle and abandoned their minds to the drugs. Sane people, like her or even Nolan, who had their empathy and general sanity tore away from them pieces by pieces by drug dealers and the products themselves, making them degenerates into these violent shells of a person.

Maybe it only applied to them, of course, and the other Fiends were aware of what they were doing and enjoying it. And maybe it was stupid to apply that kind of empathy to someone who was shooting at her colleagues a few seconds ago, but she could at least try and grieve for the persons that those Fiends were, before they became monsters that needed to be put down.

Max gargled a little and decided to look away from the bullet-ridden bodies back to… anywhere else, really. The smell didn't help the matter at all, and that was only slightly fightable through the face-wrap. She heard Emma's voice come up, accompanied by a few surprised gasps from her squad. "All clear on that side, sir! I've taken the liberty of trophies for my pay."

"… Well, private Varzi, you have peculiar methods, but it seems effective enough. My coming rapport will describe much about you," Praised Deacon, though he kept the tone even. "And in a good light, too. Now let's get moving before more of these freaks come up."

"Thank you, sir," The soldiers indeed got moving towards the truck, most of them eager to just get to McCarran itself, but Emma quickly caught up with Max before she could head out as well. "… You've killed any?" She questioned Max, laying a hand on her shoulder. Max quietly nodded, feeling that the single word spoken out loud would cause her to vomit. How long had it been since lunch anyway? "Gooood!" Emma spoke, sounding a little too enthusiastic. "Smell that air, Max! You're a woman, now! C'mon, be happy! Your first kills! That's 5 dollars for you!"

"W-well it was team-wo-" Max stopped dead when she saw that Emma was carrying a Fiend's severed head in her other hand, which was apparently what caused the others to react in surprise.

"Go take one of their head. We gotta submit proof, you know? It's how it's done un-" Max took her face to wrap off and vomited at Emma's feet nigh-immediately after the sight of the severed head, prompting the older woman to grimace. "Gross!"

…

Scavengers report hulking individuals moving around Hidden Valley after dusk, but have been unable to identify them due to low visibility.

For some of the more curiously morbid of you, the « Butcher of the Mojave » has been silent since Nipton, but some fear that his path may take him along to Novac. The residents of a nearby Ranger Station have declared that they're on the lookout for any suspicious individual looking to cause trouble to the little town.

…

Well, that was slightly longer than my previous chapters ! But hopefully you'll enjoy it all the same !

The trucks may seem to be a bit of a cheap short-cut, and I assume it, but I just didn't want to spend too much time on them walking in the desert, and just cutting to McCarran would feel maybe a bit abrupt.

Veronica is probably the last canon character that we'll be seeing for a little while ! I really like her in-game so I hope that I was faithful with her. Her dialogue's a bit different, but I hope you understand why she'd be a bit different interacting with an NCR trooper in uniform.

Reviews etc are very appreciated as always!

See ya later, alligator!