FROM THE CLIFFTOP TO THE VALLEY FLOOR.
BY DESERT RANGER CARACAL, EDITED BY KOKU.
LOCATION: THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE DIVIDE.
DATE: APRIL 12TH 2276.
TIME: 11:30PM.
TEMPURATURE: 46°F OR 8°C.
The Mojave is not a welcoming place to say the least; no matter where you go something or someone will try to kill you. The vast deserts were pock marked with life in spite of that. Communities ranged from small towns to bustling communities, like the ones in The Divide. Life could always be found if you knew where to look.
A location of particular note near The Divide was a long valley that crossed into Legion territory if one crossed a certain way. The valley was a desolate place with a sandy floor that laughed at the very idea of life. Tall, vast cliffs stared down at anyone who dared to walk in their shadow.
To stand atop these giants was to command the valley below, and to walk beneath was to fear the screaming bullet, the charging explosive, or the soaring spear of an ambush.
Midnight in the Mojave meant that only the moon and stars were there to guide you, unless you had a compass. and The temperature ate away at you if you didn't have the clothing or the experience to survive its embrace.
Most of those who went to The Divide did so via official NCR routes, whether they be commoners like farmers or couriers, or more important people like politicians or traders. However, in a valley like this was a group who would be shot dead on such a route, so this unwelcoming path was their best chance of getting to the target point, even if their chances were as was slim as the moon peaking over the canyon walls.
The group was small; a pack of six well-armed human slavers, a mix of former bounty hunting men who found out the money they could make in trafficking living bodies and their human cargo of thirteen, bound in slave collars and chains. They currently were walking at a steady pace, The dangers ranged from a pissed off radscorpion or two, to a deathclaw or a cazador pack, to a ranger kill-squad or Legion assault team.
What they didn't know was that up in a particularly imposing set of boulders on a mid-range clifftop was something more dangerous, an ex-Desert Ranger with a clear set of eyes, armed with his Ruger New Model Super Blackhawk with a 10.5 inch barrel, particularly hot Semi WadCutter rounds and a penchant for killing slavers. The mysterious man aimed his sights at the bastard furthest in the back, right at his head. Slowly he cocked that hammer, taking his time to keep his aim solid. The hammer slowly was cocked back, as the single action hammer made its way to the half cock position, continuing to be moved as it was brought to full cock steadily up until it gave a small click as his thumb returned to the grip.
He took a nice, slow breath as his finger touched the trigger, pulling it slowly, releasing the hammer and sending it forward to strike the cartridge. The hammer hit true, and struck the primer reliably as can be, igniting the powder and sending the bullet down the barrel, spinning it to perfect stability until it exited the barrel, screaming sharply until it slammed into the man's skull fifty-seven meters away. The bullet entered through the forehead, mashing the brain matter it found and exited out the back, plastering the man's grey matter over his unfortunate companions and the uncaring canyon walls.
The man it hit was one of the more experienced men who served as rear guard for some time, and here he was, crumpling in on himself as he faintly uttered his last words.
"M-mommaaa..." He uttered out before falling down, dead before he even hit the ground.
The slaves hit the ground immediately after they heard the gunshot, confused and terrified. So were the remaining slavers, aiming up at the cliffs with their rifles and submachineguns, fingers itching on the trigger.
The second-in-command got the same treatment as his boss; fast-acting, high speed lead poisoning. The remaining men soon began spraying the cliff-face with unrepentant firepower, missing their target as fear threw their shots wide.
Even under fire, the mysterious ranger didn't falter; as within ten seconds of being under fire two of the men were down in the sand dead clutching their chests and dying as they were likewise hit, the bullets piercing through their leather armor and hitting them in the heart and lungs respectively. The least experienced man dropped his gun, running in a zig-zag to try to save his life. It didn't work as a round to the back nailed him, severing his spine and going through his stomach, slowly sealing his fate.
The last man standing was now laughing in horror as he slowly turned from the cliff face where the ranger was, and pointed his assault carbine at the slaves on the ground.
"IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED, TO SAVE THESE MISERABLE SACKS OF SHIT? I'LL SEND THEM TO HELL BEFORE YOU SEND ME W-"
He was cut short by the final bullet as it tore through his neck, killing him near instantly. He fell to the ground inches away from a slave woman's leg.
The slaves peered up around and began to stand up, one of them pushing the now dead slaver who had been threatening them and spitting on his corpse, with the other slaves following suit. Soon enough, they were looking for the keys when a voice burst out of the cliffs in a roar.
"Don't try to remove them! I know how to do it without the keys, I'm coming down soon!"
They looked over to the cliff face where the voice came from, and saw a ranger with a black cowboy hat with unusual ornaments on his head. True to his word, he scrambled off the cliff face and got down to the valley ground after reloading his revolver and holstering it.
A few minutes later, the ranger was approaching them with a set of hand tools in one hand and a water jug with the other. He wasn't the NCR ranger they were expecting to have freed them but it was a welcome sight for sure.
He was huge, a solid two meters in height with a set of similarly sized desert ranger armor to match. He also had a hefty pack on him with plenty of supplies. The strange ornaments on his head turned out to be ears, like a caracal's. These mysterious animal-human hybrids were rare creatures, remnants of FEV-based pre-war experiments by the US military.
"Like I said, let me help, I know a way to get the collars off in a way that disables the electronics for good."
He said, kneeling down in front of the nearest slave, an asian woman splattered with blood.
Reaching his tools into the electronics compartment of the collar as he slowly worked on the electronics until they were fried solid and disabled. Then he moved onto the next slave in a slow, methodical approach, taking 45 minutes to free the slaves from their collars, removing them with ease and tossing them aside. He took a key from one of the dead slavers and removed their chains one by one until they were unbound by the vile iron that had reduced them to mere product. The caracal ranger stuffed them and the collars into an old sack.
"Scrap sells for decent prices, the caps will go to you."
He said, before beginning to loot the bodies, handing some of the weapons to the slaves with the rest going into the sack.
Soon enough he and the liberated slaves were on the move, with the slaves sharing the water jug and some MRE's he'd passed to them while he lead the way with his revolver at the ready. When they were within sight of The Divide and close to the entrance a small squad came out and approached them, NCR rangers clad in patrol armor with their rifles and revolvers. Before any orders to stand down could be issued, the head ranger began laughing at this sight.
"Joseph! It's been far too long since I last saw you. Still following the code of the Desert Rangers after all this time I see."
The fox mutant said, slinging his rifle as the other rangers followed suit, including the caracal mutant.
"Why wouldn't I? You should know just as well as me that if I had to die to protect the people of the Mojave I would do it in a heartbeat. Have you forgotten that about me old Pablo?"
The caracal teased, he then coughed before stepping aside and turning to the valley, pointing at it to make it clear where he was talking about.
"Six slavers were transporting thirteen slaves through the valley over there, I fired six for six, ruined the collars electronics and opened their chains. Now I have a bag of things to sell and caps to give to the liberated, so if you don't mind I'd like to make my way into town and get to it."
Joseph said, hearing the slight snicker of a younger human ranger.
"Town's closed, you're gonna have to wait till morning Mister."
"We have empty barracks that can be used right now, we're the night crew anyways."
Pablo said, stepping aside to let the new arrivals into town. The same human ranger looked like he was going to say something, but decided it wasn't worth it as the caracal and the former slaves made their way to the empty barracks.
Dusty and unused, the musty smell was tolerable and there were enough beds for them and more. Each of them got into bed, some faster than others, with the ranger waiting for everyone else to be asleep before he took his armor and clothing off, crashing into his bed and sleeping soundly.
When morning came, the caracal quickly woke and dressed himself before grabbing his things and walking out. He did his rounds to the weapons store and sold off the bagged goods for a good sum, returning to the barracks to portion it off accordingly for the 13 ex-slaves.
They woke to the sounds of Joseph sorting the caps into piles with a combat knife meticulously. He looked up to see them awake and smiled gently.
"Excellent, you're awake, now what you see in front of me is a pile of caps that will be an excellent kickstart to your new lives, unchained and free. I'll pass the bags out soon."
Joseph said, taking out thirteen nicely sized bags out and pushing one cap pile into each of them, tying them up with some string and setting it out on the table.
Soon enough, Pablo walked in with a pile of papers and handed one to each of the newly freed. Joseph sighed and looked at the nearest of them, luckily the elder ranger had given each of them a list of job opportunities in The Divide instead of a recruitment poster.
"Where's breakfast? They need a hot meal before looking for work."
Joseph said as he stood up, his stomach growling a little along with the others.
Soon enough all of them were in a little restaurant getting a small breakfast, with the caracal uttering a short sentence under his breath before digging into the meaty brahmin steak and eggs, the elder ranger paying no attention to it as he ate from the moment his plate touched the table, hot stew filling his belly up.
The newly liberated ate more simply, but still filled themselves. Pablo footed the bill of his own will, despite Joseph's insistence. A ranger under NCR employ was likely better paid than the erratic payment of an Ex-Desert Ranger.
The rest of the day was spent getting the liberated back onto their lives, with seven of them picking jobs in town, and six choosing to find work elsewhere, each with a new future ahead of them.
It was late when Joseph was at the entrance of town, preparing to leave while giving his goodbyes to Pablo, the caracal smiling all the while as he hadn't seen the vulpine since 2271. They may have had their differences in opinion regarding the treaty, but their goals of kicking Legion ass brought them together and right now, that's what mattered. Joseph gave Pablo a goodbye and began walking out of town, passing a Mojave Express Courier on the way out while whistling tune to an old song he'd learned as a child.
Joseph Chaim would never return to The Divide, after the horrible mistake that destroyed the land. It would come back to haunt him when he met the courier who he'd passed all those years ago and talked to her more thoroughly, but that was years away, and he'd be knee deep in more troubles and struggles in his attempts to free the Mojave by then.