A/N
Personally, I find the portrayal of the Enclave in the games poorly-explored and underwhelming as a post-apocalyptic faction. I always felt like they could've been more, something a little higher than just a bunch of shady villains for the player to fight. If I didn't come up with the Dominion, I would've written this fic in the Enclave's point of view. But hey, for this chapter's that's close enough!
Since this predates the events of Fallout 2 and 3, let it be stated that I won't be following the canonical Enclave progression ( i.e Enclave HQ's aren't limited to Raven Rock or the oil rig, so why not explore other territories? ) which leads us to the tristate Cajun Wasteland that involves Oklahoma, Arkansas and Louisiana. Some new characters, factions and areas ( I apologize in advance for all you lovely people of the aforementioned states for all the butchering I'm about to do ) maybe some old recognizable ones too.
Credits to Blaze1992 for the idea of an Enclave terminator-esque army, as well as descriptions for some of the robot designs.
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"God bless America, and no one else." - Enclave President Thaddeus Howard
.::.
Though most of the Old World order in the West perished in the fires of nuclear annihilation, the solid stone foundations of the United States government endured and gave birth to one of the most advanced post-war civilizations on Earth. The Enclave, far removed from the detonation sites or shielded beneath the crust in sprawling underground cities that put the passion projects of Vault-Tec to shame, reshaped the wastelands like a mutagenic cancer wherever they pleased. Unlike the shadow government that preceded them, they didn't remain hidden.
They possessed technologies that other factions did not. They had the will and the power to use them as they saw fit. Their mission, with the cold callousness of a machine's logic, was to reshape the broken land and rebuild American society from the ground up. All who were not of the Enclave were their enemies, and their enemies were many.
As soon as the radiation levels were within acceptable limits, their armies marched through the rad-storms and reclaimed city by city with frightening pace. Their control spread, seizing the states immediately adjacent to Canada by late 2112.
Splinter cells once scattered in the wake of the apocalypse rejoined the main force into one unified body, a shadow of the former commonwealth's greatness but nevertheless a force to be reckoned with. The Enclave was led by an elected president without a term limit, a caesarean praetor maximus dictator-for-life role all but in name. This role was followed by an elected vice president, and a cabal of Joint Chiefs-of-Staff formed by military leaders, lead scientists and civilian sector representatives. It was a system reminiscent of the old, a little scaled-down to better fit the size of the existing government.
The interests of the Enclave vary in scale and in progression, but all align with the singular goal of reclaiming America.
In the tristate Cajun Wasteland; where the once clear-cut borders of Oklahoma, Arkansas and Louisiana now blurred by foul pockets of irradiated hotzones or rad-storm twisters; deep within the irradiated swamps adjacent to the great Sabine River stood the headquarters of Enclave Atlas Division.
A small island within the raging waters of the river, connected to the banks of the mainland only by the retractable mechanical bridge built into the islet, housed the steel vault entrance to the division base. A landing pad was accessible to inbound or outbound aircraft like vertibirds, which could descend to bring cargo to an underground hangar built somewhere in the second level. Like most military bunkers and vaults, the headquarters consisted of a barracks, manufacturing plant, R&D wing, and a giant warehouse to store all their surplus of arms and vehicles.
Atlas was a special operations unit tasked with testing the viability of a completely automated army, a passion project of sorts by the commander-in-chief himself, President Thaddeus Howard. Two thirds of the division's manpower consisted of robot soldiers and automated mech units, all slaved to the commands of designated command teams. It was the president's desire to limit the risks of Enclave personnel's exposure to the effects of radiation as well as providing the military with an expendable fighting arm that was guaranteed to wear their enemies down through sheer numbers and volume of fire- an army of robots granted superior tactics through the commands of experienced veteran soldiers.
In theory, if done right, it was an army that could conquer the world. They just needed to test that theory if it works.
As the sun climbed up to the middle of the sky, an armored convoy appeared on the road across the river, made up of a half dozen cargo trucks and an escort of thirteen Enclave IFV's. The convoy wasn't just bringing in material for the development programs they had for the day, they were bringing in the division leader assigned by the president to oversee Atlas' operations.
Reaching the bank, the convoy paused for a moment to signal the gatekeeper to extend the bridge. Hidden behind a fake shrub, a large oval metallic head popped out and scanned the lead vehicle with its cycloptic red eye. Upon confirming the convoy as friendlies, it extended the bridge and welcomed the vehicles in. The activity on the banks drew the attention of a wandering group of Mirelurks. After retracting the bridge once the last Enclave vehicle had gone across, the robot alerted the entrance defenses, which sent dozens of turrets popping out of strategically positioned emplacements all around the island grounds.
.50 caliber rounds strafed the riverbanks until the creatures chummed the green water red. As the turrets finished off the screeching mutated crabs, a man exited the lead vehicle first and surveyed the effective extermination of the perimeter intruders. He wore a protective suit over his body to stave off the huge rad spikes that blanketed the base grounds. The respirator mask and hood clung to his face, matting up his skin and causing great discomfort as his sweat caused the material to stick. The radiation was a secondary defense to ward off trespassers, if that wasn't enough, the turrets were designed for those who were resistant to the radiation.
Having made an accounting for his surroundings, General March Winters returned to his vehicle and ordered the convoy forward into the base interior. The gear-shaped vault door, inscribed with the star-spangled banner of the Commonwealth, rolled away to let the convoy through, then shut tightly behind them.
As soon as they were inside, the soldiers dismounted from their transporters and prepared to move the cargo in the trucks. Everyone was geared up for maximum rad-protection, including the officers. The hazmat suits were tightly fitted over their bodies, providing adequate space for tactical harnesses and armor attachments. Men had to scream to be heard from the respirators muffling their voices, struggling to communicate amid the blare of alert klaxons announcing the commencement of a routine decontamination scrubbing. The container on one of the trucks opened its gull-wing doors to reveal six rows of dormant war bots securely locked into the floor.
Several mechanical arms descended from the ceiling, bearing scrubber blasters to saturate everyone and everything in decontamination solutions. The process was completed quickly and efficiently, leaving the general and his men to finally move into the base with all their freshly manufactured mechanized troops.
The normal units consisted of the 'Revenant' bots, mechanical soldiers built to imitate human proportions. The upper chassis was bulked out to soak up more damage as well as fit in more ammunition, while the leg infrastructure was reinforced to compensate for the top-heavy state of the torso. Revenants were equipped with the standard Enclave ARX-15 bullpup rifle, and a shrapnel grenade launcher fixed to the right shoulder. The robots could be easily custom-built for any problem in-field like any soldier could swap his equipment. While weighing almost six hundred pounds, Revenants were surprisingly agile for their class.
There were also two new types of war bots the convoy was bringing in. The first was given the designation 'Castle Series Model 1' or simply the Castle bot. A ten foot tall colossus of composite steel, the Castle bot was equipped with a tower shield in one arm and a 45mm assault cannon in the other. It was designed as a breakthrough unit capable of wading into the thick of battle and disrupting enemy fire. The second was designated as an infiltration unit, called 'Vampire'. Its chassis was similar to the Revenant, though adopting a more human skeleton appearance. The Vampire was equipped with a redundant stealth-field generator capable of keeping it invisible for indefinite spans of time, far longer than the average waster's stealth-boy. Given its mechanical components, there was no danger of side effects on the Vampire's side. In terms of weaponry, the Vampire was capable of saturating its enemies with deadly toxins distributed through a blinding gas cloud pumped from its torso. Initial tests proved it was just as deadly in the melee with its razor-sharp claws and powerful bite.
"All units, form up!" Winters barked at the war bots after removing his hood and respirator, "On me!"
The general's voice was raspy, coarse like a man who's had too many cigarettes in his lifetime, though he wasn't a smoker. His blonde hair was cut close to the scalp with a mathematician's precision, while his pale yellow eyes were like that of a bald eagle's. Winters embodied the image of the golden-haired American grunt, which was the point as everything about him was tailor-made in a lab by Enclave scientists.
Moving as one, the war bots doggedly obeyed the general and stepped off of the trucks to line up behind him. The checkpoint gates parted to let the soldiers and war bots inside. Winters exchanged a few greetings with the base personnel, made certain of the seamless transition of command, then settled into his new office. The bots were marched into storage, while the officers headed into the barracks for a quick stop at the mess before training sessions started.
Winters doffed his suit and changed into the standard officer's apparel that was the trademark of the Enclave seniority. His office was wide, polished to a bright sheen, and a little too decorative for his pragmatic tastes. The desk and cabinets were made from synthesized Italian maple, the middle of the floor sported a complete map of the Pre-War United States, and a black marble statue of the mythical titan Atlas stood in the far corner of the room. A large panoramic window with two-way safety glass allowed him a view of the testing cubicles of the R&D wing, while a set of monitors in the central control console gave him access to the cameras in the other facilities of note. He wouldn't have to leave the base until absolutely necessary, so he thought he might as well get comfortable.
The general paced through the shelves where books containing lost knowledge of ancient historians, military poets and strategies dating back to mankind's first years of war, were neatly stacked alphabetically. A separate stack of vinyl records had been slipped between the shelves, prompting Winters to question their existence as there was no record player in the office. He explored the map painted into the floor, and as his feet trampled the lands South of the Cajun, he smiled at the hidden meaning behind the artist's work.
Finally, he stopped to look at the tormented statue in the opposite end of the floor. For such a powerful titan, said to have defied the gods of Olympus and nearly defeated them in the Titanomachy, Atlas looked like the weight of the world was too much for his divine shoulders. After giving it some thought, Winters decided he would keep the office as it was- especially the statue. He liked the ideas it evoked, about the challenges the Wasteland at every turn posed for the Enclave.
There was a brief chime at the door as a visitor requested for entry. A quick glance at the security monitor informed the general of the expected arrival of the division's lead scientist, Dr. Nina Helstrom. Winters sat down and pressed a button under his desk, the one next to the large red panic button, to let the woman through.
Helstrom, a tall statuesque lady of high standing within the Enclave's ruling echelon, walked in with a curt greeting. "Good day, General Winters." Neatly trimmed snow white hair hugged her small face in a tight bowl cut. Faint tiny streaks of arrested wrinkles lined her cheeks and forehead. Her deceptively kind brown eyes hid a calculating predator's spirit, one that only those on the receiving end of her schemes knew about intimately. She was old enough to be his mother, though ironically the youthful spring in her step and elegance in her mannerisms seemed to get better with age.
A testament to superior Enclave genetic engineering, to be sure.
"Dr. Helstrom, I'm glad to find this place in good order." The general commended her, "I trust you'll have no misgivings regarding the transfer of command?"
Helstrom's eyes narrowed slightly, and there was a great deal of disdain present in her voice. She didn't like the change, that much was obvious, but she cared more for the pursuit of their objectives rather than the usual power play. "The president deemed you worthy of command, and I follow the president's orders."
"Good, as do we all." Winters nodded, "Now, why don't you bring me up to speed with the programs' latest developments?"
"Certainly, but before we begin I'd like to ask you something." The scientist said, "How familiar are you with the Dominion?"
"As familiar as anyone in the Enclave would be. I know they're a cut above the rest, a good system and a powerful military. If they're good enough to give the Brotherhood a run for their money, I'd assume they'll pose a threat to us very soon once they think to cross the border."
"You sound like you admire them."
"And I do." Winters leaned back into his chair, unafraid to let a potential rival know the lay of his thoughts. "You scientists don't travel a lot, so you don't get to see the conditions upstairs. Mutants and contaminated wastelanders, they all live in the squalor of dead cities. They steal from one another, they rape and kill as they please, propagating an endless cycle of violence that heads nowhere. The Brotherhood, same thing, they hoard technology that rightfully belongs to the future of America. But the Dominion's another story, they don't stay filthy. They rebuild, they rearm, they grow- just like us. That makes them dangerous, the most dangerous enemy we have. I want you to know that I take no pleasure in the idea of destroying them, but alas that's what we're supposed to do."
"Ah, in that we agree." Dr. Helstrom opened the folder tucked under her arm and laid out a few blueprints on the desk. "These new weapons designs should bring a swift end to any altercation with the Dominion. I just need your approval."
Winters sat up and looked the proposal over. The blueprints depicted a battle tank with a large 130mm main gun and two secondary turrets on the frontal glacis plate. It was designated by Helstrom's team as the 'Huntsman Mark 2', a tank capable of providing long range artillery strikes and general fire support for the Revenants. "What's this?"
"Our enemies aren't just using infantry, they love their tanks and mechs." She tapped a finger at the drawings, "Future battles will require a punch, and this is that punch, general."
"Hmm..." Winters nodded slowly, "Atlas Division will require more than a few artillery pieces, I'd hate to underestimate the Dominion before meeting them on the battlefield."
Helstrom smirked and replied confidently, "R&D is the right kind of think-tank for this business. There's more where this came from."
"Gonna gut you's and string ya up by them entrails, haha!"
"Nobody talks like that anymore, you fucking philistine!"
The Crowe bushwhackers on dune buggies taunted and jeered at the fleeing convoy. Both sides traded shots and insults as they approached the four county border separating Salvación from Summertown. They attacked the convoy expecting to get an impressive haul of weapons, armor and ammunition. Instead, they wounded up attacking a supply run filled with food stuffs and medicines. The Dominion's next step after every conquest was to win hearts and minds. In any urban warzone, people had a tendency to lose their most precious commodities as civilization crumbles around them. It was an Old American tactic, destabilizing civilian infrastructure then drawing on the desperation of the masses to keep them dependent on the Dominion.
Whoever controlled the power, food and water distribution, controlled the land. Generally, people didn't care who was in charge as long as these resources were provided. No one in their right mind would bite the hand that fed them, unless they were Crowes.
Dr. Nancy Reyncourt whimpered fearfully as bullets rained down on the Centaur's hull. She regretted her decision to accompany the supply run when she knew full well that she could've waited a few days for the routes to be completely secured. Now she was in the thick of the Crowe ambush with the rest of the rooks. Three Centaurs and two supply trucks, that's all that was left from the attack on Redskin Bluff. Their gunship escorts have been shot out of the sky, leaving the survivors at a disadvantage.
Nancy reached down to feel for the 9mm Beretta hanging from her thigh. The cold steel gave her some measure of comfort, as did the sight of the Centaur crew operating the vehicle. She was confident in their capabilities. After all, they were the best their nation had to offer. The gunner swiveled the turret around while the commander opened up a hatch to use the machinegun mounted on the ring. The 90mm gun shook the whole car with every shot, while the fifty vibrated with the same force as a jackhammer on the roof.
Suddenly, a rocket hit the Centaur right in the front wheels and sent it crashing into the ground. Everyone inside was thrown violently around, but luckily no one was injured apart from a few sore spots and scratches.
Dazed, Nancy slowly hoisted herself from the messy pile of bags and cases she landed on. She could hear the buggies pulling to a stop outside and the collective voices of excited bloodthirsty gunmen. As she pulled out her gun, one of the rooks called her attention. "Doc, listen to me."
It was Corporal Jamie Rogan, her babysitter. The rook had a face that looked like he was just turning eighteen, but basic training got him to fill up the uniform as well as anyone in the Dominion Army. However old he was, Kitty seemed to consider him fit for the job of protecting her sister. He had his snub-nosed Reckoner rifle ready, as did the other rooks who were prepping to duke it out with the bushwhackers. "Stay on my six. You're more valuable to us than a few supply trucks, so do as I say and we'll get through this."
"Okay." Nancy said.
"Rooks, listen up!" The IFV commander declared, his voice reverberating powerfully within the passenger compartment. There were only six of them inside the Centaur, it wasn't going anywhere but the thing was built like a bunker. Unless the Crowes were packing some serious heat, like satchel-charges or flamethrowers, the rooks could defend their position by using the shooting ports built into the hull. Apart from that, they still had a working turret and a 90mm cannon. "Transmission's all shot to hell, we ain't going anywhere. Man a hole, let's give these hillbillies a real fight!"
The soldiers, all psyched-up, bellowed their response. "Hoo-fucking-ah!"
The crew manned the main gun while the rest took up positions at the firing ports. Nancy stayed out of their way and got her kit ready, she knew there were bound to be casualties in the near future and they will need her help. The Crowe gunmen closed in on the crippled Centaur, thinking they were in for an easy kill. The 90mm cannon swiveled about and proved them wrong, blasting an attack buggy into pieces with a shot to its engine. The next few seconds were a blur for Nancy as the rooks fired their rifles at the encroaching bushwhackers. She covered her ears as every shot felt like a grenade going off inside the armored car, hoping to save what was left of her hearing as the rooks were emptying their mags very quickly.
"Sorry doc, guess you'll have to get your ears replaced by the time we get back to the homeland!" Jamie called out after tossing an empty clip.
"What?!" Nancy yelled, failing to understand the man's words muffled by the incessant ringing in her head.
"Never mind, just trying to be optimistic!"
Outside, one of the Crowes started pushing up a rocketeer to take out the main gun. The rocketeer, a rather skittish little guy, squeaked fearfully after being grazed in the face by Jamie's shots. He dropped the launcher, causing the faulty weapon to misfire and blow both rocketeer and buggy sky high. That bit of fuck-up was enough cause for a chuckle among the rooks. But then, one of the gunmen decided it was a good idea to get close with a bundle of dynamite so he could blow up the Centaur.
He waited until the rooks paused to reload, then bolted from cover with the bag in hand.
Suddenly, something hit him in the side that caused him to lose all the air in his lungs, and the man stumbled awkwardly to the ground until he fell flat on his face. Five more shots rang clear in the air, every one of them found their marks. A man in a long beige trench coat with a matching fedora hat walked into the killzone. His stride didn't break as he reloaded his .44, and the rooks were left wondering where he came from as he seemingly appeared out of thin air.
"Who the fuck's that?" Jamie whispered.
The mysterious stranger took aim at an approaching buggy and fired two shots at its engine. As if defying the laws of physics, the rounds acted more like missiles than actual bullets and the car went up in a ball of flame. With the last of the convoy's pursuers dead, the stranger let his gun arm fall to his side. As quickly as he appeared, he vanished.
"Where'd he go?" The Centaur commander popped his hatch and gave a quick glance around. For miles around, there was nothing but empty dust and dried brush. The wrecks and the bodies of the gunmen were right where they had fallen, no sign of the man who killed them. "Where the hell did he...?"
"You saw it too, right?" Jamie asked.
It was all quiet in the wilderness, save for the crack and fizzle of burning cars. Although still in disbelief over what happened, the commander ordered the rooks to gather supplies and make the rest of the journey onboard their pursuers' abandoned vehicles. The attack buggies weren't going to make the top ten in any Dominion citizen's list, but they were all that's left in stock. The rooks stowed away their essentials in the boot, wired up the Centaur to blow, then drove off towards the canyon city.
Debrief would have quite the story once they got there.
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