Chapter 15

Jason was awoken by cries of alarm, and gunfire. He grabbed his loaded Xuanlong assault rifle from the floor beside him as he rolled off of his sleeping mat. His pack was there as well, and he slung it over his shoulder and raced towards the door of his hut. He charged into the compound's small yard. Shorty and Timebomb stumbled out of their homes, weapons in hand as they blinked blearily and tried to get their bearings in the pre-dawn light. More wastelanders followed behind them, taking up pre-designated positions around the compound.

Legion war cries could be heard. Tracer rounds whipped and snapped overhead as the Night Watch, led by Quinn, exchanged fire with a sizeable force approaching from the south. The Legion was fighting intelligently, half of them using their hunting rifles and assault rifles to pin down the frightened wastelanders while the other half moved forwards. And they did not stop pushing.

Quinn was standing in his sniper's nest, and Jason joined him there, setting aside his assault rifle for a hunting rifle. "What's happening?"

The ghoul sniper pointed south, towards a group of approximately four dozen Legionaries, moving purposefully towards the compound gate.

Jason gritted his teeth; his nightmare had finally come true.

"Don't worry, my friend," the Ghoul said, "We've trained for this."

Jason nodded and shouldered his hunting rifle. He had actually stolen it from this very location, many years ago, back when it was the Republic of Dave. Ol' Painless. It was one of his prized possessions. With every shot a Legionary's head snapped backwards, or disappeared in a pink mist.

Indeed, with the appearance of their leader on the battlefield, the wasters fought with renewed ferocity and confidence, matching the Legion advance shot for shot. The wastelander's superior cover gave them a significant advantage, and they decimated the initial charge, filling the field with a dozen Legion bodies, and forcing the rest behind the cover of junkpiles and blackened dead tree trunks.

Jason took a moment to survey the damage to the Fort. He counted two casualties, which had been dragged in a little concrete alcove built specifically for the purpose. They were alive, but wounded. Screaming in agony. Red was there, administering what medical aid she could. Even as he watched, she injected one of them with Med-X and then followed that up with two stimpacks.

"When did it start?"

"Literally ten seconds ago," the ghoul told him.

"Where are our fucking miniguns?" Jason demanded.

"Coming." the Ghoul replied.

Jason turned his attention back south, but he caught Shorty waving at him. The young man waved at Jason and pointed past him towards the west, just before a hunting rifle cracked in the early morning. The bullet hit him in the chest and he dropped to the ground. Jason looked up at the ridge the young man was pointing at. It was bristling with rifles. Jason grabbed Quinn and forced him down.

A fraction of a second later, the sniper nest was bathed in hunting rifle and assault rifle fire from the bluff. It was an elevated position, with solid boulders for cover. Jason cursed himself – it had been his plan yesterday to mine that entire bluff to prevent exactly this from happening. If only they hadn't been running low on food. If only the small water purifier hadn't sprung a leak. If only Timebomb hadn't needed help fixing the wall on his shack. If only the Brahmin hadn't been uncooperative. For all the work involved in maintaining the compound, homestead life was too relaxed. Carelessly relaxed.

The wastelanders grabbed what cover they could as Legion snipers and assault rifles opened fire in a fan of smoke, raining death on their little compound.

The fire was so thick that even Quinn was keeping his head down, trusting the thick plating of the sniper's nest to protect him. Jason growled in rage and pulled the sniper rifle from the ghoul's grasp. He shouldered it and began pounding the overlook, neatly taking the heads off of several snipers and driving the assault rifle-carrying Legionaries back behind cover.

Yet the Southern attack force had taken advantage of the momentary lapse in the compound's defenses to regain their lost momentum and they charged fearlessly towards the front gate, backed up by their own hunting rifles and assault rifles. Several more wastelanders were wounded by the charge, as taking cover from the attack on the bluff had exposed them to the southern attackers.

Realizing that Jason was stuck keeping the western attack pinned, Quinn acted fast. He grabbed the Wanderer's Xuanlong assault rifle and, trusting the Wanderer to protect him from the shooters on the bluff, he emptied three full thirty-six round magazines down the southern approach, driving the Legion back a second time.

At that very moment, the door of the largest hut burst open and three wastelanders in combat armour strode out into the chaos, each toting a heavy minigun. The wastelanders charged to their positions as fast as they could with all the heavy gear. They planted their miniguns on barricades, and opened fire, raking the Legion attack lines. Two facing south and one facing west, towards the bluff.

Jason traded the sniper rifle for Xuanlong assault rifle and said, "keep them pinned. I'm going hunting."

The ghoul nodded grimly as he slid down from the sniper's perch and rushed across the centre of the compound to its north-eastern corner where, behind the largest shack, a wooden panel was held in place with loosely twisted wire. It was firm enough to keep molerats from squeezing through, and from the outside appeared solid. Yet Jason knew better.

The Wanderer straightened the wires and pushed the secret exit upwards, crawling through the narrow exit into the Wasteland beyond. Bullets and tracer rounds whipped by feet above his head, but he recognized it for the suppressive fire it was; the Legion were not aiming at him. Just filling the entire region with as much lead as they could manage.

He checked his Pipboy. Six hundred and fourteen rads. Enough for his healing factor to kick in. Barely. Red had always chastised him for staying irradiated. And Jason had always dismissed her concerns as politely as possible.

He scrambled east a few metres and dropped into a dry, dusty gulley which ran south past the compound for about four hundred metres. Jason moved along at high speed, pausing only to transfer more 7.62mm banana magazines from his pack to his leather bandoleer. He could feel the comforting weight of his combat knife at his hip.

He moved in a running crouch, keeping low so as to avoid being spotted by any scouts. Occasionally, he would cross to the other side of the gulley. Or hop from rock to rock. A keen observer would have noted the red blinking lights which glowed faintly against the dry, cracked dirt, and the way his careful movements allowed him to avoid stepping near the half-buried devices.

If he had the resources, he would have settled in Old Olney, or perhaps Vault 92, but those two locations always seemed to attract the sorts of creatures which could tear through his small family in minutes. He was not scared for himself, but for them. The Republic of Dave, which had been wiped out in the Supermutant War, already had a small farm, a Brahmin pen, a firing range, several huts and a surrounding fence. Besides, it was conveniently off the beaten trail of the Wasteland traders, and dangerous wildlife. It was far enough to the east that the deathclaws rarely wandered in their direction. Jason had certainly not expected the Legion to project their power that far north. It was as remote as one could get in the Capital Wasteland.

He thought he had more time…

The gulley rose sharply, allowing Jason to quietly scramble up a scree slope and exit near the southern tip of the Legion's forces. He spotted the silhouette of a nearby scout, facing south to prevent any wild animals or enemy forces from interfering with their attack. The Wanderer slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and pulled out his knife. He came up behind the man and clamped his hand over the scout's nose and mouth, kicking his knee out at the same time, and drawing his combat knife across the man's throat, cutting deep trenches under either ear. Blood poured out in spurts as he dragged the corpse back to the gulley and let it slide gently down the shale.

The noise was lost in the din of the battle. He searched for more scouts, but they were a long way off. The bulk of the Legion forces were gathered behind a tree-dotted hillock. Decanii shouted and waved their arms, handing out orders to their troops, numbering several dozen. A massive force for a skirmish this size.

It was bad news. They clearly meant business.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted two familiar figures in the crowd. Pale, dapper men in pinstripe suits and fedoras.

The Legion had brought more Frumentarii.

Still… headshots had worked on the last two. Krupp and… Martin? They had cornered him at the old missile silo during the first Legion conflict. He had disposed of them easily and gone on his way.

Blanketed by the darkness and the sounds of battle, Jason crept back along the edge of the gulley until he was parallel with the bulk of the Legion forces. Hidden behind a boulder, he sheathed his knife and grabbed the Xaunlong assault rifle, holding an extra clip in the fingers of his left hand as he aimed it directly into the centre of the mass of troops and opened fire.

His three-round bursts took two decanii and several of their followers in seconds, disrupting the chain of command. Then he sprayed into the crowd, sweep across their ranks with little care. The attack took the Legion by surprise. 7.62 rounds thudded into the mass of flesh causing untold wounds, and sending the entire southern attack force into disarray. They fled west, searching for cover, but there was little to be found and the movement exposed a large number of them to minigun fire from the compound's defenders.

Several senior troops rallied their forces and they turned half their guns on Jason, but he had already reloaded his assault rifle, and took the new leaders down before their orders could be finished. With several more three-round bursts, he took quite a few of the rifle-carrying legion snipers down as well, leaving only their assault rifles and machetes left. The Legion tended to use the assault rifles to lay down overwhelming fire. The American-made guns were inaccurate at best and none of the Legionaries were skilled enough with the machines to be called marksmen. Though they bathed his little rock in gunfire, sending chips and dust flying into the air, only one bullet actually hit Jason, drilling straight through the flesh of his shoulder.

Even so it knocked him back, and as he recovered, he could hear the dismayed shouting: "It's the Wanderer!" "The Lone Wanderer is here!"

At these pronouncements, any other group, be they Talon company, slavers, raiders, or Enclave, would have retreated immediately. Indeed it had shocked Jason the first time this pronouncement had caused a Legion squad to charge towards him at full speed, machetes drawn. An army with the ferocity of Raiders, the loyalty and discipline of the Brotherhood, the stubbornness of Supermutants, and the tactical cunning of Jackrum's Talon Company?

An extremely dangerous combination.

This, however, was not his first fight with the bastards. As their troops drove towards the gulley, machetes in hand, he retreated, dropping the five feet or so into the trench and crouching under an overhang. He was careful where he placed his feet, but the Legionaries who poured after him into the trench were not. It quickly filled with angry warriors in red football armour, hellbent on vengeance as they shouted in their heathen tongue and brandished their machetes.

But the trench was suddenly filled with another sound altogether: the almost simultaneous beeping of many landmines. Like a cobra Jason struck out from his shadowed position, planting his knife in the neck of the nearest Legionary and pulling them both to the ground, using the other man's body to shield himself from the multiple blossoming explosions.

Blood and flesh rained from the sky. Limbs bounced from stone to stone, or landed in the dust with a splat. He could hear the satisfying cries of the dying and the horror and dismay from whatever was left of the attacking force above. Jason smiled to himself and melted into the shadows of the early morning, back to the safety of his compound.

"So what's the plan, Boss?" Jericho paced furiously back and forth across the small medical room they had claimed upstairs. Only one raider, slightly smarter than the others, had questioned the appearance of two new raiders inside the hospital, but Jessica had sent him away with a few non-answers, a smile and a dose of Jet.

Jessica pursed her lips, and stared into nothingness, her brows knitted together. She had pursued the child first. They had the little girl locked away somewhere in the basement of the building, to be chopped up and cooked as Krong had instructed.

Krong…

Jessica winced as the sound of the abomination's teeth crunching into human skull echoed in her memory. The creature had bitten into that wastelander's head like it was an apple.

What the hell was wrong with the Capital Wasteland? Nearly every supermutant Jessica had met in the Mojave was intelligent enough to carry on some semblance of a conversation. Black Mountain, of course, had been a problem area. But she had never seen anything like Krong, with its grotesque musculature, dim expression, and primal, brutish hostility. Even the Raiders who worshipped it seemed unaware of its clear indifference to their welfare. The creature was more akin to a deathclaw than a human. And yet not wholly unintelligent.

For all of the grandstanding and religious fervor which Noxy held, the relationship between the Raider bands and their enormous brutish ally was clearly a matter of practicality. Krong got to eat fresh meat whenever it wanted, and the Raiders had a nigh invincible monster which they could throw against any foe which happened upon them.

Septimus had no idea what he was walking into. Even without the Overlord, the Legion force was severely outnumbered. With Krong on their side, Jessica knew there would be no hope of victory.

The clock was counting down. She had maybe twenty hours until the Centurion invaded.

She said, "You have to leave, Jericho. Get back to Septimus and warn him about Krong."

The former raider paused in his anxious march and turned towards her, shaking his head. "I ain't leavin' you here with all these motherfuckers and a god damned supermutant overlord!"

Jessica stared at him for a moment, her mind moving a mile a minute. What if she and Jericho left together? Would Septimus have the sense to withdraw? To pull his forces back and gain reinforcements before taking the Raiders?

It was undoubtedly the best option, but she knew it would also grievously wound the Centurion's honor, pride and reputation. Given the fact that he was part of her protection from Krupp and Martin, and that two new Centurions were no doubt crossing the Wasteland at that very moment with forces and agendas of their own…

No. Power dynamics within the Legion were about to change, and she needed a strong ally with a great victory under his belt.

No retreat.

Then there was the child to consider. The death of the old wastelander had bothered Jessica deeply in its brutality, but not so much in its occurrence; she had seen plenty of death in her travels through the Mojave. However letting the Raiders feed a child to that monster was not something she could live with.

So what were the goals, then?

Rescue the Child. Soften up the raiders for Septimus' attack.

Jessica looked up and gave him a sweet smile, "I appreciate your concern, but-"

"I just ain't," he crossed his arms, "that's final."

Jessica held out her hand and he took it tentatively. Touch always seemed to help. She smiled up at him and said, "Jericho, please. You have to warn Septimus about the supermutant overlord. What happens if he attacks and loses? What happens to us?" We need Septimus to win this.

Jericho shifted uncomfortably, "Boss, yer surrounded by a hundred guys so mean that civilization tossed 'em out! And that supermutant – yeh can't talk that thing outta doin' whatevah it wants."

She frowned, "well in that case I ought to ensure it doesn't get a choice, right?"

He stared, and she chuckled. "Jericho this is what I do. It's what I excel at." I'll be fine.

The ex-raider sighed and turned away scratching his beard. "Alright, boss. But you better come through the other side okay."

"I promise." She said as he marched towards the door, "I'll be fine." As it shut behind him, she muttered under her breath: "All I have to do is convince a den full of religious zealot raiders to turn on their god-king."

The Legion had retreated to lick its wounds. The Wanderer's counter-attack had in seconds halved their numbers and killed most of the senior Legionnaires. Krupp and Martin had ordered an immediate tactical withdrawal, gathering their forces where the compound's guns could not reach them, and tripling their sentries, spacing them close together in multiple rows around the hill they had chosen to settle on. They had scouts watching the compound through binoculars from every angle to ensure no escape attempts.

The two remaining Decanii were standing at attention within the small command tent, both pale-faced and awaiting their superiors' orders. One pale figure in a dapper suit was seated at the table, leaning back in his chair with his hands tented. The other was pacing ferociously.

"This is unacceptable, Mister Krupp!"

"Indeed, Mister Martin." The figure at the table agreed venomously.

"This was… unexpected. Unacceptable!"

"it is impossible to account for every variable, Mister Martin. We were going to run across him eventually. He is…. Sssstubborn." Krupp turned and addressed the Decanii as his brother snarled and went back to pacing, "We can still take the compound, yesss?"

One of them snapped to attention, "we're at half strength, sir. Heavy losses."

The other cleared his throat nervously. He swallowed as the milky, pale and hostile gazes of both Frumentarii settled on him, "Sirs – with the utmost respect – that can't be the only trick he has up his sleeve."

"Heavy losses." The first Decanus explained carefully, "we could probably take it, if the Wanderer wasn't there. But… we only have two Contubernia left. If we face him we will be destroyed. My men are skilled and their hearts are steady, but the Wanderer…" he shrugged helplessly.

"Acceptable losses." Martin snapped. Both Decanii barely restrained their glares.

Krupp clucked his tongue irritably, "no Legion loss is acceptable, Mister Martin. You forget why we are here. The Decanii are correct: conventional tactics do not work on the Wanderer. We must find another way to draw him out." Krupp rose carefully to his feet and addressed the soldiers, "Have your men stand ready and keep a close watch on the compound. My brother and I need some time to… consider this challenge."

Looking relieved, both soldiers slapped their chest and raised their right fist in salute. They turned and marched out.

Krupp settled back into his chair and considered his brother. His fellow abomination. Martin was fuming, his mouth twisted into a permanent sneer as he marched angrily back and forth across the length of the tent.

"Something else troubles you, Mister Martin, yesss…" Krupp probed.

Martin spun on his heel and jabbed his finger at Krupp, "this was the Witch's doing, Mister Krupp. The Black Widow."

Krupp's normally blank face twitched. "The Immune?"

Martin nodded, "She knew. Somehow she knew he was here!" he pulled off his fedora and ran a veiny hand across his sickly, bald head.

"Do you have evidence, or just a suspicion?"

"You have heard the rumors from the Mojave as well as I. Edward Sallow's withering branch faced the NCR and both lost to House had his Courier. House took the Chip, the Dam and used his upgraded Securitron army to weaken both sides and keep New Vegas for himself."

"It sounds like she accomplished her mission."

"New Vegas was to belong to our Father!" Martin roared angrily, his fedora crumpling in his fist, "She was to hold it in his name until we arrived."

"Every task has its unexpected obstacles, Mister Martin." Krupp motioned around the tent, reminding his brother of the battle they had just survived. "We do not know what happened in the Mojave. She says she lost her memory…"

"She has her Brother's love, and Septimus will take her as his whore. The Black Widow may have lost her memory but she has lost none of her skill!" Martin snarled.

"All the more reason for us to tread lightly."

"If I am right she may turn the Capital Wasteland Legion against us. Our Father wants influence in every theatre of battle. We have a job to do, Mister Krupp."

"You forget that there are two fresh legions on their way to Rivet City as we speak." Krupp reminded him, "with two fresh Centurions and a fresh perspective. We must fight one battle at a time, and now… our fight is with the Wanderer, yessss."

Martin took a long, deep breath. "You are wise as ever, my brother. And how shall we take the Wanderer from the Compound?"

Krupp smiled, "Oh, the usual strategy, I think, Mister Martin: Divide and conquer."

My apologies for the delay. For once it wasn't because the muse had dried up.

I've actually started writing my own original novel! Super excited about that!