The Definition of Failure

Four Days Later

The Legion, battered as they were, refused to depart the region even after the loss at the Dam and the remainder of the force picked up their camp and moved it to the top of the nearby Fortification Hill, a vast and open cliff overlooking the Dam and Lake Mead. The place was previously a small encampment for Legate Graham and a few of the other Elite commanders, but with the enormous losses, a consolidation atop the hill took place over the next few days.

Once all was set up, there was still plenty to do in the camp movement despite no new orders from the Legate who still hadn't left his tent. Although, once the meager force populated the vast cliff with so many vacant tents, nothing else remained, so the idle forces simply watched the enemy below. At any hour of the day, one would see long lines of battered legionaries sitting along the ridges staring down at the NCR forces still continuing their cleanup work atop the Dam during this time. As NCR continued to cart their dead or injured to faraway field hospitals and clean up the dead left behind by the Legion, the crippled NCR force saw those rows of crimson soldiers staring down at them during all hours of the day, and NCR's victory was even harder to celebrate when they saw that force sitting statue-like and merely watching them. Many NCR soldiers had known someone killed at the Dam or survived it themselves and rage filled their minds as they worked and felt those eyes above. Some of the more upset soldiers looked at those statues staring down at them and even went as far as firing a few blind shots up at them on occasion, screaming curses about what they did and why. Even when shots of anger pelted the cliffs behind the rows of masked soldiers, none of the silent figures moved or retaliated. All those crimson soldiers were focused more on the continuing repopulation of the Dam, reflecting on the battle, or staring out at the large city beyond the lake, wondering when they would join the next assault on the bridge to Nevada. Many concluded that it wouldn't be too long since Caesar was still on his way.

As so many of the surviving force sat atop those ridges along Fortification Hill, there was still plenty of activity going on in the camp proper. The Legion weren't really known to treat their injured beyond reason, but something happened during the battle of Hoover Dam that hadn't happened before. So many of those atop the ridge would have happily fought to the last man, but between the deaths of so many commanders, and the veterans' withdrawal being taken as a retreat, the chaos in the ranks was unlike any experienced in the Legion's near 30 years of constant wars. Either way, seeing the veterans withdrawal in such a beaten state created a strange new form of camaraderie that made all those soldiers get whoever was still kicking, out of the carnage. In an army where injured were only seen to after victory, and injured became part of the dead calculation in the face of defeat, the Legion atop the hill immediately after the Dam was still treating their surviving soldiers for days after the fight. The howl of masochistic screams echoed from atop the hill as countless bones were reset and bullet wounds were cauterized with blacksmith tools throughout the days and nights. A sound that only added to the terrible ambiance of the post-Hoover Dam NCR victory. One by one, new legionaries were born from the post-Hoover Dam defeat as freshly healed servants exited the camps to take new spots on the ridges overlooking the Dam. Each new soldier joined the ranks along the ridge and fresh rage emanated into the world around that crossing point while memories of that defeat and the screams of pleasurable pain seeped into the Mojave's history. All the while Caesar himself crept closer and closer.

On the fourth day after the defeat, Montano sat in the healing tent reserved for officers. His side was still healing from where a .308 had gone clean through the lower part of his right side. A tight wrapping and nearly six bags of healing powder had done their work to the point that his mind was no longer fogged by the potent tribal remedy, and the sealing of his wound had left him as one of the more mobile commanders despite still being down about a liter of blood. Montano sat there in the late morning with a number of veteran decani and a couple lower centurions, each one crushing the herbs to make more healing powder or bitter drink for themselves or their brothers still recovering in the other occupied cots. Montano was half engaged in the conversation amongst the men around him, his mind mostly focused on the concoctions he was mixing as his eyes continued to drift between the bowl in his hands, the cot where Falco was being prepped for bone resettlement, and the cot where Aleron laid still unconscious. Montano thought about the condition of Aleron and his mind went back to memories of the operation he saw done to his rival. Montano, as battered as he was, remained in a better state than Aleron who had to undergo the cauterization of two bullet wounds that missed his armor, the wrapping of four sites where bullets had punched his armor, and the resettlement of his leg that had been broken and dislocated in either one or several explosions throughout the battle. Montano's eyes lingered on his rival, still completely out from the previous day's surgery, and the man gave internal admiration to the man whose end he sought to oversee firsthand. Montano's attention was soon turned back to his immediate company.

One of the veteran decani had just said something about how he'd been there for one ordered withdrawal in the NM Campaign and Montano remembered the incident referred to while he remained silent about his own presence. The others in the circle acknowledged in remembrance or recalled mention of it and all of them agreed silently how that incident was completely unlike this most recent one. One of the Junior Centurions brought up some battle in Colorado and was about to explain Caesar's ability to pull victory from that hopeless situation when Montano's hearing was interrupted by the presence of a slave leaning down to him. It was Raquel, who quietly whispered to Montano how she was there to collect any spare medicines from this group. Montano silently acknowledged her and said to the group of recovering officers;

"Give the servant your spares."

The story stopped, each officer nodded at the veteran Montano, and Raquel walked quietly around the circle as each officer placed either one or two spare bags of healing powder or jars of bitter drink in the slave's basket. When Raquel stopped beside Montano again, he lifted his eyes from the bowl in his hands to the cot where Falco sat. He placed one of the little jars of bitter drink in Raquel's hand, and not the basket as he said;

"Give this to Decanus Falco immediately..."

He paused but caught her hand before she could depart, and his eyes drifted to Aleron who still laid there in his cot with his eyes closed and motionless. After studying his rival across the enclosure once more, his hand went to one of the bags of healing powder by his side. Still watching his rival, he tossed the bag into the basket and said, "Give this one to Centurion Aleron for when he wakes."

Raquel ever so quietly replied, "Of course, Master," and walked away as Montano went about his work continuing to crush the herbal mixture. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the slave approach Falco's cot and give one of the slave healers the bottle of bitter drink who raised it to Falco's mouth as the injured man's arm was ready for the crude procedure. Montano continued to quietly work on his mixture and the officers around him picked up where their prior conversation left off. Montano felt the eyes of Falco on his person, a telepathic thank you was given to him as the decanus downed the horrid numbing mixture of healing and Montano refused to meet or acknowledge it.

Montano continued listening to the circle of officers around him as he added some water to the bowl and saw Raquel deliver the healing powder to the table beside Aleron's cot. Just as Raquel left the corner of his eye, Falco's head began to bob, a sign the bitter drink was beginning to numb his senses and Montano began to tune back into the conversation when the talk was interrupted by a terrible cracking sound made by Falco's bone. Falco wasn't entirely numb, as evidenced by the short but terrible scream that briefly echoed throughout the enclosure but the slaves who reset Falco's arm continued their work and tested the limb's range of motion as more numbness set in and the officers resumed their chat.

The bright light of day briefly entered the tent, a sign that Raquel had left to go about some other camp chore, and Montano filled up another small jar with the content of his bowl before setting it aside. Montano sat on the cot idly for a moment before his eyes again went briefly to Aleron who adjusted weakly in his spot. The conscious duelist rolled one of the small tables over in front of himself and he continued to remain apart from all the others as his mind went from his time in the battle to finding Aleron and all the chaos in between. He wasn't thinking about much in particular when he unconsciously pulled a pen and paper from his satchel by the bed and placed them on the table in front of him. With one last look at Aleron and brief memory of what he had done for him and what Aleron had done for him, his mind went to the question of Caesar's arrival and all that might entail.

As the memories of Aleron's treatment the previous day again flashed through his mind, he thought about the terrible pain the man would be going through whenever he awoke, and wanted to ensure he was ready to either help lead the Legion to further glory or die to his blade. Either way, the future was something that remained uncertain in the minds of everyone in the healing tents across the camp or all those sitting along those cliffs overlooking the west. In the end, all those quiet conversations after the calm of defeat were in remembrance of prior victories, and no word from Legate Graham meant that Caesar would be the only one to make a future possible. Montano finally concluded that whatever was going to happen next would likely keep him away from his homestead in New Mexico for a lot longer as he wrote to the overseers of his distant patch of land.

"To: Clara, Slave Supervisor of Veteran Centurion Montano's Entrusted Lands

Your sister is well so do not bother me with inquiries about her status. Our force in the west has suffered disaster under the leadership of Legatus Graham, so we await the presence of Lord Caesar before advancing on the west further. It has only been 8 months since I was last at my homestead, and it will likely be many months more before I return. Continue to assist Decanus Erastus in all manners pertaining to the rearmament and supply of forces moving west to join us in the new war, and don't expect me or your sister's return for a minimum of another 6 months. Although that is subject to change depending on whether or not I am permitted respite. There have been no new directives from Legatus Graham, so all of this depends on what Lord Caesar will have us do in the aftermath of this disaster. It would appear that the west or this "NCR" is under the false impression that they have won, but with Lord Caesar's impending arrival, we will not have to wait long before the profligates will be taught another lesson about what defiance achieves. Our victory is inevitable despite any form of setbacks. Our Emperor is invincible.

True to Caesar: Your Master, Veteran Centurion Montano"

To Decanus Erastus, the official overseer of his lands, Montano wrote a standard letter nearly identical to the ones he'd sent countless other times over the years:

"To: Veteran Decanus Erastus of the Recuperatio Unitatis, Head Overseer of Veteran Centurion Montano's Entrusted Lands

You are still head of my lands in official terms only, for I still do not trust crippled servants of Caesar unable to perform on the field of war such as yourself. Continue to do all that my personal servant Clara requires of you for her words are the words I instruct her to say. Trouble yourself little with matters of the west but aid all who pass my entrusted lands going that direction. Our Emperor is invincible.

True to Caesar: Veteran Centurion Montano"

When Montano was done, he set his pen down and the officers around him were talking about something else. Falco appeared to have been put under in order to recover further and the two healers were working on someone else. Aleron remained motionless and as soon as he felt the presence behind him, he assumed that Raquel was awaiting to deliver his mail to one of the runners on standby. Montano put the letter in one of his pre made envelopes already addressed to his lands, sealed it, and held it over his head for her to take. He felt the letter leave his hands as he pushed the table back to where it was previously and was momentarily puzzled by the fact she hadn't immediately departed. Just before turning to her to ask the reason for delay, her voice softly entered his ears so as to not interrupt the conversation amongst the officers. Raquel told Montano;

"Master Montano, the Praetorian named Lucius wishes to speak to you."

He met her eyes and immediately reached into his satchel to don his mask as the last syllable left her lips. Upon placing the mask over his helmetless head, he instantly stood to his feet wincing slightly at the pain in his side, and gestured to the spot on his cot surrounded by sacks of herbs for the creation of standard healing items.

With the simple words, "Continue to provide use," she nodded and took his spot to begin mixing healing items while the commanders continued talking amongst themselves and Montano departed the healing enclosure.

Entering into the bright world around the ghost camp atop Fortification Hill, he stepped forward and brushed past "Gabriella" Aleron's slave who appeared to be returning to her masters' side after some unknown chore within the camp. Montano heard the apology for the near collision but ignored it as he went forward, his mind elsewhere. The centurion passed by a number of recently recovered soldiers on their way to join their brothers along the populated ridge and proceeded further into the camp. Up a small hill he went, noticing the number of vacant tents from behind the safety of his custom-made and battle-hardened mask. The size of the camp atop that enormous open hill could've housed a couple cohorts, but the place would've still been nearly desolate even if all the camp's inhabitants weren't sitting along those ridges. Up the sandy hills Montano went to the top where a lone tent bearing Caesar's sigil sat on the highest point. Across the little open stretch, Montano approached the closed tent of his legate before changing his course to the campfire beside it where about a dozen praetorians sat.

All the praetorians looked up one by one at the recovering centurion's approach, and he stopped right before the group, feeling all their eyes upon him from behind their signature dark shades. Montano stood there when he was close enough and scanned their faces looking for Lucius, a rather elderly face by Legion standards. When Montano looked over the last praetorian and couldn't find his man but one of the nameless praetorians said;

"Ave, Centurion. What is your cause for approach?"

All of them refused to stand, and many looked back at the dying fire after that question was asked. It almost appeared as though the guards of Caesar and his legate were experiencing a boredom or uselessness none of them had ever encountered before. Immediately, Montano replied to the question with a salute as he said, "Ave Praetorians, I received word that your senior, Lucius has requested my audience."

The one who asked the question made a gesture with his eyes that wasn't seen behind those shades, and then gave a soft motion with his head before looking back down at the dying fire. Montano saw this signal and turned around to see a legionary with a praetorian's sash approaching from back the way he came and Montano left the gaggle of defeated praetorians. The Praetorian Lucius stopped when he was distant from the group and motioned for Montano to step closer to himself apparently so that there would be more privacy. When Montano was within arm's reach of the praetorian, Lucius removed his dark sunglasses and Montano studied the darkened face of Lucius, his black eyes beneath a head of combed dark gray hair said the same thing that every other set of Legion eyes atop that hill said, but with an added something else. The eyes of Lucius said he saw the defeat at the Dam firsthand, but that something else said: I was at Boulder City too.

Lucius looked back at the closed entrance to the Legate's distant tent once more before he met the eyes of Montano behind the chipped steel mask. Both men wordlessly gave their salutes to one another without their "Hails" and contrary to his summons, Montano began first by asking;

"Legatus Graham still hasn't left his domicile, has he?"

Without looking back at that entrance, Lucius the Praetorian said, "I'm afraid not. Something awful has come over the Legate and he won't even see his guard or take messages from Lord Caesar..."

At that, both remained silent for a long time, letting the words sink in after being spoken into reality for the first time since the battle. Montano looked deeper into the deadened eyes of the most senior man in the Praetorian Guard. Finally, Montano asked in a half-dead way, "You were in Boulder City as well, weren't you?..."

Lucius nodded his head slightly, continuing to meet the centurion's eyes behind the mask before Montano asked plainly, "... What happened out there? Who ordered the withdrawal? Who gave the horn call, and why?"

Lucius again remained silent momentarily after Montano was done before shaking his head and looking distantly as he said, "I do not know. I do not know anything about what happened. Between the trap we walked into and the cascade of humiliation after, there was no reason we should have lost the day or experienced what we did. All I know is that we were acting under orders the whole time, and whether or not the call to return was a miscommunication or the result of a false communication, none of that mattered after our Legatus refused to correct the situation-"

Montano interrupted his peer in the Guard nearly bursting with anticipation for explanation of those events, "- Why did we not regroup then? Take up defensive positions or someth-"

Lucius demanded Montano's calm with a look of the eyes, "- I don't know Centurion Montano. I too understand that there was at least something that could have been done to at least mitigate the kind of defeat we received..." Lucius paused and both remained silent for a long time thinking about what Could have been done to prevent the situation or at least pull some kind of small victory from such an overwhelming failure. Finally, both came to the same conclusion as Lucius added, "... What's done is done, and there are still no new orders for now. Simple as that."

Centurion Montano felt the urge to gag as even more memories of the defeat flashed through his mind following that terrible admittance "What's done is done." Knowing that Lucius was the only Praetorian guardsman who'd been permitted to see Legate Graham since the battle, Montano asked Lucius in nearly a demand;

"Why are we sitting here, Lucius?... We should at least be fortifying our position atop this hill or leading probing raids across the river? Despite our current numbers, despite what happened, the force below is a broken shell of what we fought four days ago. The reason they haven't been picking off our forces on the ridge is because they are afraid of provoking another assault that they know they'd lose."

When Montano was done, Lucius only said, "I understand that Centurion, but that is still not my call. It's the Legate's, and Legate Graham has still said nothing..."

Lucius could see the terrible rage in Montano's eyes, a roaring inferno that burned despite the extinguishing water of hopelessness that continued to pour on it. The fire was the same one Lucius felt, but the Legate was still in charge, with the only thing keeping that fire burning was the fact that Caesar was arriving shortly. This thought reminded him of the reason for approaching Montano in the first place. Both men exchanged internal agreements about the situation before Lucius spoke the saving news to the commander;

"There is nothing to do at this moment. If it quells your anticipation, just know that Lord Caesar has given no word in reply about the state of Legate Graham as well. Because of this, I have reason to believe that Lord Caesar wishes to oversee the correction of this situation firsthand..."

Both men shook their heads in silent acceptance of defeat before the Guardsman finally concluded plainly, "In the end, none of this will matter. Lord Caesar will be here in a few hours. Since you are the most senior commander still standing and since Legate Graham ignored the news of Lord Caesar's impending arrival, I'm having you lead the arrival formation. Are you recovered enough to accept such a role?..."

Lucius took Montano's answer from the burning look in Montano's eyes despite the silence between them. After another lasting silence, the two peers exchanged another nod of defeat's acceptance, and the two departed one anothers' company without another word to be say. Both knowing that Caesar's own arrival will turn the situation around.

Sometime After Midday

Montano stood in his full equipment and armor at the head of the massed formation atop the flat hill. As the wind blew softly and the sun beat down overhead, the only real sound was the distant force filing up the winding paths to the flatest part of the camp on Fortification Hill where all the remnants of the battle stood. Montano felt the weight of his helmet atop his head and breathed heavily through the steel mask wishing that the plume atop his helmet wasn't as tattered and burnt as it was. The gross and battered state of his apparel had been a symbol of success on countless other campaigns throughout Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado, but this time felt different. His armor was not the symbol of triumph after enormous struggle, his armor this time was the symbol of defeat after tremendous disorganized chaos. Montano watched the figures at the head of the distant formation show several large banners, behind the central figure, and Montano knew the person at the head was Lord Caesar himself. The aging commander's heart began to race at the prospect of possibly being spoken to by Lord Caesar, and his mind scrambled in nervous anticipation about what he would be asked and how he would respond. Considering the idea of speaking words to the master he served with all his being for nearly two decades, one would never have known how he was truly feeling beneath all that armor and that expressionless steel face resting on his own.

The Centurion's internal panic and foreign sense of nervousness cooled slightly when he looked across the formation atop Fortification Hill. Montano stood before the rocky and sandy trail leading up to the Legate's tent and surveyed the forces on the level stretch in front. While the banners of Caesar's staff column inched closer and closer, Montano saw the roughly four centuries worth of legionaries he was in acting command of. Montano remembered seeing the force assembled before dawn on the day of the battle and how incredible it looked. Montano remembered seeing the 3 Cohort force that morning before the dawn broke over the east, nearly 1,700 soldiers all ready to pour over the Dam and secure the bridgehead to a land that would soon be Caesar's. The army before him this day was reduced to something a little less than 400 while there were now only a dozen or so remaining in the healing enclosures across the camp. Montano felt utterly humiliated to be in charge of a force that was in such a state and still couldn't accept the title of victor.

Montano continued to survey the battered force that didn't even have enough surviving officers to command it, and turned his head slightly to look at the staff behind him. Falco, his senior was still out, and he couldn't recognize any of the officers or vexillarii in the makeshift staff behind him. His eyes briefly caught sight of the junior centurion behind him between two standard bearers and before his gaze met the Praetorian Lucius standing with the others further up the hill, Montano briefly wished his rival was there for this occasion. Aleron was still out cold, and Montano couldn't figure out if his desire for Aleron's presence was so he could boast about his selection to lead this formation, our out of some strange comfort at the idea of having a familiar face at his backing. When Montano finally turned his attention to the arriving party, Lord Caesar had just entered through the hastily constructed camp entry posts and Montano could better detail the Lord he served.

Lord Caesar was too far to truly detail, but he was close enough for Montano to definitely recognize the dictator. Montano had seen his lord so many times over his years of servitude, and had even heard him speak many times, but just never to himself. Because he served under Caesar in battles across Arizona, during his time in the Hidebark Campaign, several times in New Mexico, and countless times during Colorado, Montano had seen the transformation of Lord Caesar. Montano thought back to the first time he saw the dictator firsthand, back in 2257. He was a brand new Prime Decanus who'd served admirably as a recruit and was put under the lord's leadership for the fall of the Arizona tribe of "Who even remembered such an insignificant name." Montano thought of the middle aged man standing atop the rock beneath a smoke blackened sky, shouting inspiring words to his prime wave over the roar of gunfire before ordering the charge.

As the dictator approached the center of the formation, Montano's mind flashed forward to the most recent time he'd seen his lord and how he was so different from the man he first saw all those years ago. The transformation was slow and made sense over all the occasions he'd seen Lord Caesar over the years, but even the most recent time was different from the man who approached him this day. Montano remembered the whitened grey head of Lord Caesar reprimanding some centurions for underperforming in an assault on a BOS position in the Colorado wilderness and recalled the wrath of Mars carrying in the wind between the trees. The man, though clearly showing his age at the time, still spoke with the vigor and conviction of that leader he saw all those years ago. Just before Montano carried out his instruction for this assembly after such a defeat, Montano contrasted all the memories of Lord Caesar with the man who steadily approached him. Lord Caesar wore the long crimson and black lined tunic with the black fur fringed boots of a praetorian, and the signature black wolf pelt hung over his shoulders, clasped in place by a bright golden bull ornament. Caesar got closer and Montano's eyes met his face, showing a face with many lines of war and triumph beneath a completely shaved or hairless head. Even though the dictator was more and more different each time Montano saw him, Montano still felt the same exact feeling he felt whenever he was close enough to see him. As soon as Montano felt the full impact of the forceful wave his dictator emanated, the feeling said to Montano and everyone else what words never needed to: I Am Caesar. I AM EMPEROR.

The silent wave sent shivers through his body and instantly Montano screamed, "LEGIO! PRAESENS... ARMA!"

Immediately, and all in unison, all 400 soldiers of the Legate's surviving force drew their blades and held them towards the sky at 45-degree angles above their heads. Montano did the same and met the distant eyes of Lord Caesar. This was the first time Caesar had ever looked at Montano directly, and the feeling was unpleasant. Montano didn't even think he had a soul, but he could feel it burning away as he looked into the dictator's eyes. The sensation was a puzzling one that made Montano want to either vomit, drop to his knees and bow, or find the nearest person to slaughter. Montano didn't experience his cranial explosion for long because Caesar lifted his eyes to the man above and behind him. Lucius became the next target of Caesar's gaze, but he accepted it better probably because he was more used to direct interaction with Caesar, and despite remaining statue-like in formation salute, Montano recovered internally as Lord Caesar raised his right hand for the force behind him to stop. Once the formation had stopped in place, Lord Caesar continued to meet the eyes of Lucius before placing his fist over his heart. On cue, Montano shouted;

"LEGIO! ORDO... ARMA!"

All blades across the formation, including Montano's were returned to their sheaths in a quarter of a second in one single sound. Montano continued to watch the dictator as Caesar's eyes remained on Lucius. A telepathic conversation between the two was still underway, a conversation that Montano was not permitted to overhear, when finally, after a moment of silence, Lord Caesar raised his left arm out with his index finger extended. Montano was instructed what to do by the simple gesture and acted automatically, carrying the staff off to the side of the formation to wait in place. There, the staff waited as Lord Caesar continued across the open space between the ranks accompanied only by three of the large praetorian staff and towards Lucius. The twelve praetorians behind Lucius made their way off the side and Lord Caesar proceeded up the hill with Lucius by his side until the Emperor and his select entourage disappeared over the flat ridge toward the Legate's closed tent. After about five minutes, Lucius came back down the hill by himself and approached Montano with no other orders than to dismiss the formation and ensure the force is ready for whatever is next... There was no word as to what "next" might be.

Lord Caesar ordered the three praetorians who accompanied him to wait outside the tent before pushing open the flap and entering Legate Graham's tent. Edward had always known that Joshua was something of a minimalist, but the surroundings inside the domicile were even more lacking than usual. Edward took note of the scarce surroundings and took special note of the two packed and sealed dufflebags sitting beside the cot before he saw the man sitting on the cot. Joshua hadn't even looked up at Edward's arrival, and was flipping through an old brochure of the Hoover Dam from back when it was a tourist attraction. Edward took in the surroundings once more and steadily approached his partner of 30 years who was still ignoring his arrival. Edward continued to look at Joshua as he moved a small fold out chair to a place under him before taking a seat. Edward continued to stare at Joshua's face, sitting no more than four feet directly in front of the distracted Legate. After several silent moments, Joshua closed the brochure and a few of the dried out pages fell to the ground as he placed it by his side. When Joshua finally met the eyes of Edward, both men's faces were completely devoid of emotion when Edward asked his friend;

"What happened at the Dam?"

"I lost," replied Joshua, still without any form of remorse or appeal.

The dictator's face twisted to one of slight confusion, choosing to accept the simple reply for the moment as he inquired, "Have you killed the commanders who ran?"

Completely unfazed, Joshua gave another plain response, "No. I called them back. It's my fault we lost."

Edward raised his eyebrows in surprise at the response, "You did? And why did you do that? Was there some unforeseen threat your forward line encountered?"

"No, I didn't officially call them back. There was a lot of confusion that day. I can't say I know exactly what happened myself," Joshua said, as if his words held no contradiction to what he previously said."

As Edward pieced together what Joshua told him with the Praetorians' reports, he was at something of a loss for words about what exactly was happening. Caesar thought back to the battered force he saw on the way in and about the complete lack of fortification. He thought back to reports he'd received since the battle about the force sitting along the ridges and about the idleness after the resettlement of the camp. As all these thoughts circled in Edward's mind, he finally asked his Legate, "What have you done to remedy this situation?"

Edward's eyes went back to the packed duffle bags beside the cot as he somehow expected the next word out of Joshua's mouth.

"Nothing." Joshua said plainly as he continued to meet the face of Edward without any new emotion. This expected answer corroborated with the reports he heard on the march up, but hearing it directly made his face grow a sinister smile before any anger could take root.

Edward's smile rapidly began to fade as he continued to look into the eyes of Joshua. "Why is that?" asked the dictator, with rage beginning to simmer, but also curious about what has come over his second.

Joshua looked unflinching from Edward's face before saying straightly, "Because I'm done."

Not quite expecting that, Edward was momentarily confused before the rage in his veins began to boil at a quicker rate. Still, the confusing words added new question as to what exactly Joshua was talking about. Edward knew deep inside but couldn't ask about it, so he simply stated "No you're not."

"Yes. I am," was Joshua's immediate response that caused a tornado of perplexion in Edward's mind.

Despite the confusion and rage increasing in Edward's mind, he immediately sneered, "Why?" unsure how exactly to handle such words from someone he so trusted.

Joshua said again without wavering, "Because I'm done serving you."

That was not an answer? Thought Edward as his mind's ambitions of glory were seemingly insurmountable by this unapologetic wall of plain defiance. As Edward grappled with himself, containing his rage, he still couldn't figure out how to handle what was happening with his second. All this confusion made him ask offhandedly, "Where would you go?"

Joshua looked straight through Edward before saying again as if it were nothing, "Likely Utah-"

Immediately Edward cut him off by standing in an instant, and batting the chair half way across the tent despite his age. Edward let out a cackle, "Ha! Think they'll take you back after all you've done!? You and I both know you're well known in Utah! Word of you is even at the coast! Way out in my home! There's no just walking away from me or this."

Joshua paid little mind to the sudden explosion of Edward's temper or the words he said. Joshua remained on the cot, calmly looking up at his friend who'd aged much more terribly than he did. As the shoulders of Edward continued to heave up and down, Joshua continued to meet the eyes of Edward as he replied, "I don't care. I'll try, or I'll wander. Either way, I'm done."

Despite the throbbing in the vein on Edward's forehead and words that nearly made him shoot Joshua in the head right there, Edward continued to lord over Joshua softly breathing but internally scrambling. Edward's mind was too busy trying to figure out how to handle the gross act of defiance when his spirit as dictator acted for him;

"You seriously think you can just serve me for nearly three decades, lose me the most pivotal battle we've had, and then just walk away!?"

At that, Joshua instantly rose to his feet, his calm eyes now burning like they normally did over the years. Something defiant yet loyal was battling itself in Joshua's mind as he met the words of Edward dripping with blood, "No, I don't think you'll let me, being the man you are. Despite all we've done, you're still just Edward. A man who begged me to save you and Bill because you were so afraid to die in Blackfoot captivity."

Despite the ferocious nature of these words, they never went above an inside voice. However, these words from Joshua only poured gasoline on the already scorching flame in Edward's mind. Edward took this in and barked in a terrible way that cut straight through to the source of Joshua's re-surfacing spirit, "As opposed to you!? A man who was ready to sit there and die because your little messiah accepted his end?..." Silence ensued as Edward noticed his words create an even bigger inferno in Joshua's being. When Edward noticed this effect on Joshua, he added insidiously, "... If your faith was based on any truth, He could have prevented his end with His power and actually risen above the nations of the earth!"

Joshua felt the intended effect of these buttons Edward was intentionally pushing. Joshua had been such a good lapdog, Caesar thought as he reveled in the work he'd done through provocation. Suddenly, the return to Edward's side vanished when the fire in Graham's eyes died, not in a way that signified his defeat. The fire had kept Joshua in a place of defeat for the past 30 years at Caesar's side, Edward knew this, and the extinguishing of that flame sent panic through Edward as he realized he was facing the second most catastrophic defeat in Legion history. Joshua took his first true victory after 30 years of defeat when he sat back down on the cot and replied to Edward;

"As knowledgable as you are, I believe you missed the point of the message: "Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. "All this I will give you," he said, "if you will bow down and worship me..."

Feeling yet another blow of defeat, Edward knew exactly what Joshua was referring to and mocked him, "'Away from me, etc, etc... For it is written, etc...' So you think I'm the devil?"

Joshua stared even deeper into the eyes of Edward, the embers reemerging slightly in the black as he answered him, "No, I know you are. I've just bowed to you for far too long and I think I'm done."

The reversion back to the start hit Edward even harder than the first time. Edward could no longer mock or amuse himself with this conversation or the abject, unapologetic defiance. The boiling rage in Edward's veins could almost be clearly seen under his skin as he said, "So you LOST me this opportunity because of some nonsensical return to-"

The fire had completely died in Joshua's eyes again, but he cut Edward off with a new type of untethered rage. A rage that did not need the controlling fire that he lived with for so long. Joshua spat, "I wanted to win that battle more than you did! But unlike you, I have the sense to see that this was a long, long time coming! If you want to continue onward, I won't stop you, but I won't play a part going forward!"

Caesar was left stunned at this confession and outright refusal to carry onward, but he was even more stunned by the end of that driving inferno within his second that led to countless atrocities. The situation was more than overwhelming for Edward. Both men had fought many times over the years about issues of faith, philosophy, direction, tactics, and countless other things, but this time was far different than any of the other times. Caesar watched the fire in his most trusted friend's eyes completely die out in complete resignation to something that he knew he could no longer take advantage of. Edward looked upon Joshua and knew for the first time that his friend of so many years was actually dead the whole time. The man he was speaking to might as well have been a corpse, for it was easy to make a corpse do what you want if you make it, but Edward had learned that this one would never be able to perform on its own, and he was tired of having to make it. Another insidious smile crept across Edward's face as he finally replied;

"You're right, you won't play a part going forward, but not because you're walking away from me or this..."

For another thirty minutes, the whole camp seemed able to hear the muffled shouting from inside the Legate's tent atop the hill. The whole camp continued to go about their work of preparing to either fortify the hill or move out as the units Caesar brought up continued to assist in this effort. Caesar apparently didn't expect the losses to be so severe on the way up from lower Arizona so the force wasn't as sizable as the one Montano was expecting. Though the combined force was certainly enough to take the Dam now since the NCR below still seemed largely worn down and depleted from what they encountered four days prior. Either way, many expected Caesar to lead the force down to the Dam as soon as he was done in the tent, but the longer that shouting went on inside, the more the force wondered about the future.

The sun was finally beginning to set and though it wasn't said directly, every legionary atop Fortification Hill knew that the second battle for the Dam would not be happening soon when the shouting stopped. Almost all eyes in the camp turned to the top of the hill when Graham was escorted out of his own tent in chains between two praetorians. Immediately following came Lord Caesar who screamed an endless stream of swear words from atop the rock while Graham was dragged further down the hill. All eyes turned to Lord Caesar and though none of the soldiers received orders from his audible words, all of them received the telepathic orders to simultaneously dig in and prepare for march.

Aleron awoke to the shouts of Caesar, winced at the pain in his damaged body, and the new directive entered his mind as he noticed the healing powder on the end table.

A/N: This chapter would have been out sooner but I had to leave the library I write at early last Saturday in order to avoid having to harm a probable meth head... Don't ask. It probably wasn't as dramatic as it sounds, but it was still irritating. Hope you all enjoyed my take on this largely vague section of the lore : )