Montano Pt III
Mid March 2281
Montano sat in the longhouse and primary domicile of himself and his newest Veteran Decanus, Dead Sea. Montano had been particularly proud of the rather unknown officer and admired his leadership during the taking of the town enough to keep him as the acting head of the garrison at Nelson. The centurion thought back to the night they took the town almost two months back and how easy of a win that was. Montano truly hoped that Lord Caesar would have approved the order to take the town back when he first sent the action request in late September of 2280, but that was irrelevant given the ultimate victory and the new pressure they were able to put on the NCR.
As Montano thought, part of him still wished the taking of Nelson was more immediate, as the nearly four months of waiting only allowed for the NCR to finalize its negotiation for Nelson's absorption into the NCR. With that came a whole company of NCR soldiers taking up residence in the town and the time between NCR's fortification at Nelson also allowed them to fortify a new position north of the town. This position north of Nelson had become a profligate camp called "Camp Hope" and was currently acting as the profligates' new frontline since the fall of Nelson. Although, it has come to Montano's attention that the NCR camp is now being called Camp Forlorn Hope, and this desperate name was all thanks to himself and Dead Sea the unofficial commander of Nelson's garrison. So, as unfortunate as it was for NCR to have troops in the town proper, the presence of profligate forces only created even more worthiness for Dead Sea's raise to veteran. Contrary to that notion, Montano thought again how the town fell almost without resistance. Despite a whole platoon of NCR forces watching over the town that night, Dead Sea led the town to its doom as if there was nobody watching over the place at all. This meager resistance and rapid conquest of an NCR occupied township only solidified the weakness of NCR soldiers into the minds of Legion soldiers even more.
And so, after the example was made that next morning, Montano had Dead Sea carry out the town's destruction in the way Dead Sea saw fit, and Montano saw his own reflection in the man as his legionaries forced the town's residents off the cliffs into the Colorado. Fully within sight of the surviving NCR forces at their meager outpost north of town, the battered profligates could only watch as the people they thought they were protecting got killed mercilessly for their NCR allegiance.
Since that night, Nelson had become the Legion's own newest front. The rest of the terror forces would continue to operate in and around Cottonwood Cove, keeping pressure on Searchlight and the ranger stations while also destroying NCR supply trains and reinforcements across the southern Mojave. At the same time, Montano was ordered to hold Nelson, having Dead Sea remain the acting commander while Montano himself saw to the expansion of the Terror's raiding operations into new areas across the south. Although the town of Novac stood several miles west and was bolstered by an NCR garrison at a sun power station called "Helios One" the highways accessed through the new outpost at Nelson saw to even more raiding opportunities. Whoever survived the roads around Searchlight found themselves becoming victims of new Legion raids around the Novac territory, all thanks to the new Legion position at Nelson.
Yes, the taking of Nelson was an enormous opportunity for the Legion, but it eventually became very clear that between the enemy just north of their position and the other ranger stations in the Novac/Nelson region that holding this position was the highest priority. Luckily for Montano, it wasn't only the natural mountains and cliff fortifications around the Nelson region that helped him keep the town. It was also thanks to Lord Caesar himself who saw the taking of Nelson as yet another means of crushing the NCR's morale into a bloody pulp.
Montano considered taking Forlorn Hope the day following his successful assault on Nelson, but his approval to launch the initial attack came with the additional order to hold his ground. As pathetic as the profligate forces around Forlorn Hope were in the immediate aftermath, the position was a really good one, and even taking that meager force would come with its own superfluous casualties that would leave Nelson almost completely open to a few highly skilled ranger teams from a nearby ranger station. No, that had to wait, and as soon as Caesar's reinforcements arrived at Nelson, so did the NCR's. Montano watched as another century joined his own in the town's center before his attention was immediately turned to the north. There, beyond the little paths he watched Nelson's protectors flee through a few nights prior, Montano saw the profligate reinforcements trickle out of an opening in the western valley, into the wide wash separating Nelson and Hope, then up the steep winding dirt path up to the NCR's new position atop the northern cliffs.
As Camp Forlorn Hope became more and more populated by NCR reinforcements, Montano called off all raid plans to try to hold the town if necessary. It wasn't much later that Montano and the forces occupying Nelson received intel from frumantarii agents in the NCR army that current orders for all soldiers coming to Camp Hope were to hold the place at all costs. Upon learning that NCR was on the defensive from their new position, Lord Caesar knew he had to keep it that way, and so Montano received his new orders:
Montano/Dead Sea, were to hold Nelson, and continue the campaign of raiding and Terror in the new region while Lord Caesar sought to make some use of the countless new soldiers he brought from the east. Less than a week after Nelson fell, the place became a staging ground for Legion forces to keep the pressure on Camp Forlorn Hope while Montano continued the raid campaign. This was a most agreeable situation at first, but over the weeks since, Montano had seen many centuries of the Legion take lodging at Nelson only to disappear in their subsequent assault on the NCR lines at Forlorn Hope. Montano had watched this diminishment of Legion forces, and although he wasn't worried about the loss of manpower, he was slightly troubled by their inability to seize any true victories. He held nothing but admiration for all those who completed their goal of dying for Caesar in the chaos of battle, but aside from the message about Legion resolve, Montano continued to feel troubled by the lack of experience obtained by these waves of cannon fodder. Even when Montano employed similar tactics for recruits amongst the terror forces, there had usually been at least some survivors and some successes that gave these newer soldiers the experience needed.
At last, nearly two months had passed since the fall of Nelson, and Montano had his Colorado raiders, his veterans, his entire force either expertly suppressing the western highways or holding the town. Spending most of his days roaming the grounds of Nelson, Montano considered how his role in the terror was diminishing. It wasn't his role as a commander that he felt was diminishing, it was mostly his role as a blood covered servant of Caesar that he felt was diminishing.
As of late, Montano more and more felt that he was ever so subtly becoming the kind of commander that he used to mock his rival for. Sure, Montano was present on countless raids since moving to the southern Mojave, but he had scarcely taken on any other role than commander at the rear in almost seven months. Since leading the probing assault on Camp Searchlight and acting as observer during the taking of Nelson, Montano's time in actual battle had been almost nonexistent. All the while, he'd been watching century after century storm the line of guns atop Forlorn Hope, watching their glorious demise, and receiving word of victory after victory in his force's raiding work across the region. At this time, and after so little part in the continuing wave of pressure and victories, the NCR position at Camp Forlorn Hope sat mocking him less than two miles from his residence in Nelson.
So, as Montano sat in the primary longhouse in the center of Nelson, he continued to think about what he wanted to do until the entryway finally opened. Montano lifted his eyes from the little footlocker beneath his legs and watched Dead Sea enter accompanied by Falco with the rest of the staff, as well as Centurion Tubero with his officers. The new arrivals hailed Centurion Montano, and he did likewise as he gestured for all of them to take their seats in the little circle between the stacked bunks.
When all were situated, Centurion Tubero asked Montano, "Centurion Montano, might I request the reason for your summons?"
Everyone else remained silent as Montano replied instantly, "I only asked you for an audience so that I may inquire about your standing directive and the strength of those forces under your charge..."
Centurion Tubero wasn't really used to giving such information to a centurion who wasn't technically part of his Cohort, but Tubero knew who Montano was and knew of his veterancy, so Tubero answered, "I am under the standing directive to lead my century of recruits and primes into the profligates' frontline tomorrow evening in hopes that the death of myself and my men will leave a lasting impact on the diminishing resolve of the profligates, Centurion Montano..."
Montano let the response hang for a brief moment until he said out loud to himself, "Not planning for any sort of battlefield victory?..." The silence lingered while Montano studied Centurion Tubero for a while longer. Montano hadn't ever heard of Centurion Tubero, not in the Meat Grinder, not in the auxilia campaigns, and not even at the Dam. Montano saw the lack of scars on Tubero's face and limbs, and though there were indeed a few, there weren't enough to show just how experienced this commander of a recruit century full of cannon fodder may have actually been. The duelist was about to ask the commander about his record of battlefield experience or which fronts created his position of leadership when he figured he could learn all he needed to by asking Centurion Tubero plainly;
"... Might I ask you what you plan on wearing into battle tomorrow night, Centurion Tubero?"
There was a brief pause as neither the centurion or anyone else in Tubero's staff knew what that question even meant. After a moment, Tubero gestured to his pristine and polished centurion garb and armor dotted with trinkets and trophies from primitive conquests. As Tubero did this, and raised his finger to the shining helmet with that wide plume of red, he said to Montano, "... I intend to lead my forces into battle adorned in all the accouterments indicative of my station..."
Another silence ensued after that as an amused grin crept across Montano's face. Although the faces of Dead Sea, Falco, and the soldiers who'd been in the Terror were covered, Montano felt their own amusement at the new centurion's words while Tubero and his staff remained silent. Montano finally said;
"... Centurion Tubero here has clearly not battled the profligates of NCR for long..." Before Tubero could inquire about Montano's words, Montano added plainly, "... Change your apparel, Centurion Tubero. You are to dress as I am dressed for your battle tomorrow night."
Montano motioned over himself as Centurion Tubero looked over the Veteran Commander. Tubero had been wondering why Montano was wearing the armor of a lowly prime legionary decanus since he stepped into the room, but the order from Montano made Tubero inquire simply, "My Primus, I shall do as you suggest, but must inquire as to the reason for a demotion of my battle dress?"
The grin on Montano's face grew only a bit wider as he said to the officer, "You must not have been at the Dam Centurion Tubero..." When this didn't satisfy Tubero's inquiry, Montano explained, "The enemy to the north inhabits a supremely dug-in position. Atop the cliff and punctuating the flanks of their line of disorganized conscripts lay observation towers. These towers are inhabited by teams of ranger snipers who excel at what they do..."
Again, this did not seem to answer Tubero's question. Montano saw this and concluded for his ignorant colleague, "... If you march into battle wearing the armor befitting a centurion of the Legion, you'll be killed before you can order the charge, let alone make it across the shrub valley or 'no-man's land'."
Centurion Tubero sat there and considered this for a moment, finally, the new commander took these words of advice for what they were when they came from an officer as experienced as Montano. The pause in contemplation ended when Tubero replied, "... Your advice is most appreciated, my Primus, and I shall do as you require before tomorrow evening..." Then another question came to him and he added, "But how shall my soldiers identify me in the heat of battle?"
Montano could tell how inexperienced this commander was, especially since he required an answer to the new question. "Your command voice will act as its own indication of your title when it's heard by the legionaries of your century..."
Montano didn't think he'd need to answer that question since every centurion knew how in-tune their men were to the commands issued by voice alone. Not understanding why a centurion needed to remove his visual identifiers on this front was one thing, but not knowing the power of your own voice as a centurion was another. Montano took one more long look at the new commander and pieced together an assumed backstory for him: Centurion Tubero was placed as the garrison commander of a small town like Shiprock or Gallup for a long time after serving adequately enough to make veteran decanus or junior centurion sometime after a long service in perhaps the New Mexico Campaign. It had probably been years, maybe even a decade since the centurion led forces in battle, spending most of his service to Caesar overseeing some small township or running administrative work for someone like a regional praetor. It wasn't until the town he oversaw was selected for absorption that Centurion Tubero was removed from his position, handed control of a century made of mostly recruits and less experienced primes that Caesar rounded him up to bolster the Mojave Front. Though an officer like Tubero still held all the dedication of an officer befitting the rank, and though he was still more than willing to die in an assault on the profligates at Forlorn Hope, the brief interaction showed Montano that all that command ability was more than a little bit dusty...
"No wonder all these centuries marched straight into the slaughter" thought Montano as he recalled the many centuries that passed through Nelson in recent weeks.
Each one of those commanders Caesar brought from the east were sent through Nelson to see their long overdue deaths after their old roles were rendered obsolete by the new nature of this front. As glorious as death for Caesar was on the field of battle, and as much of a victory as that was in its own way, Montano knew right there that something more tangible could come from an assault on Forlorn Hope if only the commander was a little more experienced. Montano had battled this idea in his head for some weeks now, but this short meeting with Centurion Tubero was the only sign Montano needed that it was time to act.
At last, the silence had gone on long enough and Montano met the eyes of Tubero one more time as he said, "... Given your inexperience battling the kind of enemy we face on this front. I'll ask that I personally join your assault on Forlorn Hope tomorrow night..."
Again, there was a brief pause after that. Dead Sea remained statue-like, his mind's contents indecipherable, while Montano felt the unease in Falco's still position. Montano knew that Falco was unnerved by Montano's plans, having been acquainted with them by time at his Centurion's side. Still, Falco had no idea that Montano would finally act on those ideas until he heard them spoken to Centurion Tubero. Montano felt all of these misgivings from his second, but ignored them as he studied the face of Centurion Tubero. Finally, Centurion Tubero said;
"It would be above my position to decline the opportunity requested by a Centurion of such high renown... I would happily accept Centurion Montano's aid in my assault on Forlorn Hope provided the role does not interfere with his current directives?"
"My oversight tomorrow night would do no such thing," said Montano immediately.
"Then it is agreed. I will be honored to slaughter the profligates by your side, Centurion Montano..."
Montano and Centurion Tubero stood and saluted one another; the agreement was set while Montano felt an increasing discomfort emanate from the sitting statue of Decanus Falco. After that, Montano ran over a few things with Tubero outlining the layout of the NCR position, what to expect, when to advance, etc, but with the addition of a few other details Montano had in mind for the day that he lead Forlorn Hope's fall. When the short briefing was done, Centurion Tubero departed, taking his staff with him, and Montano turned to his own staff officers saying how he's leaving the rest of the century in Nelson under the command of Dead Sea tomorrow evening. Montano would be taking only his staff along for Tubero's assault tomorrow, and when the short little update to the staff was relayed, he dismissed them to carry out their last directives of the evening. As the staff departed, Montano could feel the uneasiness in Falco begin to fade when he saw Falco still hesitate in his departure. Just as Falco was about to exit through the longhouse entryway, Montano said flatly;
"Decanus Falco, halt."
Falco halted and turned around to face his centurion. When Falco had turned, Montano wordlessly gestured for Falco to take his seat again and looked to Dead Sea who stood by in the room. Montano softly ordered Dead Sea to depart as well and the new Veteran Decanus immediately did so as Falco sat himself back in his spot. When Dead Sea was gone, the door shut and Montano poured a bottle of water into his canteen as he said to his staff Senior;
"Speak what's troubling you, Decanus Falco."
Falco hesitated, not out of fear, but out of not being ordered to speak his inner troubles before. Montano raised an eyebrow at this hesitation and finished screwing on the cap of his canteen as he moved to take his seat again. As soon as his centurion began to move towards his seat, Falco said;
"Forgive me if I am mistaken, Centurion Montano, but I thought Lord Caesar's directives for the century were to hold Nelson..."
Montano stayed silent till he was back in his chair. Then, he met the eyes of Falco and answered, "That is the order for Dead Sea, the 'official' commander of the garrison at Nelson."
Falco was ready to accept the answer right there, but unfortunately for him, the doubt in his being began to emanate before his words could accept it. Montano felt this misgiving, and knew that Falco's agreement would be a lie. So, Montano permitted Falco to speak again with what was truly on his mind, "But what is to come of your force's obligations to continue the Terror from this position at Nelson?... Should something happen to my Centurion..."
Montano looked at the unconsciously worried face of Falco and grew another slight smile. This smile came from pride in the man he adopted into his staff so long ago. Montano knew that the only worry in Falco's being came from the possibility of not adhering to Caesar's orders. At last, Montano asked his second;
"Decanus Falco, can you elaborate for me my orders from Caesar?"
Automatically, Falco said, "My Centurion is under the standing directive to support the garrison at Nelson and continue raids in the territory west of the Nelson regional limits."
Montano only said, "Wrong..." the word causing Falco's face to contort in confusion until Montano clarified, "I asked for my orders from Caesar, not my orders pertaining to this front..."
Falco thought back to his years growing up in a boys camp outside Circle Junction. He'd known the answer to this supreme question since he first gained consciousness after growing up in such a place. Falco began to wonder why this supreme duty had evaded his memory for even a second when he unconsciously began to say, "Your orders from Lord Caesar are to serve him with all your being till your dying breath. To advance the Legion in every way you can. To die in glory on the field of battle, and offer your own life without hesitation when the opportunity to bring glory to Caesar presents itself..."
"Exactly..." said Montano, his grin vanishing from his face and being replaced by his usual sinister countenance. Centurion Montano spoke to Falco as calmly and cordially as ever, putting any misgivings in Falco's mind to rest, "... The Legion will hold Nelson should I fall. A new commander will take my place and continue the raids, should I fall. Lord Caesar shall march across the Dam should I fall... But at this moment... I am to do what I can to ensure more glory comes to our Emperor, and if my part in Centurion Tubero's attack allows victory up north at the expense of my death, then Lord Caesar will be pleased, and so shall I...
Falco accepted this answer after a long moment. His centurion was right, and there was not much else to say, but there was plenty to do. Falco, just like every other soldier of Caesar was ready for his death in battle. Given the already superfluous legionaries to fall in attacks on Forlorn Hope since Nelson was taken, Falco knew this ambition of his commander was one he was very unlikely to come back from. Although the idea of certain death did little to unnerve Falco, the uncomfortable feeling remained after he departed his Centurion's presence and he had no idea why. One way or another, the Legion would win the following night, whether or not he lived to see it. Falco settled his mind with thoughts of inevitable victory, but why that subconscious feeling of dread remained was an ongoing mystery. As nearly impossible as it was to fail in a Legion assault, neither Falco nor his commander were able to even consider what an actual failure to Caesar would look like.
The Next Night
Montano never felt it during all those charges into the slaughter he'd been present for. He continued to wonder why his ability to hear almost disappeared after the order to charge was screamed over the roar of guns. Whether that order was issued by himself, the centurions up the line, or by an Elite or Legate on the field of battle, the experience was always the same. After the order, Montano no longer heard the thunderous sound of soldiers storming across the sand. He no longer heard the war drums beating in the rear, the gunshots, the screams of the enemy, or the frenzied shouts of his own men. He'd only hear all of that in some distant other worldly place, the crack of rifles, the explosions, and all that sound after the charge as if it were happening miles away. Montano would also find himself wondering why the landscape seemed to simply roll past him, why he never felt his legs propelling him forward, how he maneuvered over bomb craters, pushed past his perforated men, or even felt the whiz of bullets skimming past him. Just as he'd thought a thousand times before, the trance of this opening battlefield chaos always came to a screeching halt when he had finally arrived in the thick of it.
Montano's world came completely back in a flash as he found himself on top of a terrified enemy of Caesar. Underneath the moonlight and the blinding star shells bursting overhead, Montano saw every detail on the face below him. He saw the eyes beneath that ragged brown trooper helmet frantically darting every direction in search of a means to save himself, or more likely, in search of someone he loved. Perhaps looking for his mother or father to help him, the enemy of Caesar would desperately search for some kind of comfort or savior when faced with his death at the hands of a crimson beast who was born in savage tribal warfare. Montano saw the knick on the trooper's face he got earlier that morning when he shaved, seeing the man's mouth hung open and screaming inaudibly over the burst of machinegun fire. Centurion Montano saw all this in his victim's face in the milliseconds after the tackle, and the savage servant of Caesar relished in the feeling of that trooper's hands attempting to force him off. The effort was futile, and Montano's only wish in that moment was that he wasn't wearing the helmet of a prime and the accompanying face covering so that the trooper could see the smile on his killer's face. Montano felt the trooper's frantic grip encircle his neck, but not even that could stop the blade that Montano finally slid up the trooper's jaw. As much as Montano loved watching the life leave the eyes of Caesar's enemies, there was no time as his pleasure was interrupted by a series of loud explosions behind him. Montano rose and searched for a new victim.
The centurion stood in an instant, just in time to see the bulk of the force under Centurion Tubero smash into the profligate line. As he scrambled to orient himself in the new chaos, he briefly saw the four members of his staff each battling their own NCR soldier in the midst of the dirt trench before his attention diverted to the source of the explosions. Just to his rear, he saw the last of Tubero's surviving force storm through the dust cloud and hurdle over the barbed wire. The rest of the assaulting force threw themselves into the trench and Montano had seen the fire just beyond the dust cloud. Montano had heard the explosions of the grenadiers atop Forlorn Hope's observation line on countless nights patrolling the grounds of Nelson, but this night must have been a special occasion since the bright illumination beyond the dust cloud showed that they had launched a volley of incendiary grenades. In the brief moment, Montano saw the fires across the no-man's land rise, incinerating the shrub valley they stormed across seconds earlier. As the clash of steel and burst of rifles pierced his eardrums, Montano saw that fire blocking off the way they came and the idea that this battle was victory or death gave Montano a feeling of euphoria he hadn't experienced in all his years across so many fronts. Another series of star shells or flares popped overhead Montano's attention was turned to the dark silhouettes atop the cliff marking the profligate's "rear" or "observation line." Hearing the chaos around him continue, his attention was finally turned to the start of the long winding path up the cliff around 50 yards past the current battle zone in the trench line. Montano could only think, "One step at a time" as he returned to the current battle.
Seconds turned into minutes as the Legion continued their butcher's work on the soldiers in the trench. One by one, Montano found new victims in the brutal trench fight. More explosions rocked the area and more guns burst from the cliffs above while the dust of battlefield chaos blanketed the region more and more as the NCR bodies continued to collapse into the trench.
Montano was so entranced in this battle and the fight was so chaotic that Montano scarcely even felt it when the heat of that fire in the no man's land was burning hot enough to reach him. In fact, the heat was only a reminder that there was no aid or reinforcements coming, and certainly no retreat, even if he didn't know what that word meant. At thought of this, Montano heard the battle all around and realized his final end was likely here and now. That was of course if the Legion wasn't winning. Montano had been so lost in the moment of battle, and so caught in the moment of each profligate he killed that he hadn't noticed the progress of Tubero's force in minutes? Seconds? Hours perhaps? It was very difficult to keep track of time in the chaos of battle and progress was hard to keep tabs on when each killed profligate or Legion soldier looked just like the last when obscured by so much chaotic dust. The only time Montano panicked in perhaps his whole life was when he had just killed his sixth Californian and noticed the sound around him, or increasing lack thereof.
The trench was completely filled with the bodies of dead profligates as well as legionaries, and the dust was still too thick around him to make out a lot of the chaos, but the sound still sent its own message. In a single moment, Montano noticed that the gunshots atop the cliff were becoming less and less frequent, and the clash of steel or screams of battle were even more distant and infrequent. Just then, the dust had cleared and although his first intention was to look around and see who was alive, his focus landed completely on another profligate soldier who almost ran into him.
Montano stared at the trembling trooper pointing a rifle and bayonet at him and although Montano admired the trooper's face showing extremely forced aggression, he would kill this trooper without any problem. However, just as Montano stepped toward the trooper and adjusted the grip on his blood-soaked blade, he stopped again. The sound of chaos was even less now, with the only sound being a few distant struggles somewhere across the line. The guns atop the cliff were dead silent now and although a few shots popped off here and there, Montano realized he could now hear the groaning of the injured and maimed. This silence gave Montano the most horrible panic he'd ever felt, and unable to shift his focus from the trooper before him, the realization of what this dying chaos meant made him look at the trooper in a new way.
Montano saw the face past that wobbling bayonet and knew what he had to do. He stepped toward the trooper, but the trooper only backed up. He saw the trooper's teeth clenched in anger and forced bravery, and the dry tears and blood smeared on his face said that he was still willing to fight to the death if he had to. Although Montano knew that this final victim really wished he didn't have to.
Another step forward and the trooper hadn't shot him. Another step and that bayonet continued to wobble. One more step and Montano screamed, "I KILLED YOUR FRIENDS! KILL ME! COWARD!"
The trooper continued to back up and Montano spat at the man, figuring he'd kill this last trooper and storm the profligate camp proper if this coward couldn't give him the death he wanted. The distant chaos died even more before he heard some distant frenzy somewhere along the trench, but still, Montano approached. Finally, Montano sought to fulfill his new plan, which was triggered when the trooper's bayonet touched his breastplate. In an instant, the trooper, at last, mustered the courage to do what needed to be done, and brought his bayonetted rifle back, ready to plunge it into the legionary. The only problem was that the trooper was too slow. The trooper thrusted the bayonet at Montano in one heavy motion and the duelist immediately ripped the rifle from the trooper's hands before the point could land. Like lightning, Montano disarmed the trooper and threw the rifle aside as he raised his blade. In less than a millisecond, Montano raised his blade to swing at the now cowering trooper, but as soon as he went to finish the deed, he found that he couldn't. All his strength couldn't bring the blade down and Montano was once again so lost in the moment that he didn't even feel the grip on his arm. Reality came crashing down, and he immediately felt the hands on his person when he heard the voices from behind him;
"WE GOT ONE!" and "HOLD HIM DOWN!"
Montano immediately went into his own frenzy as he was all but completely blinded by everything and everyone who appeared around him. His mind went from death in battle to death, death, death in that single instant as he tried with all his might to bring his blade to his neck. Montano was incredibly strong, but he tried with everything he had to move that blade for one final slash of supreme servitude to Lord Caesar, but more and more hands were placed upon him until he finally felt the blade get pried out of his hands and found himself completely encircled by soldiers in brown. He'd lost his blade, but still he fought as he was essentially drowned by the soldiers of California.
Everything he had, physically, mentally, and spiritually was rapidly draining as he struggled and struggled in the grip of what felt like twenty men, cussing and screaming the whole time until eventually, he was brought to the ground. He caught one look at the dark sky, noticed the illumination of the ignited no-man's land, and thought he saw the faintest light of dawn in the east before his vision was obstructed by a half dozen profligate soldiers. Those soldiers appeared to pile on top of him and still he struggled in their grip until he was twisted onto his stomach. Still cussing and shouting under the weight of so many profligates, Montano screamed "KILL ME!" again and again, begging for one of these profligates to give him the mercy of death he so desperately needed.
No use.
Montano felt his hands get twisted behind his back and heard the clank of shackles as he continued to scream and shout. Then, somewhere beyond the grunts and curses from the California soldiers around him, he heard a familiar voice pierce through the winds, "SIRE!?... SIRE!... I'VE FAILED!"
Montano continued to give everything he had beneath the weight of so many men and despite his completely bound state, but the voice entered Montano's mind and he found himself shouting into the sand, "FALCO!?-"
Before Montano could say anything else, his helmet was ripped off his head and a rifle butt to the cranium rendered him unconscious.
Montano awoke two or three hours later. The sun was just peeking over the east and Montano awoke to find himself surrounded by dozens of profligate soldiers and under the treatment of a doctor. It took Montano a second to realize where he was, and not even his survey of his surroundings seemed to cement reality.
Montano looked around and saw the long lines of profligate soldiers lying on stretchers as he found himself sitting next to a small pool in what appeared to be a town made of scrap metal shacks and army tents. Montano saw the patrols of dirt-covered profligate soldiers in their brown uniforms and pan helmets pass him by hurling the odd insult and watched more NCR troops come up the trailhead carting more stretchers occupied by wounded or killed troopers. Just to his left, and beyond the line of killed or injured soldiers was a scrap fortified barricade dotted with over 40 helmeted heads all either watching him or looking south. Montano looked past the "observation line" not interested in it from this angle and saw the distant line of crosses dotting the cliffs around Nelson. The smoke of the night's battle continued to rise from the grounds below the observation line and his attention turned to the nearby towers where he found himself in the sights of four high caliber rifles all held by soldiers in dusters and dark gas helmets. Still unable to believe where he was, Montano turned to the right, seeing more stretchers before his eyes went to the flag pole in front of that large tent marked "HQ." Under the illumination of dawn, Montano saw the flag of the two headed bear flapping gently in the wind. The sight of that flag and the realization that he was in the middle of the profligate encampment would have made him vomit right there, but his reflex to do so was sidetracked when he felt the prick of a needle in his left arm.
At last, Montano turned to the profligate medic who was working on him and watched the syringe pump its serum into his arm as he heard the Californian say subtly;
"... You're lucky we're treating you at all, Legion scum... Wastin a fuck'n stim on you is too kind for my say so if you ask m-"
Montano immediately threw his head into the medic's face knocking him over. As soon as he shuffled his chained hands under his legs and pounced on the recovering medic, Montano instantly felt more hands appear from behind and take him to the ground. Once again, Montano struggled in the grip of several troopers screaming, "I SAID KILL ME!... FUCKING HEAL ME WITH DRUGS!? FUCK YO-"
Montano felt a rag or scarf get put in his mouth and his fight was rapidly diminished under the pressure of those soldiers. As Montano's struggle lessened and lessened, he heard a new struggle commence somewhere off to his right. A couple troopers left Montano to aid in that new struggle, but he was still completely pinned by the three remaining troopers. Montano could do nothing but listen as he stayed pinned to that stretcher and there he remembered Falco, who he heard continue to struggle as his own struggle died more and more. After several moments, he heard Falco's struggle get silenced and a few minutes passed before one of the troopers with a sergeant insignia on his helmet hovering over him looked up from Montano and shouted to someone just beyond Montano's vision;
"Yeah!? What's up, Sampson?"
Montano only heard the trooper called "Sampson" say, "Staff Sarn't says to keep these two together and wait till Polatli tells us what to do with'em"
The trooper turned from Sampson back to Montano and said, "Alright, big fella. Get'cher ass up..."
The nameless trooper and his two unnamed comrades lifted Montano up, the movement allowing Montano to resume his struggle once more only for it to be swiftly ended by a few rifle stocks to his ribs and back. Montano had to be beaten so much during this short movement to Falco that he had to be dragged most of the way. By the time he was thrown on the stretcher beside Falco, he was too disoriented to even consider how it should have been Falco that was brought to him! As he spat out some blood and studied the equally battered Falco on the next stretcher, Montano remembered how his rank and title was still unknown. Looking over Falco's exposed and bruised arms and face, he saw that Falco's armor had been stripped and the thumping pain on his own body explained why those rifle stocks hurt so much. After another moment, Montano and his second met eyes and gave nods to one another as they came to the same conclusion: Get ourselves killed.
Both Montano and Falco then began to stand themselves up before the six soldiers around them immediately knocked them to the ground once more. One of the faces hovering over Falco raised to the words of an onlooking trooper;
"Corporal Adams! Go get some chow. Me and the boys will watch them. I got an itchy trigger finger. One move and the boys and I will blast'em."
"YES" Thought Montano and Falco at the same time before the trooper over Falco, "Corporal Adams" replied, "That's what these fuckers want, private. Get outta that pool and make your rounds!..."
"SHIT" Thought Montano and Falco at the same time, the words causing a new wave in defiance to get themselves killed. Still, their efforts were suppressed with minimal effort from their outnumbered surroundings and bound states.
More minutes passed and Falco and Montano continued to struggle when they had the energy while their curses and shouts were still muffled by the gags in their mouths. A short time later, the two heard a rapid series of footsteps get closer and closer and then halt. Then, the trooper with a sergeant insignia apparently called "Hansley" looked up to some distant messenger who started with;
"Sergeant Hansley, Major says to throw these two in the jail shack until he finishes up comms with McCarran... They got two of the fellas from Charlie Company waiting for them now."
Falco and Montano were stood up and their immediate protests were delayed by a few preemptive rifle butts to the legs and ribs. Montano could hardly see the camp as he was dragged along, his vision too blurred by dust in his eyes and agony from those blows. The pain of war used to make Montano and soldiers like Falco only more excited for the next chance to spill blood, but this pain was different. The physical nature of this pain seemed only to further amplify itself in the humiliation they felt at the memory of being captured. Being bound, dragged, beaten, and not even having the ability to verbally protest left the two men feeling completely neutered. All Montano and all Falco could do was think. Thinking about their capture was too much, their minds were still almost entirely focused on how to best get themselves killed, but knowing each of their protests would only get them further subdued rather than killed, they could only think and plot. Montano in particular, took his dragging to the Forlorn Hope jail as yet another opportunity to solidify his disdain for the enemy as his vision returned and he heard the world around him.
The nature of these profligate soldiers was abominable, Montano thought as he saw the soldiers in their dirtied and half-stripped uniforms carrying their weapons in lackadaisical manners and talking to one another in broken English full of slang and idiocy. Even the simple way these soldiers talked made the common recruit appear to be a scholar in comparison to their profligate counterparts. One such incident stuck out to Montano as he heard a distant profligate shout to one of his escorts;
"... Ey, Sarn't! I hear Harton's in the jail shack. Let him know he still owes me a half pack when you see him. Bastard don't even smoke!..."
Brief little utterances like that disgusted Montano to his core, and Montano was half tempted to ask permission from his sergeant escort to pummel the distant inferior himself for addressing his commander or "sergeant" in such a casual fashion. More of his hatred was channeled to the forefront of his mind when he heard other remarks like that, or the additional one from the same man,
"... And tell Corporal Benson I'm still waiting for her.. She got my rack number, haha!"
As much as the nature of this profligate military full of dissolute trash disgusted Montano, the most bewildering thing was that the sergeant's response was only a slight chuckle and the shaking of his head. No reprimand, no flogging, no execution, no nothing; the sergeant simply let the order from an inferior slide, and the gross insubordination was only met with actual amusement from the profligate decanus or "squad leader" wearing a sergeant rank... The only thing stopping Montano from instructing the sergeant how to deal with his ill-disciplined lot of garbage and lecturing him on his incorrect response to such insubordinate demands was the gag in his mouth. The only thing that particular encounter did was spark another wave of struggle for his three-man escort. The defiant struggle in Montano's heart only grew and grew as he recalled the wretch's words regarding a trooper WOMAN in the camp. As his protest grew more and more vicious, his sporadic head movements caught the sight of almost every woman soldier in the camp. "HOW ARE THERE SO MANY WOMEN IN AN ARMY!" Montano's mind screamed, his internal dismay and physical protest sparking off another round of frenzying in Falco as well.
This physical struggle was only tamed but not put out by the rifle stocks in his side, and yet another unforeseen relief came when he felt the gag get removed from his mouth as he heard a nearby trooper say, "We're here.. In you go!"
The sudden removal of his gag instantly unleashed a deafening flood of those shouts and curses that he'd only been able to think. Falco too joined in this verbal chaos as his own gag was removed and both legionaries were shoved violently into the wall of the jail shack. Before their minds could catch up to what was happening, Montano and Falco found themselves inside the darkened jail shack and on one side of the metal bars. As soon as they came to, their shouts did not cease, even as they watched the last of their escorts file out of the building. The only thing their escorts' departure did was turn their focus to the two jailors on the other side of the bars. Where their insults and incoherent shouts turned from hatred of NCR at large to threats of rape to the female jailor was unknown even to them, but a legionary in captivity was no longer a person or servant of Caesar. A captured legionary was a violent untamable animal that can't be satisfied by anything but its own death.
Seconds turned into minutes and the female jailor continued to pace back and forth on the other side of the bars, tapping the metal with a long baton and meeting every insult Falco and Montano threw her way. Montano took note of the other jailor sitting in a chair against the wall with a rifle across his lap and even though the distant smile and silence of that man infuriated Montano, he was more preoccupied with the taunting female. More time passed as Montano and Falco continued to endlessly scream and threaten the female, and their hands were already broken and horrendously bloodied from smacking the bars with their bound hands.
As well as the woman held her own at the start, Montano could see the woman struggle to formulate counters to their threats after Falco had mentioned her name they overheard. The woman continued to fume as their insults and threats to rape and mutilate her became more and more personal with each attachment of her name. "IT'S WORKING" Thought Montano and Falco as the woman became less and less smug and eventually retreated to the desk. More and more horrific threats were hurled at her person, each one digging a little deeper when she saw the sincerity of these threats in the blood on their broken hands. They kept it up again and again, the woman had finally rested her hand next to the rifle leaning on the desk and there she snapped... Just not in the way Montano and Falco wanted;
"If I gotta be here one second longer, I'm gonna break the rules of war!" shouted the woman trooper to her idiot comrade still grinning with a rifle across his lap.
Defeat entered Montano's mind for the first time since waking up in captivity. The woman stormed out, but true to his ability to snatch victory in any battle, Montano would not accept this defeat for long. He and Falco's attention was turned to the silent fool wearing a grin. How that grin remained on that trooper's face wouldn't be answered until later, but its lingering presence did nothing but continue his screams as the bars of the jail shack became more and more bloody.
Not long after the woman left, she was replaced by a male trooper identified as a sergeant, and after a brief exchange of words with the fool, Montano noted that the seated "soldier" wasn't a mute. Either way, the sergeant who entered was at least willing to partake in this verbal altercation. "Perhaps this man could be broken too. Perhaps he can succeed where the woman failed," Thought Montano and Falco.
As much as the sergeant partook in the mud-slinging, he felt it was a game he was winning based on the cleverness of his insults. Unfortunately for the sergeant, neither Montano or Falco even heard the sergeant's counters, while their own words did nothing but roll off the sergeant's back. Eventually, the sergeant was under the false impression that he had already won, and appeared to grow tired of the game that Montano and Falco were still playing. Not more than five minutes after the sergeant's arrival, he left, telling the silent moron that he was going to get a status update from some officer.
Montano and Falco both watched the sergeant's departure and pleaded with him not to leave them in the presence of such an absent-minded idiot who likely wasn't able to kill them if that moronic grin said anything about his mental faculties. Of course, these pleads came in the form of incoherent noises as their voices were only able to spew vile slurs.
At last, the two captured servants of Caesar watched the door shut, the sergeant seemingly taking the last possibility of a merciful killing with him. Defeat entered the minds of both men yet again, and even though the two of them were both equally lost by the sergeant's departure, Falco was the only one who was able to act on the implication of prolonged captivity.
Falco threw himself into the corner of the cell and despite his bloodied and broken hands, began to savagely punch himself again and again. Blow after blow, Falco threw into his own jaw, every other blow giving off a terrific crunching sound as the blood of his tongue and molars began to pour out his mouth. Montano only heard this. Montano knew what Falco was doing and admired his second's initiative to prevent his ability to speak. Montano knew that he'd do the same thing as well, but for the moment, he was too focused on the remaining jailor.
Montano leaned on the bars, his bloody hands hanging through them, and Montano saw the eyebrows of his jailor raise as Falco continued his work. Montano continued to look at the trooper who was studying Falco's activity as a perplexed look grew on the jailor's face. He saw the nametag on the trooper's chest armor that said his name was "Harton" and Montano briefly wondered why the trooper hadn't removed his nametag like he'd noticed all the other profligate soldiers had done. The only reason Montano and Falco knew the woman's name was because she'd been mentioned by the troopers outside, and although "Harton" was mentioned as well, he couldn't fathom why this man failed where everyone else in camp didn't with such a simple uniform directive. Montano chalked this up to the man's apparent idiocy, and just as Montano considered the idea that the NCR would actually enlist a soldier with such a mental disability in their army, he decided to see if this was true;
"Why don't you stand up for yourself?" Ordered Montano.
Montano watched the trooper's head turn and twist to one of surprise as Montano was at last met with, "I don't really need to... You're the guys who got captured."
"I will slit your fucking throat and fuck your mother's corpse in front of that worthless sack of shit you call a father!" Thought Montano as the reality of the idiot's words sank into Montano's soul for the first time. No matter how badly Montano may have wanted to act on such a horrific threat, the moron's simple words only cemented the reality that Montano was virtually powerless for the first time ever... "You're the guys who got captured" echoed in Montano's mind again and again as the feeling of failure and how he failed grew...
Another cracking sound came from Falco on his left as Montano continued to lock eyes with the jailor. Still battling to suppress the reality of what his capture truly meant, Montano could only reply unconsciously, "... Fair enough."
A brief silence ensued and Montano was lost in thought when he was interrupted by the jailor, "... Why's your pal hitting himself in the face?"
Again Montano was tempted to berate the trooper when the thoughts on his mind spilled out of his mouth to answer the question, "We didn't get a chance to kill ourselves before capture, so he's making sure he won't be able to talk…"
Montano heard Falco's punches getting weaker before Montano again had his thoughts interrupted when he was asked, "Well, what about you? Looks like he's about tuckered out… Is it your turn next?"
The centurion listened to punch after punch from his loyal second. All the thoughts, all the memories of so many glorious triumphs and battles won flashed through his mind only to wind up imprisoned by the vilest of enemy armies and questioned by the stupidest amongst them. What troubled Montano most was that he was actually answering these questions. This thought occurred to him even as he found himself saying;
"I'll do what I need to do when the time comes." At least these questions weren't important, but still, why he was answering them remained a mystery even to himself as his mind was still preoccupied.
Just then, one final terrible cracking sound came from Montano's left and he heard the body of Falco slump onto the floor. Montano was proud, but the idea of failure threatened to fully consume him until the jailor asked to the room, "Was I supposed to stop that?"
Immediately after the words entered Montano's mind, he let out a snort or snicker. Montano caught this instantly, and the jailor's oblivious utterance ended the wave of failure about to drown him. Then, all he'd seen since awaking in captivity began to make sense and Montano once more found himself considering the very things that caused his rage and broken hands, "This was the most pathetic army I have ever seen. They may have won the battle, and although I remain their captive, all I need to do is bide my time until their incompetence gets the better of them and I have the chance to die... and hopefully take a few of them with me."
Montano thought all this, the waves of defeat subsiding with the knowledge that his victory is only delayed. As Montano collected more of his confidence, he began to feel the blood in his broken hands pumping straight to the site of the pain. For some reason, this physical pain was no longer unbearable. Thoughts of his future victory in death had numbed the pain, and Montano only hoped that the interrogation he'd receive would be as brutal as possible, leaving him even weaker and closer to death without a single word spilled before that death could be realized.
Montano found himself staring at the jailor in the dead silence. Several moments passed and Montano came to the conclusion that he could at least get a head start on taking a few of them down with him. Although this idiot jailor would not participate in the verbal chaos, he would perhaps fall in a mental battle. Just as he came to this conclusion, the jailor had enough of the silence when he asked Montano casually;
"... So… Where you guys from?... I think 'Caesar' would let you answer that question, ha!"
"Arizona" replied Montano flatly, more focused on how it would feel to decapitate this "Harton" fool than the question.
Montano continued to think about this as his death plotting went on and the trooper said amusingly, "No kidding? Never been there myself. Only left the coast a few months ago... I think it was a few months ago?..."
"Even though I won't be there, the Legion will reach the coast, and when it does, my replacement will happily butcher your family," thought Montano as he let the non-question hang.
The silence acted for itself and the jailor was clearly becoming comfortable with Montano enough to ask, "What's Caesar like? Ever meet him?..."
"Now's my moment to strike," thought Montano as he said, "I never had the honor to meet Lord Caesar. But, if you unlock the door, he'll forgive my capture when I slaughter you and everyone in this camp... Then I can meet him."
The jailor nodded as he said, "I'll have to take your word on that, but the door's staying shut..." and Montano watched as the man's face slowly twisted to one of "disappointment" rather than anger. Interested in this seeming affect, Montano waited patiently until the jailor asked in mild curiosity or partial frustration;
"Why are you and your pal so crazy? It isn't like we're gonna crucify you?"
Montano wanted to laugh at this again, but the death and terror on his stern face never changed as he said simply, "You should"
Harton the jailor apparently wanted to say something else by the look on his face, but after a brief moment, Montano was only asked, "Why?"
"To see if it works… I can tell you it won't though." Montano said unconsciously, mind blank as he let the words from his Legion soul creep further up his vocal chords.
"If what will work?" asked the trooper curiously.
Now was the time Montano thought he could achieve some minor victory from this short exchange of words who may be foolish enough to spread the message of Legion Terror. In his last act of dedication to his directive before being whisked away to his future interrogation and coming death, Montano began;
"Why do you think we do what we do?... Why do you think we leave your friends to die in the sun? Why do you think we rape your women, enslave your children, and butcher those under your protection?"
Montano concluded that the man was smarter than he thought if the brief moment of contemplation said anything. And the jailor's simple response of, "Why's that?" seemed to indicate that he was still foolish enough to spread the coming message.
The thought of this caused his sinister smile to etch its way across his stone face before he sent the message, "Because it works on you… Look at what we've done with our presence in Nelson alone… Every day, you'll fight to survive, grow weaker and weaker, and see your nightmares each night become more and more real with every friend you watch get hauled up on a cross… You'll constantly know what is coming for you."
Montano knew he'd fully captured the trooper's attention as he asked, "And why won't it work if we did that stuff to you?"
"Because we want to be here," answered Montano, playing on the fool's search for knowledge. The jailor was clearly confused, so Montano elaborated for his simple new friend, "Look at your comrades. Look at yourself. You were drafted or blindly volunteered to help the profligates of this desert, only to watch all your friends die slowly and horribly…"
All the moments of his time in the south spreading the terror went through his mind again, and Montano was finally able to personally deliver the cause for this terror campaign to someone who'd actually walk away from an audience with himself. The soldier inquired about Montano being a slave to Caesar and despite being briefly infuriated by being considered of such a pathetic position, he calmly explained that Lord Caesar had actually saved him. Montano's whole life passed before his eyes as he thought of all the ways he served Caesar but his mind eventually cleared and he found himself looking at this trooper who'd been curiously asking questions about what he had no idea was truly coming for him. The orders to the terror forces were vague, but everything he'd seen in this short captivity explained the reason for the terror and the Legion's reputation this side of the river...
Now. Here was the man who'd spread the reason for his presence in the profligate lands, and why he and his nation's morals are so misguided in a land that is just like the east, a land where the only remedy is Caesar. Montano told the man;
"You want what you want. You are selfish, only loyal to yourself and those around you. You don't want to be in this desert… I only have one desire in life, and that is what Lord Caesar demands of me. Caesar wants the Mojave. I want the Mojave. You and your nation don't…"
Montano saw the truth of Caesar enter the jailor's mind and saw the brief glimmer of his misguided allegiance dash across his vision. However, before Montano could say anything more, the sergeant returned with a squad of guards and Montano continued to lock eyes with the fool as he was bound and escorted out of jail and Falco was put on a stretcher. Montano could only hope that the jailor would further spread the Legion's truth for him, and Montano was confident enough in this last victory that the Camp's name would remain "Forlorn Hope" and he could now focus solely on his ultimate victory in death.
A/N: I can honestly say I didn't originally intend this chapter to be so long, but I sorta got caught in the moment when writing it. Hopefully, it wasn't too much for a single chapter and hope you enjoyed it anyway! Also, I know I mentioned to some of my regular readers that each duelist would be getting three sections, but that has since changed to four in order for me to cover everything I was planning on. Either way, hope you enjoy the additional two chapters! Happy Birth-mas! :D