Chapter Three
After clearing out the geckos with Sunny, I headed back to the saloon to chat up Trudy, the bartender and "town mom", as Sunny put it. I heard arguing as I stepped through the door, and saw a black man in a Kevlar vest threatening an older woman. As I approached, he finished up his little tirade by threatening the entire town. Since I had heard the prison had recently had a riot, and this guy wasn't exactly behaving like your typical corrections officer, I tapped him in the shoulder.
"There a problem here buddy?" I asked with a raised eyebrow as he turned to look at me.
"The fuck do you think you are? Yeah there's a problem, these assholes are holding out on me. If they just told where that fucker Ringo was, I wouldn't have to destroy this town." He shouts angrily at me.
I nodded. "That is a problem."
I suddenly reached forward and grabbed him by the collar before lifting him into the air and slamming him down onto the bar.
"The problem here is that a slimy little fuck like you is making threats against an entire town when they don't give up one guy. What? Did you think everyone in the wasteland was an asshole like you?" I dragged him off the bar and towards the door. With Sunny holding it open for me, I hauled him outside and tossed him into the dirt.
"Now fuck off and don't come back. You won't get another warning."
He sprang to his feet with a snarl and began dusting himself off as he backed away.
"You just fucked up buddy. Me and my crew will be back, and we'll burn this whole fucking town, and you with it. And you don't want to know what we'll do to the women." He yelled back with a savage grin.
I looked at him for a moment before saying, "Should've kept your mouth shut and just left." Before anyone could blink, I drew my pistol and sent three rounds through his chest.
Sliding it back in its holster, I turned to Trudy, "Get the town ready. His friends will come looking for him. And where's Ringo? I need to know why they're lookin' for him."
"He's up at the old gas station. And this town ain't exactly a force to be reckoned with. Everyone here has a gun, though I doubt most will help with another man's problems," Trudy said as she handed over a key, "but I'll see what I can do."
The gas station was just past Doc Mitchell's house, up the hill to the west of town. It was a wreck, the windows boarded up and the fuel pumps missing from the front. There was even an old pre-war pickup, rusting away in a garage to the side of the building. Strangely, a Sunset Sarsaparilla vending machine was lit up next to the door. Why were these machines always fucking turned on?
As I opened the door to the rundown gas station, I heard a safety click off and instinctively reached for my pistol.
After speaking with Ringo and making a plan, as well as doing some recon on the size of the powder gangers group and enlisting whatever help I could from the townspeople, I remembered the note my father had left me with everything else, what had motivated me throughout my life. Speaking quickly with Trudy, everyone who was willing to fight the powder gangers was assembled in front of the Prospector saloon, and I was atop the roof, wearing my Ranger combat gear and armed with my father's rifle for the first time in years. I looked down at the ten or so folks armed with old, but sturdy, rifles. For a brief moment, I had flashbacks to the battle, but quickly suppressed them. No time for distractions right now. I took a breath and addressed the group of farmers in front of me.
"Well, I'm not much for talking, but motivation is one of the most powerful weapons you can have during a fight. Eight years ago, my daddy was killed by raiders. I was 16, left with nothing but my father's rifle," I hefted the rifle as I spoke," and his truck. He left me one other thing, something I've tried to live by since then." I took a deep breath and began reciting the poem that I'd read over and over.
"'Now this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky, and the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back; For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack.' We may not be in a jungle, but the law still applies. Our strength as individuals strengthens our group, and the strength of the group strengthens the individual. This isn't about a quarrel between one man and a group of thugs anymore. They've threatened your town, threatened to slaughter your men and rape your women." I gestured to the rest of the town. "You're fighting for your homes, your lives, your freedom. Those thugs think they can take whatever they want. They're dead wrong."
As I spoke, my voice carried across the small town and I saw more people, ones who had opted to stay out of the fight, emerge from their homes to listen. Raising my voice, I continued.
"The fate of your home may very well rest on this fight. I won't lie to you, they have more bodies than we do, but you have something they don't. Tactics. Cover. Multiple positions to fire from. And the will to protect what's yours." By this time, another ten or so had joined, fire in their eyes. "If these cons are as dumb as they look, they won't stand a chance. My best guess is they'll come up the middle of the road, sacrificing cover for intimidation. But that's their mistake. However, they could take a different approach, but that's why I'm up here, and the plan we discussed earlier allows for different approaches. Remember what you're fighting for, control your shots, cover the man next you, and we'll all be walking out of here without any holes. I may be young, but I have combat experience, too much, and I can tell when people are ready for a fierce fight and I'll be damned if I'm not seeing it in every one of your eyes. Now, are you ready for a fight!?" I yelled the last sentence, unsure of how to end the speech, and decided the simpler the better. The ferocity of their response stunned me for a moment.
"FOR RINGO! FOR GOODSPRINGS!" they yelled simultaneously, and began chanting the battle cry as I joined in. After a moment, I quieted them down and spoke one last time.
"Then make yourselves ready, find your firing positions, and stay low. We don't know exactly when the attack will come, but wait for my signal before you open fire. Check your shots and preserve your ammo. One well-placed shot will stop them a lot quicker then several poor shots." I paused one last time before speaking again," Let's get this done, people. Get to your positions. For Goodsprings, for Ringo!" I yelled one last time before dismissing the group, which had swelled to include the entire population, to prepare for the battle.
I saw Sunny and Trudy pointing out firing positions to the newcomers as I settled into what I expected to be a long wait atop the roof in the blazing sun. Sunny climbed up and settled onto a lower section of the roof, being the best marksman besides myself, and where she could relay my orders to Trudy on the ground. We settled in and waited.
After about an hour of lying in the scorching desert sun, I saw movement through my scope. The sun was beginning to fall behind the mountains, so there was minimal glare. With a sharp, short whistle, I drew Sunny's attention and tapped my optic. She nodded and glanced through hers, making a quick adjustment, before leaning over the ledge and informing Trudy the Powder Gangers were approaching. Shifting back into position, I gestured with my right hand, and counted down to three. A fraction of a second after I reached one, my finger was on the trigger; applying just enough pressure to squeeze it, not jerk it. The .308 caliber round traveled the 300 yards to the lead convict's forehead in less than a second, gray matter and blood spreading into a fan as the crack of the rifle reached their ears. Startled and confused, the group stopped where they were to find the direction of the shot. Three more cracks sounded in the stillness, two of them slightly quieter, and three more convicts went down, unmoving.
By then, the rest of the townsfolk had picked their targets and began opening fire, hitting the convicts in the arms, legs, and chests. As confusion gave way to survival, the remaining gangers ran for cover. But the suddenness of my first shot had taken its toll. Seven Powder Gangers lay dead, with the other fifteen or so running for cover. Sunny continued to snipe while I switched roles to fire support. I knew at this range, the town would easily outmatch the gang. But if the gangers were able to close the distance, they could use their shotguns and dynamite and would likely kill many of the defenders. My brain was in combat mode, and I was thinking a mile a minute, seeing targets of opportunity, not people, identifying the worst threats almost instantly. Despite the best efforts of Sunny's sniping and the townspeople's constant fire, the enemy had closed within 50 yards. Some of them got ballsy and tried to lob some dynamite towards the defenders. One, two, three times my rifle cracked, and three explosions rolled across the battlefield, going off in the midst of the Powder Gangers "formation". I didn't flinch as I saw bloody limbs landing on the ground through my scope; I just adjusted and picked another target.
And so it went, for what seemed like hours, but in reality was barely 10 minutes. One of the bighorner farmers had taken a portion of buckshot before anyone could put the ganger down, but that was the only casualty, at least for Goodsprings. The Powder Gangers, however, suffered 100% casualties. After the last shot was fired and a hush came over the town, the inhabitants stood, looking at me, and cheered my name. I raised a hand to quiet them, wanting to show how I'd helped.
"There's no need to congratulate me," I said, dropping the seven bullet casings I'd spent during the fighting. They landed at the steps of the saloon. "You yourselves defended your town, and Ringo, from those that would take what's yours. All I did was give you support. This is your victory, not mine. Congratulate yourselves. You deserve it."
Climbing down off the roof of the saloon, I headed to my truck to switch out of my combat armor. My reinforced leather armor was good enough protection for being in towns. I only really pulled out the Ranger armor when I expected heavy fighting, though I admit I missed the familiarity of it, and that was something I needed right now. Just as I reached the truck, Ringo caught up to me and thanked me for helping him out, and handed me a bag of caps. I nodded but he lingered for a moment.
"Something on your mind?" I asked, turning to face him.
He paused a moment before gesturing towards my armor and duster.
"That's Ranger armor, isn't it? Where'd you get it?" He questioned.
"Got it after I completed my Ranger training," I dodged the question.
Ringo wasn't convinced. "They only give that armor to Veteran Rangers. You're too young to be a Veteran, unless..." He trailed off, studying my face for a second, before he recognized me. "I should have known it was you. Sir, it's…" I cut him off before he could finish.
"Don't say it, I've left that life behind." I said bluntly. I wasn't mad at Ringo; it was just the circumstances of my fame in the NCR. " And don't you say a damn thing to anyone else. Even here they may have heard of me, and I'm not proud of what happened, even though everyone else is."
"But you turned the tide of the battle, and..." I cut him off again, my finger in his face.
"Enough! We're done with this discussion. Best be on your way. I'm sure the Crimson Caravan will be missing you." I made a gesture of dismissal and turned my back on him. I heard him sigh, before he walked away. I opened the rear gate and began disassembling my armor, when I heard someone come up to my side.
"That's a hell of a tattoo. Where'd you get it?" Sunny asked, gesturing to my right arm. The entire arm was covered in intricate ink work. I got it after completing a special Ranger training program, but I was forbidden to talk about it. Hidden within the artwork on my arm was 'D2', the abbreviation of the group I worked with up until my discharge. But Sunny had sharp eyes, and spotted the mark.
"What's D2?" She asked, curious.
I turned to face her, and spoke, "Something from my past, and that's where it's staying." Turning back to the lockbox, I pulled out the leather armor and began pulling it on.
"What's with the secrecy?" She was pushing for an explanation, one that I couldn't give.
"Look, drop it. NCR troopers have been disciplined for asking about it, and civilians have been detained for the same thing. Don't mention D2 to ANY NCR personnel you see, they won't know what you're talking about, and if they mention it to their superiors, you'll eventually be found, and arrested." I looked into her eyes, hoping my seriousness could persuade her to drop the subject.
She sighed and said, "Fine. Keep your NCR secrets. I'm just glad you were here when we needed you. You may think otherwise, but you saved this town, and the people know it."
I nodded as I threw my duster onto my shoulders, adjusting the armor plating so it fit snugly. "Good, glad that's settled. Now I need to speak with Trudy about the fuck who shot me."
As I trudged back towards the saloon, I thought about my time in the NCR for the first time in months. Smiling slightly to myself, I stepped into the saloon to a cheering crowd, with people offering to buy me drinks, and shaking my hand. I kindly denied their offers and headed for Trudy. It was high time I hit the road.
I didn't really learn much from Trudy other than the guy who shot me was a rude prick (no shit) and was with a few Great Khans. She also told me about problems Sloan was having and that the Long 15 going north was closed. That meant they had to travel through at least four towns before they made it to Vegas: Primm, Nipton, Novac, and Boulder City. I had my route planned then.