Chapter Two: Doing Hard Time
United States Disciplinary Barracks
Camp Tibbets aka "The Cube", Kansas
Initial Processing Station
August 15th, 2077
The VB-02 Vertibird transport circled the prison once then landed according to precise instructions from the guard tower. Mk2 25mm gun turrets and Mohawk missile launchers followed the transport until it finally settled onto the helipad. Once the pilot powered down the Vertibird, he informed his passengers that they now had permission to leave the aircraft. Captain Mercer was roused from his nap by a black MP who gently nudged his shoulder.
"Rise and shine, Cap'n. We've arrived at your new home, suh."
Mercer looked at Camp Tibbets with total disinterest. He had heard the scuttlebutt around the various yards that "The Cube" was one maximum-security prison that lived up to its reputation. Within its fortress-like walls was 22.8 square acres of cells, exercise yard, infirmary, library, mess hall, even a mini-university that offered courses in barber school and GED. One of his former commanding officers told Mercer that a DARPA contractor, Vault-Tec, operated three factories on-site using prisoners as skilled labor. Something to look forward to if I ever really got bored, Mercer sullenly thought to himself.
The MPs walked alongside Mercer until they reached the cog-like secure entrance to the Initial Processing Station.
The black MP, Sergeant Williams, spoke into the intercom: "Prisoner Detail Alpha Nine, Code Green, requesting permission to enter 'The Cube'."
After a ten-second delay, a metallic voice replied. "Prisoner Detail Alpha Nine, ID confirmed. Permission granted. Please stay within the yellow lines. Any failure to follow instructions will result in the use of lethal force."
The cog-like steel entrance clicked once as titanium bolts three-meters wide retracted into their tubes and the door rolled back. Waiting inside the entrance were two Protectrons painted in Olive-Drab with a single white star on their torsos. The hum of activated energy weapons could be heard as the muzzles of their lasers faintly glowed red. A soldier dressed in a black jumpsuit and riot helmet stepped forward. Mercer took note of the Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum revolver, speed-loaders, and the worn hickory nightstick holstered on his gunbelt. This isn't going to be a cake walk, Mercer thought to himself. I might actually have a challenge on my hands. For the first time in months, he actually smiled.
Sergeant Williams handed over a holodisk to the other soldier who inserted it into his PipBoy. The soldier read the orders and looked at Captain Mercer. Mercer smiled at him like a shark circling a minnow. On the soldier's nametag was "Warner". His collar insignia identified him as a major. Keeping his right hand over the butt of his .44 Magnum revolver, Major Warner walked towards Mercer. The major jabbed Mercer in the solar plexus with his nightstick.
While Mercer was doubled over in pain, Major Warner whispered in his ear. "I don't give a goddamned rat's ass about your awards, yardbird. You're a traitor and won't be getting any preferential treatment just 'cause you won the Blue Max, boy. You're ass belongs to me now."
That's the last thing Mercer heard before Major Warner hit him with the nightstick again.
When Mercer woke up, he was sprawled out on a twin-sized bed in his cell. He saw a sink and a stainless-steel toilet. Mercer went to the sink to rinse his mouth out, grateful the water was ice-cold. The only other furniture in the cell was a simple wood desk and chair. On the desk were a pencil and some paper. Outside his cell door was the last person he wanted to see ever again. Captain Roger Maxson, his one-time friend and fellow officer who also just happened to be screwing his girlfriend behind his back.
"So are you here to gloat asshole? Why don't you step inside here so we can catch up on old times, Rog?" Mercer growled.
Captain Roger Maxson shook his head sadly. They had attended Officer Candidate School, the Power Armor Basic and Advanced Course, and Ranger School together. During the bloody days along the Anchorage Front Line they fought alongside each other. Their friendship came to an end when Mercer walked in on his girlfriend Ann doing the horizontal mambo with him. They hadn't spoken to each other in a year.
"I'll think I'll pass, pal. Don't make this any harder than it already is. Damn it all to hell, Josh! Why? Why did you throw away your career?", asked Roger.
Mercer looked up at his ex-friend. Then he grinned evilly and flipped the bird towards his comrade.
"Fuck you, Roger. And you can say the same to that whore Ann. I should have let the Chinese Army bugger your ass six ways from Sunday. I don't need to give you an answer, you sorry-ass backstabber!"
That was the last time Maxson and Mercer saw each other before the bombs fell.