Chapter Four: Riot in Cell Block K
Interlude: Brotherhood of Steel HQ
Lost Hills Bunker, New California Republic
March 19th, 2135 ( Fifty-eight years after the Great War )
The scribes finished recording the last will and testament of the High Elder. They collected their journals and notebooks, checked their PipBoys, and quietly filed out of the dimly-lit infirmary. The High Elder was dying and the doctors didn't know how much time that he had left. The cancer had run its course and ravaged the eighty-eight year-old leader's body. Although he took an inordinate amount of painkillers, the High Elder's mind was still clear. His word and will remained law within the Brotherhood.
"Come in my son. I have been expecting you.", croaked the High Elder.
Paladin Roger Maxson II marched in past the guards and took his father's hand. While the paladin maintained a stoic face, the tears streaming down from his eyes betrayed the turmoil in his heart. The High Elder smiled at his namesake. He knew that his time was short and there was much that his son needed to know before he passed away. The information would be crucial to the Brotherhood's survival and for the redemption of his soul.
"What news do you bring me from the Council of Elders?"
The younger Maxson sat down beside his father. "The Council is divided over your proposal to recruit tribals in exchange for technology is meeting stiff resistance. There are rumors being spread that you are no longer fit to command us."
The High Elder barked out a harsh laugh. He knew that there would be dissent among the Council over the sharing of technology with outsiders.
"Do not worry my son. I know that the proposal was going to incite controversy among the hard-liners. As long as I draw breath within my scarred lungs, I still lead the Brotherhood. None of the other Elders will dare oppose me. I can still strangle a man with my bare hands!"
That statement caused the younger Maxson to smile. Even though he knew his father's hands were twisted by arthritis. The old man still has balls. Big brass ones…
"I know that my time grows short, Roger. You will be confirmed as the next High Elder when I pass into the great beyond. Tell me, do you still read our gospel?"
Roger Maxson II had a puzzled look on his face. The Maxson Gospel was required reading for every Initiate of the Brotherhood. Even after the Initiate advances through the ranks, the Gospel reminded them of their purpose and their principles. The High Elder grinned at the confusion on his son's face.
"Yes, I do father. Why would you ask me that?"
The High Elder had a merry twinkle in his eyes. "Indulge me , my son. What does Chapter nine, verses eighteen to twenty-one say?"
Roger Maxson II searched his memory for the passages. He remembered his days as an Initiate and the rigorous testing, both physical and mental, to determine his fitness for entry into the Brotherhood's ranks. The endless days and nights of forced marches, shooting various weapons at the ranges, and classroom instruction in the history and purpose of the Brotherhood. Then the words came to him:
"There will be a reckoning where brother will fight amongst brother and our ranks shall be split asunder. From the smoke and ashes, a great warrior-king shall appear on the horizon armored in gold and silver. He is invincible smiting man and beast, bringing fire and thunder. All praise his almighty name, the hero who will reunite our order…"
End Interlude
United States Disciplinary Barracks
Camp Tibbets aka 'The Cube', Kansas
September 23rd, 2077 (One month before the Great War)
The mess hall was filled to capacity today. Mercer waited patiently in line for a plate full of biscuits 'n gravy, sausage, and scrambled eggs. He thought it was unusual for all six hundred sixty-six prisoners to be eating breakfast at the same time. The Cube's inmates were rotated in three shifts for each meal. Why in the world Major Warner would allow every one of these hardcases to be gathered together in one area was beyond him. He took his plate of steaming food and coffee from the serving line to the table where 'Moose' Jenkins was busy chowing down.
"So what's the word , captain? Any idea why the powers-that-be are allowing us degenerates to break bread with each other all at the same time?"
Mercer took a sip of his coffee. His eyes slowly panned around the room. No protectrons or sentry bots today. There should have been at least two by each of the entrances. Only five MPs in the hall but they're all armed with shock prods, no other sidearms. Something's in the wind, Mercer thought to himself. Something's definitely wrong here.
"Moose, listen up. Warner's got something cooked up and it's going to bite us both in the ass. Pass the word down the line: get ready for the shit to hit the fan."
While the larger man continued to eat, he used sign language to pass Mercer's message along to the members of his old unit, the 761st Vertibird Assault Squadron, the Black Hawks. They nodded their thanks and moved off in separate directions. Mercer started in on his breakfast. He double-checked the shiv that was concealed in his waistband. If anything was going to happen, it was going to happen soon.
Mercer trusted Lieutenant Michael 'Moose' Jenkins and his Black Hawks. They were awarded the Valorous Unit Citation for their actions at the Siege of Fort Richardson back at the Anchorage Front Line. For thirty days straight, the Black Hawks flew re-supply and fire support missions to assist the defenders against the formidable Taipei Brigade. Even though the VB-01 Vertibird gunships and transports experienced frequent breakdowns, the crews and mechanics of the 761st continued their missions. The Taipei Brigade was so decimated at Fort Richardson that Beijing's Central Military Commission ordered their colors to be burned and its surviving commanders executed for their failure. 'Moose' Jenkins should have received the Medal of Honor but was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross instead. Like Mercer, Jenkins also refused to fire upon innocent civilians who didn't pose an imminent threat to national security.
'Moose' whispered to Mercer. "If we get a chance, we probably should make a break for it. Warner's such a scumbag he'd make sure both of us were smoked. Both of us know that redneck peckerwood probably planned this blanket party."
Mercer continued to watch the entrances. "Roger that. If we get a chance." It was then that the MPs exited the mess hall and the *clink!* of the locks securing the mess hall that caught everyone's attention.
Then the mess hall exploded with violence.
A Hells Angels member took his shiv and drove it into the neck of a La Costa Nostra underboss. Arterial spray drenched everyone with blood from the dying Sicilian.
Several of the mess hall employees at the serving line disappeared under the crushing weight of enraged prisoners who beat them down with fists and feet. Those unfortunate females caught up in the riot had their clothes torn off and gang-raped repeatedly. The Swedish chef was sodomized by a tranny and then dismembered by a serial killer. Other fights were breaking out at all seating areas of the mess hall.
'Moose 'Jenkins and his Black Hawks cut a swath through the crowds to reach the north entrance. A 21k Triad gangster aimed a 'zip' gun at Mercer. The ex-captain grabbed a metal plate and threw it at the assassin. Mercer saw the plate's edge smash the gangster's larynx; the man crumpled to the floor. Dozens of hands grabbed at the fallen weapon.
The Black Hawks engaged a number of Grim Reaper MC outriders as both Jenkins and Mercer fought their way to the north entrance. Jenkins broke the back of one prisoner in a powerful bear hug then used the corpse to club away other inmates. Mercer used a flat palm strike that instantly killed a captain of the Chicago Outfit. Pulling out the shiv from his coverall's waistband, Mercer shanked another prisoner in the chest. He joined 'Moose' and his men at the north entrance.
"It's time to blow this popsicle stand, brother." 'Moose' had grin on his face.
"No kidding. Let's get out of here before anyone else wants to ask us for a dance." ,replied Mercer.
In his office, Major Warner watched the riot continue unabated through the Cube's surveillance cameras. He sipped his ice cold Nuka-Cola and was looking forward to the next act of this little drama.