The fighting elite of the Legion split, half travelled north with Lanius while the other went south under Cato. The First Cohort of the Legion stood twice the size of any other six of its centuries going with each Legatus. Each man of it was experienced, even those who stood in line where recruits would find themselves in other cohorts had fought a half dozen battles. They marched lock and step in their disciplined columns – veterans and a small force of Praetorians at the head of each column and a small army of slaves at the rear. The red banners wafted with the wind as they towered above the marching troops. It was an army the likes of which had not been seen since before the bombs fell and sometimes Arcade truly did believe that it could conquer the world, if it did not destroy itself first.
The Legates' rivalry had become something of an amusement for Gannon, they oft refused to speak to each other – sending messengers from their perspective lairs. Each had their own personalised banner beneath the Legion's Bull – a wolf for Cato and a deathclaw for Lanius. Caesar's two dogs of war, Arcade considered them, unsure of which one he hated more. Lanius was a beast, an intelligent beast he had learned, but a beast none the less – he did not comprehend an enemy he could not kill nor anyway to deal with it but violence. Cato on the other hand was calculating and cautious. He was just as willing to be as savage as Lanius but only when it served a purpose. That was evident enough by the squirming figure of Motor-Runner in the field of Mars.
The raider had apparently drawn a shiv when presented to Caesar and had made it no more than a foot towards the throne before Cato had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and yanked him back. The Legate had broke his arm before stomping on his knee with a booted foot. Caesar wanted him executed there and then but Cato had requested to be given his time with the prisoner. Caesar had consented and Motor-Runner was beaten within an inch of his life before Arcade himself was assigned to make sure the Fiend lived. Then he had been crucified after a round with the Legion's torturers. Arcade could see Cato's Wolf's head helmet in the distance, seemingly staring at his handiwork. The wolf head then turned to look at the Lucky 38 and the Legate snapped a clean, crisp salute in its direction. Arcade could almost feel his eyes and arrogant smirk.
"Bastard." Arcade muttered, turning back to look at Caesar, who at that moment was reclining on his throne, reading yet another book form the follower's library. The Slaver was in no mood for chess, his pride too wounded by the last defeat. He seemed content to sit and read, occasionally posing a question to Arcade – meaningless queries and attempts feed his ego by outsmarting the doctor.
"Why do you trust Sandy so much?" Gannon decided it was his turn to pose a question. Caesar fixed him with a glare before laying down his book.
"I trust Cato" Caesar stressed the courier's new name. "Because he is useful, loyal..." Arcade snorted, earning a disapproving look from Caesar.
"Sandy was loyal to the Mr. House when it paid - the NCR too, as well as the Courier Service, several caravans and anyone else with enough caps to fund the next slaughter he could amuse himself with." The doctor interrupted earning a nod of agreement from Caesar. "You know all this yet still you promote him?" The Slaver climbed to his feet and marched to the window.
"Lucius – leave us." He commanded and without a word the Praetorian left Arcade and his master alone in the room. "I promote Cato, because if I did not he would merely promote himself." He said bitterly. "The news that I would promote him was on the lips of every Legionary before I knew he was back in the city." Caesar scowled and poured himself a drink downing it in one go. "He is a wolf, my wolf and I will throw him against the my enemies until he falls."
"And if the wolf turns rabid?" Arcade ventured, hoping Caesar's anger would not turn to him.
"Then he shall be put down." Caesar said with a sudden vigour. "Lanius is his match with a blade, Gaius Magnus has a way with strategy and there are a dozen other Legatus who would flay him alive at my orders. Leave me now Arcade and speak of this to no-one or Motor-Runner's fate will seem a mercy."
"How many are there?" Cato demanded of his scout, already knowing the correct answer.
"Fifty, maybe sixty, Legate." He answered. Close enough – Raul counted fifty four, well fifty two now after Dog stamped on some skulls. Fifty two against a half cohort of four hundred and eighty.
The outcome would not be in doubt but it was fifty two dug in, well armed, well lead mostly trained men and women. An all out charge would yield terrible losses but they did not have the time for a siege. Lanius would beat him back to Nova Roma and he could ill afford that. Cato dismissed the man and glanced around, they were maybe twenty minutes march to the factory, a good enough place to camp.
"Vexillarius!" He called, the grizzled veteran who went by the name of Macro was by his side in an instant. "We're making camp here, summon the Centurions to me." The Legionary saluted and blew a series of patterns through his horn and before long the each member of the column was doing their assigned tasks – slaves set up tents and prepared meals as the Legionaries dug a ring of ditches and within half an the camp had clear lines, a defended perimeter and hot meals on the way.
Cato's personal slaves went to their task like clockwork, erecting his pavilion and setting out his personal effects such as his armour stand and a trestle table at the pavilion's entrance. The Centurions arrived not long after, having given their men the watch rotation. The last to arrive was Aurelius of Phoenix, marching with his usual swagger he fixed Macro with a glare before taking his place by the table.
"Where is your man Porcino?" He demanded of the Legate. Cato bristled and drew his lips back into a snarl.
"Indisposed. Now learn your place, Centurion." There was a slight chuckle from the other Centurions. Each stood at their place studying a map of the Novac area, drawn up the Speculators prior to Caesar's arrival in the Mojave.
"The enemy is dug in, well supplied and well armed – with experience in the main but several of their number are refugees or caravan guards. The only path is down a narrow road and so a head on assault would yield many dead..." Cato traced it along the map, remembering his journey there – some twenty dead and a good amount of scavenge, a good day by all measurements.
"It is of no matter." Aurelius interrupted. "End it quickly. I shall lead the charge myself if you are too cowardly." Cato sighed and loosened his sword belt.
"I've had shits more dangerous than you, Centurion. Now be quiet while the adults talk." The Legate's voice was low and flat, the threat evident to all.
"Each of you shall place your best marksmen under Decanus Piso, who will provide covering fire from the ridge the main body advance up the path. Aurelius, your century may go first if you still wish for the honour." The Centurion gave a sullen nod.
"The advance shall begin at noon tomorrow. Until then each Vexillarius take it in turn to venture as close as they dare to the factory and sound the trumpet loud and long, we shall wear the enemy down mentally before we take their heads. Macro, you are first." The Legate's personal Vexillarius saluted and made his way out of the camp, a small escort going with him. "That is all men, I want the Cohort ready ready to march by dawn." Each Centurion snapped a salute before marching to their men and off in the distance the trumpeting began. Cato felt a smile creep onto his face.
"I'm coming for you Boone."
"Will someone go and shut that fucker up?" Blueballs roared, throwing his lunch against the wall. Boone glanced up from his own plate.
"The moment we leave our positions they'll shoot us down like dogs." The Sniper said, taking a bite of the sandwich. Some of Marcinko's men had been on watch and one had gotten a bullet through the skull when he tried to make it back to the factory, the rest were now stuck in their foxhole waiting for the inevitable.
"Well it preferable to that fucking racket!" Blueballs stormed from the room. "Learn some fucking show tunes you bastard!" Boone heard him shout as he passed a window. A few around the room gave a slight chuckle – there was no tune or rhythm to the trumpeter – just the occasional blast from different directions each time. Drip had already been on the roof attempting to hit him with a rifle but whoever it was kept out of sight.
"Seconds?" Jess asked, holding up another plate. Boone shook his head, she had been overbearing since they found Manny, assuming he needed consoling and care. Manny had been a friend, a good friend but the time for grief was long gone.
"Cross." He called to the merchant who sat on the other side of the room, looking as irritated as Blueballs, none of them had slept well that night thanks to the trumpet. "Are your guards ready to fight?"
"Why should they?" Cross answered sullenly. "This is your war with the Legion. I should go out there and make my peace."
"If we go out there they'll crucify us, Boss." One of the guards said. "I'd rather go out fighting than surrender." one of Blueballs men put in. Cross scowled at his man.
"Fine, die if you want. I'm going to hide until this is over." He scuttled from the room the glares of all the fighters, which was almost everyone.
"Jess its about time you went into the tunnels with the rest." Boone said to the teenager.
"I can fight." She protested.
"No you can't." Boone cut her off. "You have no experience with anything bigger than an air rifle and we need every gun and bullet in the hands of someone who knows how to do damage. Now go." He ordered. Jess scowled before storming from the room, followed with less drama by the other refugees who were either too old or too young to be of much use. "Everyone know their place?" He asked the others once they were alone. A series of nods was the response.
"Good. If they find that trumpet half as annoying as we do they have to be here soon." Then for the first time in his life Boone began to wonder if he was prophetic. The random trumpeting stopped and instead a pattern filled the air, one familiar to all those who served in the NCR – the Legion's advance. Boone rushed to the window and saw the crimson ranks filling the road. Rank upon rank of disciplined soldiers.
"Fuck." Someone to his left muttered.
Arcade did one final check for anyone following him, it was his fifth one, whatever was waiting for him he could not be found with it. The painting had been on the other side of the corridor, a sign that Washington had left something for him. When he went for the brick, three others came away with it to reveal a package the size of a small toaster wrapped in brown paper.
"What the fuck?" He whispered.
"I received a call from command."A voice said behind him. Arcade nearly crapped himself and tried to spin round, only succeeding in hitting his shoulder against the wall. Washington stood by the door, dressed in his slave rags.
"Christ, Captain you almost gave me a heart attack." Arcade complained. Washington shrugged.
"You need to be on your guard." Arcade hefted up the package.
"What is this thing?" He asked.
"Command has put the kill order out on Caesar." Washington said. "Civvies want revenge for Kimball and Military thinks taking him out now will cause the Legion to devour itself. Thanks to your intelligence they know of the rivalry between the Legates, a civil war could end the Legion once and for all."
"What is this?" Arcade repeated, fearing the answer.
"A bomb and the gear to strap it to your body." Washington answered bluntly. Arcade opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by the spy. "No-one else can get as close to him as you. They've even stopped searching you!"
"No." Arcade said, his voice a whisper. "I can't." He placed the package down and tried to leave. Washington grabbed his arm and held it in a vice like grip.
"You saved Caesar's life, before that you stitched the new Legate up a dozen times as he sabotaged for Caesar."
"I didn't know about it back then." Arcade tried to justify.
"But you still did it. And now because of that hundreds have died, thousands enslaved. You can end it all, you can save generations from misery and subjugation." Washington pleaded, his voice desperate. "Four of my men have been caught already, we don't have much time." Arcade could not meet his eyes. "In death you can stop a tyrant."
"Fine." Arcade consented. "I'll do it. I'll kill the bastard."
Once again, sorry for the long update time.
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