A/N: Took a while, I know, but I'm working on a lot of things at once. If anyone wants to keep an eye on the story as it is being written or check out future chapters I have already written, feel free to go to Link, just be warned, there are spoilers in there, and not everything makes it to the final version.
These fields, the little ponds by the Washington monument and what most likely used to be a pleasant park between it and the capitol, they might have had a name, once upon a time, but we just call it the Mall. This designation encompasses every museum and memorial around the massive pillar, although the Capitol is our only foothold in here.
Right now, I just sit down, cross-legged, on what used to be a trinket store for tourists. I can see the National Archives poking over another blasted out building behind me, and have a clear view of everything from our stronghold in the Capitol to the Brotherhood outpost around the Washington Memorial.
About fifty mutants are in the trenches, facing them from the left flank, from the capitol, are thirty-two Talon Company infantrymen and, on the right side, fifteen BoS Knights. Odds here favour the Brotherhood heavily. That firefight back in those alleys, the one Ghost quickly and brutally resolved, was undoubtedly a result of a botched push against the entrenched mutants that took us too close to BoS troops. My squad was on patrol duty when it happens, I can only assume they were ordered to flank the outpost and were cut off by Brotherhood reinforcement.
The Enclave showing up is not a surprise, though; ever since that water purifier started doing its thing, they have been taking cheap shots at the Brotherhood every chance they get. They mostly leave us alone in those scenarios, since we're essentially their decoys, but if we meet them without a common enemy to shoot at, their default stance is to just light us up and move on.
I'm not just having a grand old time sitting on a rooftop and contemplating all this shit, I actually need to understand what's going on, because no orders are coming from the radio and I'm not big on personal initiative.
The rifle might be busted, but its scope is still fine, so I peek into it and check out the trenches. Sun's just about down by now, most of the Mall is drowned in shadows, meaning I can now take the welding goggles off without feeling like somebody's pouring chlorine in my eyes.
Even with my elevation, I can't see what's going on in the trenches and the fancy Enclave gadget on my cap doesn't have the range to help out. I was taught to track targets in the wastes, know what to look for, but looking for clues out of a scope in the dark was not covered in training.
Shell casing and bullet impacts are everywhere, but that's nothing new, there has not been five minutes in the last two centuries without a firefight breaking out in this place. Green domes pace back and forth over the edge of trenches in some places; mutants. We didn't win that particular engagement, I guess.
No muzzle flares anywhere. In the dark, you'd assume these would show up crisp and clear, but it appears nobody in the trenches is being shot at for the time being. The Capitol building itself is another story; windows are lit up by automatic fire on every floor, a few explosions rattle my bones, but they're just mines or grenades.
The radio screeches and I almost drop my rifle. Bloody fucking thing just made my heart shit itself.
"Private Griffin, this is SDO Mendez, is that you on the rooftop?" SDO, Special Duty Officer, is not a rank, it's like referring to me as Sniper Griffin… Although I never actually made it to that. Still, I'm real glad this asshole's talking to me.
"Affirmative… I think. What's your position?"
"Brotherhood bunker, saw a scope glint, heard your transmission about five mikes ago. You need a recap of what's going on?" He sounds old, late forties, at the very least, a veteran. Calm despite being in a hole surrounded by super-mutants.
"Short version will do."
He scoffs, "Agreed. We made a push to recover BoS tech from this position, didn't work. I snuck in, but my escort's KIA and my Stealth-boy's run out, reckon you can provide some cover fire?"
Well, that's embarrassing… "Negative, Mendez, my weapon is non-functional and I have sustained serious but non-life-threatening injuries, I am, however, able to spot hostiles outside the trenches from your position to… Well, anywhere between there and the Brotherhood outpost." I don't tell him I haven't eaten a thing all day and that my head's beginning to spin a little.
He keeps quiet for a bit, time I use to scope out sandbag positions, elevated platforms, rubble piles, any sort of cover the man can use. Not ten steps from the bunker's rear entrance is a wooden ramp leading out of the trenches and directly in front of the museum of technology. Spitting distance north, that is, to my right, is a Metro entrance. Fifteen meters further is a mutant's version of a bunker; four concrete slabs balanced on one another Stonehenge-style with a ramp on the side and sandbags on the top.
Calling it a proper bunker is an insult to sane engineers, so let's go for pillbox. The museum of history is right next to the BoS outpost, full of Ghouls, ferals and regular ones. We have good relations with them; everyone's money is good, but jobs are scarce, as we can never overtly hang around that area without being burned out by the Brotherhood.
"I read you, Griffin, what do you suggest?"
"Head north, into the metro, should be just a short dash from where you are.
After another minute of silence, the SpecOps officer sighs and speaks, "Alright, Griffin, guide me." My radio shifts to red, indicating it's shifted to an encoded frequency. All I see is a green mass right above his position, holding a generator-sized box with tons of pipes jutting out the front of it.
"Minigun lining up with the trench's entrance, left side, second floor. No other immediate threats."
He ignores cover and explodes out of the trench, carried by cybernetically enhanced legs. He skids to a stop, raises a heavily modified Glock Plasma pistol and takes two shots at the mutant in the museum of technology.
"Two coming out of the subway." I'm calmer than I was a minute ago. This dude just pasted an Overlord in less time than I would take to spit. He spins, ninety degrees to the right, drops to a crouch and raises his weapon, leveling it for a perfect center of mass shot that takes out the lead mutant, but leaves the second unscathed and two steps away from arms' reach. The merc rolls aside and recovers in the exact same position as he was a second ago, but facing the mutant once again.
The beast turns around much faster than momentum should allow, swinging its massive sledgehammer one handed. The commando keeps cool, squeezes out a shot before ducking under the blow as though stepping under a clothesline. As the mutant swings his weapon back for a second try, my buddy steps so close he's ducking under its elbows and, from there, puts four quick shots through its kneecaps before rolling backwards.
The mutie's swing shifts its massive weight, right onto the injured knee, enough to send it into a prone position for less than a second.
"One climbing that pillbox, on your six." Same way as the metro entrance, complete opposite from the mutie he's dancing with. That apparently registers as his cue to stop messing around and my buddy puts a single bolt through the mutant's face before spinning around and centering his sights on the interloper.
Two more shots and that bad guy's history.
Another mutant, inside the trenches, take a few shots at the exposed commando, who returns fire, then freezes, apparently waiting for his target to pop out of cover again. It doesn't. "You're clear, Mendez." The longer he stays there, the more time he gives the BoS snipers to line up a shot.
"Thanks, kid." He calls, spinning his gun cowboy style for a second before popping it into his holster. As he disappears into the Metro tunnels, my radio crackles one last time, "I'll put in a good word for you at HQ, just try to live long enough for it to matter, eh?"
"Copy that, sir. Good luck."
Now we know going through the trenches is not going to be an option. There's a network of planks, suspension bridges and similar makeshift structures, probably set up by traders, then maintained by raiders and mercs. It doesn't even go close to where I want to be, heading deeper into DC, towards Rangers territory, but now that the BoS, Enclave and Talon forces have all withdrawn, the rats will be coming out of hiding all over street level and D.C.'s got some kickass rodents. Keeping off the ground ought to be safer at least until I get to the mutants' home turf, then… I don't really know, never faced a supermutant before. They can't be too fond of tight spaces, so I'm thinking the sewers might be a safe way into the metro network. From there, I can find my way to Underworld and wait there for the next supply shipment to leave for the outpost.
I must climb off this perch and stick to the streets for a few yards first, though, and that's going to be freaky as fuck.
A slippery rubble almost does the wildlife's job and I tumble down six meters of piled concrete, landing perfectly on my face and injured shoulder. My blood is jam and I'm a toast, it seems. That makes me laugh and cry as the pain makes me color blind. My blood is blue for a moment and the pavement is white. It's kind of pretty. Then reality drips back in, harsh and correctly color coded for my convenience.
The arm still isn't cooperating, so I flail around for a bit and finally end up using my rifle as a crutch. Legs are fine, but landing on your face doesn't improve the malnutrition and blood loss-induced disorientation.
Basically, my brain can't figure out which way is up just yet. Still, I hobble along on the walls, feeling as though I'm about to fall in that massive sparkly ocean overhead and successfully make it to the exact same building I was in earlier, only all its floors are intact, it's half a kilometer east of that building and someone thought it would be funny to design the main hallway like a sideway staircase. Luckily, my head injury has apparently granted me the power to walk on vertical surfaces, so I drag myself onto the first flight of stairs.
Shivers run up my spine as I turn my back on the floor, the end of the corridor somewhere over my head, and I need to latch onto the rail after the first step.
The ceiling has a door built into it, meaning it's probably where I want to go, but it opens outwards and I don't see a way to open it without letting go of the railing.
I try to step on the floor, but something just throws me back against the walls, like a strong wind, and I end up rolling to the next staircase.
It's only once I'm done with that one that a my brain, apparently otherwise engaged until now, puts everything back into perspective; "We are moving up, if it has stairs and you're drawn to it, it's the floor, if it has a doorway, it's a wall… Tie your shoelaces and wear a helmet next time. Oh, and, your shoulder's fucked, do something about it."
I'm not hearing voices, but the way all this information just floods back in really feels like it got fed up with me and decided to intervene.
Nothing tries to fuck me on the way up, the planks do not look tempting at all, considering how much trouble I've just had mastering stairs, but let's not act like this is a choice I'm making.
The planks groan under my weight, but they never buckle or crack. They never branch off either, herding me in like cattle. The only call I've got to make here is which butcher store I'm going to be dropped off at.
For the most part, the shells I come across are just that; framework with corpses and bullet holes on every path down. Third one is not quite as bad. I'm not sure what it was used for, but none of the floors have collapsed. Not that I'm especially thrilled about that, considering they're all crawling with supermutants, I can tell from the sound and the smell.
Someone marked the rooftop access door with a white X. Chalk, so it has to be less that a few days old, the rain would have washed it off. Mutants and raiders tend to mark things with blood, not chalk, so there's hope here. Despite this being a shit idea by every definition, I push the faded red door open and scan the staircase with my magic goggles. The yellow icon in the top right turns red and begins blinking, but I don't see anything unusual down there.
Going in with my pea shooter held with the same care as if it were a .44 magnum, I carefully make my way down to the top floor. The door's shut and boarded up, and there's godzilla frolicking around in there, judging by the sounds, so I move on to the next floor. Door's half buried in body parts, but it's got an X on it, so I kick the gory mess aside and nudge it open.
This used to be a posh hotel, but now it's got new management and the once luxurious suites on this floor have been thoroughly trashed. I can tell because whatever trashed them also did a number on the walls. I take a single step in before having military grade steel shoved in my face, pure white light burning my eyes in the process. The other doesn't have time to say anything, I drop the gun, yelp and shield my face the instant I feel that pain hit.
"Wow," they go, old, snide and male, "you're just as fearless as mercs get, aren't you?" They think I dropped my weapon out of fear. I really don't feel like arguing with that.
Brotherhood of Steel scout, he's got the skin-tight suit and a 10mm silenced pistol, which he holds along with a heavy duty flashlight in an unfamiliar grip, resting his shooting hand on top of his… shining one? I like it, you can keep your weapon stable and if something gets to close, just whack 'em with the fat metal torch.
He's already pointing the thing at the floor and doesn't seem intent on finishing me off. Might just not realize I'm Talon Company, might just not care.
"So, how did you get past the mutants?" He asks, "Didn't get in from the roof, did you?"
I nod and he groans. "Well, looks like we're in this together, boy. Uglies own this place, I checked out the skybridge all the way, it just gets worse the deeper you go, hollow shells with no cover."
Yeah, that's why I didn't keep to the skyline. That and I was really hoping there were friendlies in here. What's he doing, cornering himself in mutie-town, though? "I noticed, climbing down on the outside's not gonna work either," I add, "street level is infested. You think this place has a direct sewer access?"
He's amused by the question, but takes the time to close the door before answering. "That staircase won't take us all the way down, the elevators are busted and the ground floor is a goddamn slaughterhouse." That doesn't answer my question, which he notices from glancing at my eyes, apparently, because he gives me a straight answer, "I don't know. Might be, but it isn't worth the risk."
Now it's my turn to be amused. "Out there, it's a full moon, clear sky. We walk those planks, they'll pick us off before we get ten feet." A glance at his pistol, then at mine, underlines another problem, which he gladly puts into words, though neither of us needs him to.
"We're not tanking down sentries with this firepower and we're not sneaking past them either, muties and their centaurs can smell a drop of sweat from fifteen feet away, they have perfect eyesight and their hearing is close to echolocation." That's all news to me. I guess the BoS would know a lot about these bastards, what with them having such a massive hard-on for one another.
"What's the plan, then? Cuddle up until room service comes knocking?" You know, I don't quite recall being this much of an asshole fifteen hours ago… My instructors said they'd turn boys to men and war would turn men into soldiers, now I know soldier is actually a synonym for jackass.
He groans and nods, "They say a cornered fox can kill wolves and hounds."
"Who says that?" 'cause I heard a few sayings about foxes, but none along those lines.
He thinks about it, putting one hand on the doorknob, then chuckles, "Don't know, no one that's ever hunted an actual fox."
I try to smile, but end up cringing, which makes his smile fade as well. He opens the door without another word and we head out.