Chapter 15
Are You Nikolai Rascalov?
"One picture is worth one thousand denials."
-Ronald Regan
Time almost slowed down in the moments after the shot was fired from the grassy hill. It was almost ironic to him. Denver was known as one of the Legion's strongholds in the East (at least, East when compared to Nevada). He'd expected more Legionaries or even the Legate himself to be around, and Nikolai knew that if he was caught by a fully equipped Legate, he'd be ripped to shreds. The alcoholic, that is.
The one man Nikolai actually had some level of fear for was Lanius. Though he didn't care about killing or death in general, he disliked pain. Pain was unpleasant.
It could be dulled by Vodka, but that didn't take away from how much he hated pain. If he could kill Legate Lanius with a well-placed sniper round, that would be fine by him. He had no knowledge of the man's armor, other than it was patchwork armor pieced together by fallen foes, as is the habit of superior Legionaries that don't die before the old age of 23.
Lanius killed enough men and women to make dense armor. Bullets would likely leave awful bruises or even break a few ribs, but he'd likely survive if Nikolai had to engage him with a pistol.
A SPAS-12 might do the trick. Nikolai knew what he wanted for his birthday.
As fate would have it, this Legionary was not Lanius. Nikolai stuck around after he fired to ensure Caesar's second-in-command was truley not present. His shot was not seen, and the Legionaries that gathered around the currently unconscious body of "Glanton" had not yet recovered enough to begin a search.
Nikolai saw Glanton exhale once more, and no longer. His chest no longer would rise and fall with life. He acknowledged the death with a nod as he began to pack up.
"Good hunting."
He was on his horse and prepared to flee until a voice interrupted him. It was not a Legionary. If the voice belonged to a Legionary, it would not have been used. Bullets would have been speech.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Nikolai froze, and placed a hand on a smoke grenade he had in a satchel on the horse's saddle.
"Are you Nikolai Rascalov?"
He immediately shook his head. "I do not know this man."
When he finally turned his head to see who was speaking with him, he was angered to see four Brotherhood of Steel Paladins behind him. The lead had an energy weapon with "Wonder Waffle" carved in the side. No weapons were trained on Rascalov yet, but he knew violence was going to erupt shortly, if not by the Legion, then by the Brotherhood.
"Do you think you can murder our Brothers and not face the consequences? Get off the horse slowly. We have questions for you."
Nikolai was silent for a minute. He looked at the ground, towards the Legionaries now advancing uphill, and back at the Brotherhood.
"How about this?"
As quickly as he could, he pulled the pin and dropped the smoke grenade before galloping off in a direction that saw him safe from both the Brotherhood and the Legion.
He didn't stop riding. He kept going. He was making up the escape procedure as he went along. Blind fire from both Legionaries and the Paladins stirred him when he slowed. A shadow moving slightly when it shouldn't have stressed him if he calmed. He knew the direction he was proceeding in was not the way to his next target. It wasn't even the way to any town in particular. He made a mental note to contact the Whore once he was free of the camp's vicinity and any Legionaries or Paladins that followed.
He assumed the Legion and Paladins fought it out amongst themselves. They were one in the same, the Brotherhood and the Legion. One sought peace by telling people what they can and can't have, essentially controlling them through a dictatorial rule. The other sought total control of the people, enslaving those that were weak and rewarding those that were strong. Where the Brotherhood had some level of morality, the Legion saw no such thing.
There was only strength. The Legion was built on the idea of "Survival of the Fittest". The weak were kept down, enslaved, murdered, and tortured. The rationale was "make them stronger". If the weak were tormented at the hands of their masters, the men of the Legion, then they would hardly feel anything if anarchists like the Brotherhood, the Enclave, remnants of the Master's Army, or even those damnable rebels in Freeside came around.
The rebels... They called themselves "The Kings". Each and every one in Freeside. "We are all Kings" was their motto. Even the women called themselves "The Kings" (some homosexual men in Freeside were a little different, calling themselves "The Queens"). They were led by one man that they simply called "The King", and since early January of 2282 (the year turning not long after the Whore and the Hunter began their campaign), they were successful in many endeavors against the Legion, like killing a Legionary named Vulpes Inculta, and...
...
...they were working on Caesar's guard, trying to lure and weaken them from their safety in the walls of Freeside (though they pushed the Legion out of the town, The Strip was abandoned. The Casinos provided little assistance in anything other than poor decision making).
Rascalov had never been to the Strip, but Sergei was there numerous times. He'd been rumored to have entered the Lucky 38, except the problem with that little theory was it allegedly took place about a hundred years before he was born. Yoblonovich claimed to have had no audience with Mr. House, and claims that he'd only entered The Tops to sell a few weapons at a discounted price (essentially as a middle finger to the Van Graff family and the Gun Runners), and made a point to avoid the White Gloves like the plague.
The Gun Runners didn't particularly care that one small Russian bastard sold a few weapons to a family on the Strip. They knew Yoblonovich, and knew he had a tendency to wander (ghoulified directors from the Pre-War era called him "The Walking Jump-Cut", because it seemed like it could take him six minutes to wander across the states, and six months to travel fifteen feet sometimes). Pinning him down would require a lot of effort, and Yoblonovich wasn't exactly a thorn in their side to begin with.
The Van Graff family, on the other hand, took offense to him. Here was a big energy weapon selling family, and their branch in Vegas was stuck in Freeside. Meanwhile, a tiny arms dealer from Russia is allowed in and out of the Strip on business (House approved of his dealings when it was made known that Yoblonovich was only dropping off sidearms to guards in The Tops).
It was rumored that Yoblonovich even sold guns to the Legion at one point, after Caesar guarenteed safe passage to and from the Fort. Caesar's Legion bought weapons from the Russian (the most noteable weapon being an Anti-Material rifle), and he was sent on his way. Caesar decreed that any Legionary firing upon him at any point would be crucified. At least he was true to his word to the Russian.
In the west, Yoblonovich's best customers were The Kings. They favored his selection of pistols and submachine guns, and he was offered safe passage throughout Freeside, though he never accepted. Nobody but Yoblonovich and his suppliers knew where his nearly inexhaustible supply of everything came from. The man himself never named any names, but always chalked the support down to his seemingly endless list of "buddies".
His pack brahmin likely hated him as much as he hated Nikolai. She wanted nothing more than to stand around eating whatever was edible all the time. Instead, she was stuck wandering around with random crap on her back. The only thing keeping her from rebelling against such an outrage was the occasional treat.
Yoblonovich's supplies, nonetheless, made him a prime target for Super Mutants. No, not for conversion, but simply for whatever he was carrying. He'd been robbed on numerous occasions, and he usually went out to try and hunt down what he lost shortly thereafter. Sometimes he was successful, other times he was not. His buddies rarely faulted him for being robbed, since Super Mutants were known for taking people and weapons (sometimes even dogs, for unknown reasons). He might have lost his brahmin in attacks, had he not packed it with so much random crap that any incoming bullets were rendered slow and otherwise inept.
His clients usually considered him a good arms dealer, though he had a tendency of butchering even the simplest names (whether this habit was intentional or not is up for debate). Still, he had an explosive temper, and was known to be adept with various weapons from extensive time with the Spetsnaz.
Rascalov, meanwhile, was a nameless, half-insane murderer. He could not ask for a more perfect reputation.
After he was sure that he was no longer being pursued, he was also certain that he could not be more off course if he tried. The prospect of having to wander around even more with the Brotherhood on his tail (again) irritated him, so he dug up his radio and called for the Whore.
"What is it, Nikolai?"
She sounded tired. He assumed she was resting. This was still more important.
"Call off your hounds. The damned Brotherhood attacked me."
"Did you kill your target?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did I want rhetorical questions?"
She was silent for a few more moments. He heard a gruff voice say something he did not understand.
"Yeah, I know, he's an asshole. Just give me a minute, Argutus... Nikolai, what do you expect me to do?"
"I don't know, go to one of their bases and ask them nicely to stop trying to kill me? Give them a box of chocolates and an apology card for all I care. Just stop them."
"I don't know if you remember, Nikolai, but I'm burned. I can't exactly do anything about it."
"Then I'm done helping you."
"You'll be done helping me after Caesar is dead. Until then, you will keep to the plan."
"Or what?"
"Let's just say I'm being nice right now, and if I don't hear that your targets are dying, I'll make a point to kill you, too. I don't care what it takes. Do what you agreed to do, and then you don't ever have to hear from me again."
There was an audible "CLICK" and Rascalov's words went unheard. After a few moments of silence, he put the radio away and took out his map to find his way back on course.
End of Chapter
1817 words.
I'm getting bored of "Sneak in, kill, leave". Thus, I decided to shoot for moments after the attack here. I sacrificed 3000 or so words to ensure that I avoid repetition to some extent.
Next chapter will be of a certain length (I'm going a new way again and this time, I don't know how long it will be), but we're going to meet the EVIL COURIER OF DOOM! This Courier assisted the Legion during the battle, and Caesar made him a Centurion for it. Oh, also, the Courier is the one that sent Legionaries to attack Milly, under Caesar's orders. Let's see how revenge tastes.
Spoiler Alert: I'm going to wander in any direction I want to go for this one. You know, like usual. So it's not a spoiler. Go figure.