Nipton fell in October. Ranger Ghost ran down to tell Ranger Jackson while he ate lunch with Major Knight. Panting, she leaned on the door frame of the small office.
"There's smoke rising above Nipton. I think it's Legion, sir," she reported. Ranger Jackson and Major Knight exchanged a worried glance, and then Ranger Jackson followed Ghost out of the admin building. Major Knight calmly walked back to his desk and opened his ledger.
Sure enough, when Ranger Jackson looked through Ghost's binoculars down Nipton Highway directly downhill from the outpost, multiple billows of smoke rose above the town of Nipton.
"Go tell Major Knight to call Camp McCarran. Tell him we need some reinforcements; we are now the front lines," ordered Ranger Jackson. Ghost took a deep swallow, and ran to relay his orders. Sergeant Kilborn had overheard.
"I knew it! We'll be overrun in no time!" he began to yell. Kilborn ran to the barracks door and kicked it open. Bright morning light spilled inside, which lay barren except for Lacey the bartender, Frank, Mike, a few soldiers, a caravan crew, and a pretty lady who nobody knew much about.
Frank shielded his eyes from the light. He sat closest to the pretty lady. "What're you yelling about?"
Kilborn lowered his arms and looked at him. "The Legion overran Nipton last night."
Everyone in the bar jolted awake, even the pretty lady and her caravan friends. "Nipton? That's less than ten miles away," observed Frank. Beside him, Mike coughed nervously.
That same month, Lee arrived.
Corporal Lee Roberts from Junktown, and a part of the fighting 21st Infantry Division. He arrived with a message saying that Nipton had fallen. The brass at McCarran informed the soldiers at Mojave Outpost that a squad would be dispatched as soon as they got back from their bathroom break. Colonel James Hsu informed them that the food at McCarran was not the best.
From the moment Kilborn opened the gate for him, everyone knew Lee was fresh out of basic training. His uniform looked crisp and freshly starched. Both the service rifle on his back and the .45 pistol on his belt had been cleaned before shipping out, Frank knew. His face didn't have a spot of facial hair, and he smelled like aftershave. The boy was young, and everyone knew it.
"Where you from, boy?" Frank asked him when he sat next to him at the bar.
"Junktown, born and raised, sir! My pa sells jerky there," announced Lee with a big smile on his face. Frank wondered if the book Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor was based on Lee's father.
But Mike wanted to ask a question. "Why'd you join the army?"
"So I could make money and kill Legion scum, sir!"
Frank turned to him. "Lee, you don't have to call him 'sir,' he's just a gunny," instructed Frank to the new kid. Mike slumped in his chair.
"Say," began Lee, "who is the commanding officer around here, anyway?"
The bartender, Lacey, walked over and refilled Frank's glass with scotch. "Some people say it's Ranger Jackson. Others insist that it's Major Knight. But really, we don't have a commanding officer."
"And don't listen to anything Major Knight tells you," Frank told the confused corporal. "He's a communist."
"Really?" Lee's eyes opened wide. A collective gasp went up from the bar, and everyone turned to Frank in astonishment.
"That's right, folks," Frank stood and addressed the mass, "Major Knight is a communist, but no one except me knows it. He wants to use that log of his to take all our weapons and redistribute them to the squad they got coming in from McCarran. In fact, I was just about to go arrest him."
"You go get that red commie!" a soldier yelled from the barracks room. Ranger Jackson had walked in and heard Frank's remarks. He caught Frank and Mike as they were walking out of the bar.
"That true, boy?" he asked.
"Every word, sir," Mike and Frank said simultaneously.
Ranger Jackson hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "Well then, lets go arrest us a commie,"
Major Knight's office was right across the hallway from Ranger Jackson's. Frank opened the door and held it for Ranger Jackson, who had his handcuffs out.
Major Knight looked up from his log. "Morning, Ranger Jackson. Same to you, fellas" he nodded politely. Ranger Jackson walked behind the desk and pulled out his handcuffs.
"None of that, Major Communist," declared Ranger Jackson assertively. Major Knight frowned in confusion.
"I have no idea of what you speak, ranger," confessed Knight, "but then again, I normally don't."
"Frank here told me all about your little plan, Little Karl."
"And what is my plan, if I may ask?"
"Sorry, you can't ask," ordered Ranger Jackson.
Resigned to the will of Ranger Jackson, Major Knight pursued the subject no further. Frank and Mike stood by, waiting for orders. "Lieutenant, I'm going to take this red scum out the window stealthily, just so nobody sees him. Then, I'm going to take him into the barracks so everyone can see him."
"What do you want me to do, sir?" asked Frank, frowning.
"I want you to set up an impromptu tribunal for this filth," quipped Ranger Jackson as he opened his office window.
"A tribunal, sir?"
"A tribunal, sir,"
Frank and Mike saluted. "Aye, sir!" they both turned and filed out when Ranger Jackson shoved Major Knight through the window. Forgetting he had handcuffed himself to his new prisoner, Ranger Jackson quickly followed him through.
Back outside in the October sun, Frank and Mike brainstormed. Preparing a council would pose their first problem. "Why don't we just pick prominent people and make them the jury?" wondered Mike.
"Because the jury should be the people. I'll be the jury. I can represent the people."
"So what about the council of judges?"
"They'll just make sure I'm in line."
"Make sure the jury is in line?"
"No. I'm the prosecution," Frank told him, shocked that he didn't know.
"And the jury?"
"Of course. You'll be the defense counsel."
"But I have no legal training," admitted Mike innocently.
Frank stared long and hard at him. Since their childhood, the two had been close friends. Through school, life in the country outside Arroyo, and then basic training. They had both joined special forces, and Frank had proven to be a natural soldier; moving up the ranks with quick succesion. Mike relied on his sharp wit to stay alive.
"Didn't you get fined for breaking a window in Arroyo during a stickball game?" he asked.
Mike paused, "Yeah, one hundred dollars and community service."
"Did you step in a courtroom for it?" Mike nodded. "There's your legal training."
One hour and three glasses of whiskey later, the tribunal was in session, and the case of Knight v. Mojave Outpost was being tried. Three judges: Ranger Jackson, Corporal Lee Roberts, and Sergeant Kilborn sat on the top level of a bunk bed. In front of them, two tables had been set up. On their left sat Frank and a random trader he had recruited and filled in; his co-counsel. At the left table, a handcuffed Major Knight sat by Mike. Behind the tables, soldiers and traders alike sat in rows watching the trial unfold.
Ranger Jackson, sitting in the middle of Lee and Kilborrn, banged a tin can on the metal bed frame. "Order in the court!" the spectators hushed. Frank leaned and whispered something to the merchant. "Ladies and gentlement, this is a trial of the state. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery, or else you will be thrown in with Major Communist here. The prosecution may now state its case!" he banged the can again.
Frank rose, shuffled a few papers, and walked to the center of the room. The trader, in a sudden spasm of asthma, coughed violently. The shuffled papers fell in a clutter to the floor, and revealed that they were blank. Frank stared wide-eyed as did his co-counsel. Awkward silence prevailed, before Frank muttered, "Toss me that," and pointed to his briefcase. The merchant reached into the open case and produced a bottle of wine. He tossed it underhanded to Frank, who popped the cork and took a few swigs. Burping, he began his statement.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I bring evidence that will prove, undoubtedly, that Major Knight is, indeed, a communist of the sort our country hates. These are the facts of the case: as we all know, the major keeps a 'log' of sorts in that cramped broom closet of his. And, everyday without fail, he presides over that counter in the administration building, asking people to log certain things in his 'log.'"
Hesitating, Frank glanced to his partner, who produced Major Knight's log. "Upon further inspection of this document, I have found that this log does indeed contain many people information, including everyone's in this room! It shows weapon and ammo checkouts, clock ins and clock outs, and even food orders. Ladies and gentlemen, this only can mean that Major Knight is looking to use this information against us. He aims to cash in on our checkouts, and plans to redistribute them at a profit either here at the outpost, or at McCarran!"
Mike was on his feet. "Objection your honor, this is speculation, and quite honestly, does not make sense at all. I move to strike this entire statement from the record, immediately! Obviously, the lieutenant is looking to tarnish Major Knight's reputation."
Ranger Jackson considered the facts. "Overruled. We have no record, Mike."
"But sir-"
Frank cut him off. "Sit down, Mike," he sat. "The prosecution calls Major Knight to the stand! Or, since we have no stand, to please just stand."
The prisoner stood, shameless and confused. Frank faced him and the spectators. "Major Knight, how long have you been a communist?"
Major Knight shuffled his feet. "Lieutenant, I am not - and have never been - a communist."
Frank turned to the judges, "The prosecution rests."
Ranger Jackson motioned at Mike, "The defense may now present their case."
Stumbling, Mike stood. Major Knight whispered something at him, and Mike leaned in. They discussed something for a few moments. Meanwhile, Frank hastily wrote something on one of his blank papers.
"Yeah, uh..." began Mike shakily. "I don't really know Major Knight all that well. I think he's pretty nice I guess...I don't think he's a communist. Yeah, I rest."
Faltering, Ranger Jackson mulled over the testimony. Almost inaudible, he breathed, "Riveting..." and then, "Has the jury reached a verdict?"
Coughing loudly, Frank stood and walked to the bunk bed. He handed Ranger Jackson a piece of paper. Ranger Jackson called Major Knight to stand.
"Major Knight," he read, "on the charge of treason against the state, this court finds you not guilty. On the charge of being an uptight jerk, this court finds you guilty as charged. You are now sentenced to keep the log for the remainder of your service in the NCR. Court adjourned," Ranger Jackson banged the tin can, and court ended.
A cheer went up from the spectators. Major Knight was released from the handcuffs, and he nonchalantly shook Mike's hand. He walked over and gave Frank a pat, and retrieved the log book. "Well fought," he said. Frank grunted and frowned at him. The spectators swarmed Mike, lifting him up and carried him out of the trial area. They deposited him at the bar.
Raising his wine bottle, Frank toasted with the merchant. The two drank to a banner across the wall that read "Defenders of the Good Fight."
"That's us, Frank," the merchant said. Upon closer inspection, Frank noticed the man wore a trench coat and carried a .44 magnum revolver. "Fighting the good fight."
"I'll drink to that, any day," agreed Frank. The two drank until they passed out, and when Frank woke up the next morning, the stranger was nowhere to be found.