Over the next few days, Hank saw how annoyingly somber and whiny Boone really was, but he certainly knew his way around a rifle. And he proved this on a daily basis.
Three days out from Novac, the duo camped on a small bluff overlooking Wolfhorn Ranch and the town of Searchlight. Boone wandered off while Hank built a fire. Normally, Boone wandered off around dusk and returned with presents. This night, he arrived around eight-thirty with two geckos already field-dressed. Hank knew that Boone used this time to clear his mind, especially since he hardly spoke casually. For the most part, Boone let his rifle do the talking.
This night, Hank wanted to change that. After Hank roasted the gecko, the two sat down to eat.
"Tell me about the NCR," Hank offered. Boone sat across the fire, eating gecko and staring into the heat from behind his sunglasses. Hank wondered why he wore them at night.
"They're alright, I guess. Good intentions, and all that. I joined because I wanted to be a sharpshooter - I was already a good shot. I've always been a loner, so First Recon suited me well," Boone spoke in his slow, raspy tone that Hank still thought sounded like Clint Eastwood.
"Did you see any action?"
"I was at Hoover Dam the first time around. First Recon helped lure you guys into Boulder City. Blew up the place after that...but you know that story," Boone hesitated, thinking he may have breached a sensitive topic, but Hank shrugged him off.
"Don't worry. I never cared much for the Legion."
Boone nodded slightly, and ate a few pieces of gecko leg. "After that, we just went into occupation force, like now. I didn't see much else, other than, ah..." his voice trailed off as he bit into another bite. There followed a slight pause, and Hank waited for him to continue.
But he didn't. Boone seemed to have retreated within his mind. He sat with the flames dancing circles in his sunglasses. Hank, intrigued, asked, "Other than where?"
Hardly glancing up, Boone whispered, "Bitter Springs."
In his time as Explorer, Hank always heard stories. Latest gossip in and around town, that sort. Bitter Springs was one of those stories. The kind that NCR folk tell when they have had too much to drink and need a good story to tell - especially military folk. He had never heard the details, but he knew something had gone wrong there. Something major.
"Bitter Springs? What happened there?" he asked.
"Bad things," Boone whispered, not looking up.
"Care to explain?"
"Not really," the sniper snapped. "We messed up, that's it."
Hank decided to cease his pursuit of the subject, so he tried another. "Want to talk about your wife?"
This time, Boone did look up. "No. There isn't anything to talk about. She's gone, and we'll never find her."
"How do you know?"
"I just know. I could've saved her, but I didn't. Just, drop it. I'm going for a walk," and he hastily pushed himself onto his feet and grabbed his rifle. In one swift movement, he pivoted and had left the light of the campfire.
Frustrated, Hank laid back on his elbows and looked into the fire. He guessed dark secrets hid within the man named Craig Boone. And while it was not his place, he aimed to find out if the two were to continue traveling together.
After a few minutes, he laid on his bedroll and stared up at the sky. He mulled over the next few days: Nipton, which he heard had been sacked by the Legion; Goodsprings, where they would stock up for their journey west, and finally the NCR and safety. Hank dozed off with thoughts of the shores of northern California, and the wharf of San Francisco.
Around midnight, two legionaries rudely kicked him awake.
Their heavy boots thudded into his sides, causing him to jerk awake. Pain rippled through his body as he stared past cloudy eyes up into the faces of his attackers. Hank saw the blurred faces of two legionaries - explorers by the looks of their binoculars. One had the golden binoculars belonging to the Legion Explorer. If he hadn't been kicked recently, he may have laughed.
Both legionaries wore a leather helmet, goggles, and red face wrap with only their upper cheeks visible. They loomed over him. The Explorer leaned down.
"You have dishonored Caesar, and have killed his decanus Dead Sea. Our lord wishes to see you dead. So we have hunted you, profligate. You will now accompany us."
Hank groaned. "And what if I don't?"
"You will, surely enough."
The legionaries began pulling Hank to his feet. Hank, whose side hurt still, made himself as heavy as possible. The fire had died a little; its light only ventured a few feet away. Suddenly, one of the legionaries' head exploded. Blood and brain matter sprayed, and Hank felt a warm ooze on his face. A voice called out from the brush out in the darkness.
"Set him down unless you want to end up like your friend," growled the voice, and Hank realized it was Boone.
The Explorer looked down at his headless friend, and slowly eased Hank back to the ground. "Why don't you come out here, profligate? We can discuss the terms of your surrender," he asked nervously. Hank could imagine his eyes - behind the goggles - darting from place to place, scanning the darkness for any sign of the sniper.
"Terms?" scoffed Boone. "I don't think you're in any position to discuss terms."
The legionary laughed shakily, and Hank nearly cracked up. "Caesar will not be so merciful when he rolls over this land."
From behind the legionary, Hank watched Boone walk up; rifle straight out. Boone's upper body remained rigid as he walked and aimed simultaneously. He tapped the back of the Explorer's head with the muzzle.
"On the ground, now," he ordered. The legionary quickly complied. Hank kept still on the ground, half-leaning up from the waist and half-wishing he was asleep. Boone removed his forward hand from the barrel and went about frisking the legionary: .357 caliber lever-action rifle, 9mm pistol, and machete. Then, he stripped the helmet, goggles, and face wrap, revealing a man around twenty-five with a full head of blonde hair. The man was spread-eagle on the ground with all limbs fully extended. Boone motioned for Hank to stand.
"You know this guy, Hank?" he asked. Quickly jumping from his position on the ground, Hank stood next to Boone.
Hank made a circle of the fallen scout, staring intently at his face. "Um, I think. He's one of the scouts I trained before we entered the Mojave. I think his name is..." he suddenly and visibly started, as he recognized the man's face. "You're the kid who drank all the booze outside of Carson City! That stash was mine, and you know it."
The kid raised his head into Hank's face. "Yeah, and that was good booze, too. Two hundred years old with a great kick."
Boone took his eye from behind the scope and looked at the two peculiarly. "Is there something I missed?"
With one look at the explosively-decapitated scout, Hank shook his head.
"Why'd you do it, Apollo?" the kid asked again, and Hank started once more at hearing his Legion name. "You were the best Explorer the Legion had ever seen. You had it in to be a Praetorian, or a Centurion. Why'd you leave?"
"The food sucked," Hank snipped. He thought Boone chuckled, and the kid nodded.
"What should I do with him?" Boone asked.
"I'm surprised you asked," Hank replied. "I thought you had it in for legionaries."
"I do, but I try to stay away from amorality. The whole karma thing."
Hank nodded, not really believing in karma but letting Boone play the game anyway. "He's young; naive. But, he did try to kill me. You decide."
This time, Boone nodded. "I'm going to ask you some questions. If you're helpful, I'll let you live. If you're not, well...game over. Got it?" the kid nodded quickly. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Hank knew the kid was scared out of his mind.
"You know Scribonious Libo Drusus? Of the Officiorum ab Famulatus?"
"I - I think so," stammered the youth. "He enforces the payout on slaves. Picks them up, like. Works directly for Marcus Licinius Crassus."
"Did he buy a slave from Novac, a few weeks back? A woman; pregnant."
The scout paused, racking his brain. Hank watched the scene unfold. "I don't know, he buys a lot. They come in consistently. You'd have to check a ledger or something. Down at Cottonwood Cove," the Cove was the boat launch that fed into Fortification Hill. All slaves filtered through there.
Boone stood silent and still for a few seconds longer, and Hank thought he heard a few mumbled words.
"Get up," he finally ordered. The legionary stood and waited. Boone kicked his gear over to him, save the weapons. "Take off. Due east. Run," the kid didn't have to be told twice. Boone lowered his rifle and stood as the kid ran down the hill towards the east. Hank watched him run as well, admiring his training, as the kid ran with perfect form and amazing stamina. Boone watched him run from behind his cold sunglasses. Two hundred yards out, he swept his rifle up in one motion and fired a single shot. From his position two hundred yards away, Hank thought he saw the scout turn around after the boom of the rifle sounded, and then fell. He lay still.
"I bet he never saw that coming," reflected Hank.
Casually, Boone popped the shell out, and ejected the magazine. "It's the motto of First Recon: 'The last thing you never see'."
Nipton had been sacked. Hank knew from the smoke as they crested the hill above the town the following morning. By the time Boone laid his scope on the town, he only knew that down below there stood crosses with dead or dying men on them. It turned out he was right.
Stealthily, the two descended from the hill, and crept between buildings and to a ditch running parallel to the Nipton Highway. From their position, they watched the main road leading to the town hall. Boone laid his rifle on the lip of the ditch, and looked through the scope.
Telephone poles lined the main road that t'd the Nipton Highway and ran up to the town hall. A group of legionaries mulled by the steps leading up to the town hall door. A slim man stood in front of the door. He wore a wolf head for a hat and had some weird sort of eye mask on. It looked like sunglasses pasted to his face.
"Know him?" Boone asked.
"Vulpes Inculta, leader of the Legion Frumentarii; the Legion's spies."
"Makes sense. He seems like the guy to lead six legionaries in the assault of a city."
"Yeah, and it looks like he made the residents participate in a lottery," Boone raised an eyebrow. "Normally, when the Legion comes into a town, a lottery is held. Third place is decapitation; second place and you get your legs smashed up. First place gets to walk. Of course, this is after they screen the town for potential slaves. Any aggressors are nailed to crosses as examples."
"Pleasant," Boone choked.
"I'm going to walk up there," and Boone gave him the look of a crazy man. "To talk to them. It's a lot better than you and me going up there. Especially since I get the vibe that you may go crazy if you get any closer."
"Your call. But if this goes south, I'm shooting," the sniper added gravely. His red beret seemed to shine in the morning light. Hank waited a few seconds, watching the legionaries kicking up dust. He sweat, even though the air felt cold. November in the wastes was always cold, even in the Mojave. And from the looks of the sky, a front looked poised to roll over the land soon.
After a brief interlude, Hank wiped himself down and climbed out of the ditch. He walked slow enough to not appear hostile, but fast enough to look commanding. He hoped the small beard he had grown would hide his identity, but from the events of the previous night he doubted anyone in the Legion would fail to recognize him. His closely-worn light brown hair shifted in the wind, but he paid it no mind. He lightly fingered the hard plastic grip of his nine millimeter, feeling for the reassuring steel.
The figures on the crosses were still alive. Only God knew how long they had been on them, nailed and dying. Hank knew the Legion would not let them down until their skeletons blew away in the wind. Still, Hank kept walking.
When he was fifteen yards from the steps, Vulpes Inculta stepped forward, and the six legionaries formed a semicircle around him, three on each side. Hank stopped five yards from Inculta, who spoke first.
"I see you have come to bear witness to the deeds of the Legion, yes? Or, are you here because you wish to rejoin our ranks?" Inculta's voice could have come from his nose, it was so nasally. Hank wanted to cringe from the coldness in it. But, he knew nerves and strengthened resolve could save his life at this moment.
"Neither, Vulpes. I come here looking to escape Caesar's lands, and seek asylum with the NCR."
Vulpes laughed, as did his cronies. "Asylum, with the profligates? You are a degenerate indeed. The Legion is glad to be rid of you. And, so will, soon, the earth."
"That may be the case, but you will be coming with me."
Again, the man with the wolf-hat laughed. "You dare toss aside your oath of allegiance to Caesar and then threaten the leader of his Frumentarii? You betray your people, and then dare announce your intention to defect to the profligate nation? A nation who will soon fall under the almighty hand of Caesar?"
Hank shook his head and laughed. "You're wrong, Vulpes. The NCR will be victorious."
"No, you are wrong, naive child. As we speak, Legion parties journey to Gecko to meet with a mercenary company and intercept NCR rangers returning from the Baja. The drums of war beat in the night, fueling our warriors for the next assault on Hoover Dam. And once we hold the Dam, Vegas will soon fall. The NCR, with its military might crushed at the Dam, will easily crumble. But you, you will be dead. You will not leave this town. You will die with the rest of these profligates you see here."
Vainly, Hank tried to appear stoic. "We'll see, won't we? And, I never took an oath of allegiance to Caesar. Cato Hostilus - one of your Frumentarii - gave me a cold the day before. I was bedridden. By your logic, wouldn't Cato also be a traitor?"
Inculta narrowed his eyes. "He shall be dealt with later. But now, you must meet your fate."
But Hank was already running. He turned on his back heels and ran directly to his left, towards a boarded-up building. The legionaries pulled up their weapons as he ran. Inculta pulled a one-handed chainsaw-knife thing that looked deadly. He pointed after Hank, but stopped when a resounding BOOM echoed through the town. The throat of the legionary directly to his right exploded in a reddish-pink mist. Inculta scanned the rooftops, looking for their assailant.
One second later, the legionary on his left fell with a shell in his chest. He wriggled and grasped at his chest, but lay still after a few moments.
Boone only paused to eject the shell.
Another legionary fell, this time taking the bullet through his nose. Inculta stood dumbfounded, and instinctively dove to the ground. His followers joined three of his crew lay dead. Four remained.
Hank turned back in the alley between the two buildings when he heard the first shot. Pulling his nine millimeter, he paused at the corner of the building, and peered around. Three legionaries lay dead in the street, surrounding Inculta and his three others. Inculta was on the ground scanning the surroundings for Boone, who fired again. This shot kicked up the ground directly in front of the legionary closest to Hank's building. The man jumped, and Hank shot him twice in the chest as he leaned up to move.
But Inculta had seen the flash of Boone's hunting rifle. He pointed his position to the legionaries, who began firing down towards the ditch. Boone ducked, and Hank jumped out.
"Hey boys!" he yelled. "This way!" and ran back into the alley. The two surviving legionaries jumped up, their gung-ho nature taking control, and ran after him. Inculta cursed his luck, and turned back to see Boone walking towards him. He walked slowly and casually. His rifle slung around his back, he carried a broad machete he normally wore around his waist. Standing and dusting himself off, Inculta smiled and activated the engine on his chainsaw-knife thing.
The two needed no conversation, mainly because they never fought. Thirty yards away, Boone dropped his machete and flipped his rifle around. He fired from the hip, but still nailed his target. The chainsaw knife split into two pieces, and the bullet continued into Inculta's stomach. Boone kept walking, watching as Inculta rolled onto his side and tried to reach for the chainsaw, wanting to kill himself before die at the hands of his enemies.
Boone kicked it away. He stood over Inculta, rifle pointing at the man's nose.
"You'll never win, profligate," sneered Inculta. "The might of Caesar will destroy you and all who believe in you. We will break you," Boone kicked him. The man talked too much.
"You're going to go to Caesar. Tell him what happened, how two men killed your entire crew and almost you. Tell him that the same will happen to him if he marches on Hoover Dam or Vegas. I'll give you ten seconds to get out of town. Run along now," ordered Boone. Inculta took one last look at his rifle, and the fallen legionaries, stood, and began running.
Hank had lead the legionaries around the city, and was running back towards Boone when the two dropped to their knees and took aim. Their repeating rifles had Hank in their sights, but they never had the chance to fire. Hank heard them cease chase, and he dove to the ground, rolling on his right shoulder. He laid flat, his right arm extended with pistol in hand.
He fired three shots. The first hit the legionary to the right in the forehead. His body jerked backwards, and his head thudded the pavement.
The second two hit the remaining legionary in the shoulder and jaw. He collapsed next to his friend, still breathing. Hank dusted himself off and finished the man off with a bullet in the temple.
And as the sun set, Boone and Hank walked west, chasing it. They walked out on the Nipton Highway, the Mojave Unification Statue in full view.
"What Inculta said about the raiding party intercepting the rangers didn't sound right," observed Boone. "We need to warn the Mojave Outpost. They can send word to McCarran to dispatch a team out yonder."
Hank concurred. "I agree. I never would have thought the Legion to hire a mercenary group. They're too pompous. I don't like the sound of that."
Boone nodded again. "We'll stop in at the Mojave Outpost. Then, off to Goodsprings. I hear the have a big festival this time of year. If we double-time it, we can maybe catch some."
The two walked on, into the setting sun, with thoughts of Legion and festivals dancing through their heads. To the south, in the direction of Gecko, storm clouds loomed. Hank and Boone both knew they foreshadowed the coming battle of Hoover Dam, and in the back of their minds, in places they didn't like to talk about, they knew the NCR was going to get creamed.