Chapter Twenty

Patrick had a room at the Melita Hotel and Bar, for pretty obvious reasons. It was your standard hotel room: bed, dresser, bathroom, little fridge, broken TV and a working radio, turned to DBS. Patrick had the morning news on as he finished bathing and shaving for the first time in weeks.

"With the death of it's leader by the hand of The Auxiliary, The Syndicate has finally been driven from the Independent State of Brandon," Brad Horshaw said over the static and pops of the radio. "DBS sources in the RAMP and in Brandon have confirmed that negotiations between the independence movement that did most of the fighting to drive out their oppressors and Assiniboia have been scheduled to take place in the near future.

"Prime Minister Richard Hawkson met with the leader of the Enclave today in Winnipeg," Horshaw continued, with a change of tone and content. "The leader of the Enclave, Speaker of the House Joshua Graham spoke to DBS after the meeting."

"While we cannot apologize for what has happened in the past between the United States of America and Canada," Graham began, "I can promise that the Enclave, using our knowledge and technology, can and will make Assiniboia and the wasteland a better place."

Patrick thought on that for a moment as Horshaw went on to something about the Bank of Assiniboia and deposits and stuff. At first, what Graham sounded good, but Patrick realized that there was an issue with that statement: Speaker Graham didn't say that he would work with Assiniboia to improve the lot of humanity. Did he still have some ulterior motives?

A knock at the door interrupted Patrick's thoughts. He looked up in the cracked and dirty mirror, wondering who it would be.

"I'll get it sir!" Jenkins called out, followed a moment later by the Mr. Handy opening the door and a low mumble that Patrick couldn't make out from where he was. "Sir, I believe you should come here."

Patrick sighed, pulled a towel from its rack and dried his face, before grabbing the complimentary robe that came with the room. Tying it around his waist, Patrick went to the door and opened it.

At first Patrick froze in panic at the sight of a massive, power-armored man standing in front of him. Had the Brotherhood finally tracked him down? He knew he had done a lot to screw up their plans in Brandon and at Vault H and elsewhere, and he had a feeling they were most likely trying to find someway to get rid of one annoyance.

But on closer look, Patrick realized that, no, this wasn't Brotherhood. The armor was more streamlined and cleaner than the older suits he had seen printed up on posters, newspapers and other places. The big white E and maple leaf, surrounded with a ring of stars, was also different from the sword, gears and wing insignia (what some had started to call the "Flying Gearheads") that the Brotherhood used.

The person that wore the power armor didn't have his helmet on; instead he held it one metal clad arm. A massive gun, glowing blue from one end with four parallel points out the other end, was hanging somehow from the back of the man's armor, with no obvious discomfort or pain.

"Colonel Granger?" Patrick asked when he recognized the face.

"Yep, that's me," the Enclave soldier said. Patrick opened the door to the room to allow the head of the Enclave's military to come into his hotel room.

"So, what brings you all the way out here?" Patrick asked, reaching into the fridge and offering a bottle of Nuka-Cola, which the soldier took. "I'm pretty sure it's not just a friendly call."

"Well, you are right," Colonel Granger said before he twisted the cap off the top and took a drink, before making a face and coughing. "Shit. Flat and irradiated. The Vault actually had a facility to make Nuka-Cola, you know? Best drink ever." He still drank the Nuka-Cola he had been given though.

"Well, at least it's cold," Patrick replied. "In most places you would only have the warm stuff."

Colonel Granger shook his head, taking another sip and wincing at the taste. "Shit, I'll need a Rad-Away after this I bet. If there is one thing the Enclave could give Assiniboia, it should be the recipe to make this."

Patrick grabbed his bag and walked into the bathroom for some privacy to get dressed. "So why are you out here?"

"I'll make it simple. The Enclave would like your help." Colonel Granger finished the bottle, and tossed it into the garbage can.

Patrick pulled on a pair of jeans. "Oh? And why would that be?"

"Two reasons. First, your name. You are 'The Auxiliary.' Almost everyone in this part of the world will have most likely heard of you by now. And we could use some name recognition like that."

Patrick sighed as he pulled on a red and black plaid button up shirt, and started fumbling with the little Brahmin bone carved buttons. He'd never asked for that, but what could you do? "Alright, what's the second thing?"

"The Enclave needs someone that knows how to live off the land, someone that can deal with others and get results. And you can do all three."

"So… you just want a tour of Assiniboia? I'm sure the UAR could give that to you," Patrick said, finishing buttoning his shirt.

"No, not Assiniboia."

"No?"

"No."

"Well where do you need to go then?"

"There are a few places in old North Dakota that the Enclave wants to scout out. Minot Air Force Base, and Vaults 53 and 63. Maybe learn about some of the towns in the area as well."

"Okay, I've heard of Minot. One of those towns that got nuked, and full of monsters. At least according to the traders that come here to Melita from down south say. They all avoid it." Patrick said as he checked to make sure the shirt was buttoned right. "Vault 63? I've heard of 53, because there is a town around it now, and the base at Minot, but never Vault 63."

"It was part of Project Safehouse," Colonel Granger said. "And, to be honest, that's about all I know about it. There is a list of the Vaults that were part of Vault-Tec that is known to the CEO of Vault-Tec and the top civilian members of the Enclave. I was not privy to all that information, but I've been told enough to know where to look and what they were supposed to have done, and then to investigate and report on those locations."

"What are you exactly investigating?" Patrick asked.

"Top Secret," Colonel Granger said. "I can't tell you."

Patrick finally came back out of the room, and grabbed the brahmin leather hat off the dresser. "Well, I can go with you down there, but I don't know if I can help you a lot with what you want if you don't tell me what I'm supposed to be looking for."

"I can tell you when we get down there." Colonel Granger stated. "Now, can you help?"

Patrick brought his Pip-boy up to look at it, to see what the map said. Zooming in on Melita, he realized there wasn't a notice of where Minot Air Force Base was. "I have no idea how far away it is though."

"That's not a concern for you." Colonel Granger said.

"It is if I have to walk all the way there," Patrick shot back.

"Don't worry about that either," Colonel Granger grinned. "I have a way to get there, and quickly."

Colonel Granger lead Patrick east of Melita, on the broken ruins of Highway 3 that stretched east and west over old Manitoba. Riding Demon and with Jenkins following behind. Patrick got a few strange looks as he lead a flying robot and a power armored man through the southern gate of Melita, just before the bridge that crossed the Souris River. But they knew Patrick, and were let through without any problems.

"So what is this fancy thing you got that can get us to Minot?" Patrick asked.

"You'll see," Colonel Granger said, his metal armor clanking as he walked. They began to walk up the hill that lead out of the valley Melita was built in. When they reached the top, Patrick looked, and gasped.

Sitting beside an old farmhouse and barn was a massive grey colored machine. Two sets of rotor blades on arms sticking out from the central fuselage were pointed upwards into the sky on what otherwise looked like an oversized robot dragonfly. Two men in Enclave uniforms were standing around the machine, both wearing large sunglasses to protect their eyes. An entire lifetime underground weakened the eyes to the point that they may never be fully strong enough to adapt to sunlight.

"Here she is. The VB-02 Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft, also known as the Vertibird." Colonel Granger waved to the men on the ground, who immediately sprang to their feet and into the machine to prepare it for flying. "How about this to get you there?"

Patrick whistled to himself as he looked at it, but then looked down. "I'm never going to be able to get Demon on that, am I?"

Colonel Granger looked at the sleipnir, then walked over to the Vertibird and talked to one of the pilots. After a moment of talking, Granger returned. "The pilots are uncomfortable moving non-human cargo. They have had only a few actual flights with the Vertibird. They've spent most of their actual flying time in simulation programs."

Patrick sighed, and dismounted, before turning back to Jenkins, who silently floated up to Patrick. "Well, I guess Demon can't come this time."

"Understood sir!" Jenkins remarked, one arm reaching out grab the reins. "What would you like me to do then?"

"Go find Coby, and ask if he can look after Demon until I get back. I'm not sure how or when, but I will contact you somehow."

"Very well master," Jenkins said. "I shall make sure your steed is in pristine condition for when you may need him." Jenkins pulled on the rope. "Come along! Half a league, half a league, half a league onward!"

Demon snorted at Jenkin's attempt at poetry, but followed the Mister Handy back down the hill and into Melita.

Colonel Granger turned back to the Veritibird. "Fire her up! Let's get going!"

First one engine, then another sprang to life, a loud whining noise of gears and motors springing to life to rotate the blades of the VTOL aircraft. A massive cloud of dust was kicked up, making Patrick wince and hold his arm up to try to block the fine dirt and sand from getting into his face, his other hand grabbing hold of his hat before it flew away. Colonel Granger placed his helmet on, locking in place. With the helmet, and the two large orange viewports on the front, it almost looked like he was a smaller, bipedal relative of the larger Vertibird.

"Let's go Patrick," Granger said, his voice metallic and almost robotic from inside the mask. Granger ran to the open door on the side that the second pilot was holding open, and he turned back to wave Patrick on. Patrick adjusted his backpack and ran for the open door. The pilot helped Granger climb up and into the fuselage, then turned to Patrick and helped pull him into the belly of the metal beast. Once Patrick was inside, the pilot pulled the door shut.

"Got to make sure we don't lose our cargo!" the pilot shouted over the roar of the engines. The machine wasn't greatly soundproofed, so shouting was most likely the only way to talk. The pilot turned to Patrick. "First time?"

"First time what?"

"Soaring through the air?"

"You mean… flying?" Patrick asked, eyes wide in surprise. "I know people used to do that, but…"

"Yeah, yeah, wasteland, survival blah, blah," the pilot said, before reaching into a pocket and pulling out a small box, and shaking out a small green objects. "Here, chew on the gum. When we start gaining altitude, the air pressure will make your ears pop, and it could hurt. Chewing on this will help."

Patrick took the gum and hastily popped it in his mouth, and began chewing furiously. His jaw worked up and down, up and down as the pilot chuckled and walked back into the cockpit to take the second seat, and after a final checklist, the engines revved even higher, and the heavy machine lurched up into the air, the jolt nearly making Patrick swallow the gum.

The feeling of being lifted up though made a Patrick's body go into overdrive. It was weird, even disorienting, feeling pressure pushing down and forward on him as the Vertibird turned around to head south. Even trains would never get fast enough, quickly enough to have that feeling of being pushed into your seat, which now hit Patrick.

Patrick's knuckles clung to the armrests on his chair till they turned white, his whole body shaking, even though turbulence wasn't that bad considering how low to the ground they were flying.

"Having fun?" Colonel Granger asked Patrick. The Auxiliary, forcing his head to turn, finally looked to the power armored Enclave soldier. Colonel Granger was also chewing gum, but he seemed a lot more relaxed than Patrick was.

"Eh, you get used to it," Granger said, the shrug he tried to give barely noticeable under the steel and ceramic plates of his armor. "By the second or third flight, you'll be fine."

"Even though this thing could fall out of the air at any moment?" Patrick said.

"The fuselage is armored enough that even should it crash, we'd be safe as long as you have the seatbelts. I promise." The Colonel gave a grin. "Besides, think of it this way: you're the first Assiniboian to go riding in any form of flying aircraft since the Great War!"

Patrick gave a weak smile, but he just hoped this flight would be over soon.

A loud series of chimes echoed through the roaring aircraft, getting Colonel Granger's attention. With a sigh, he placed the helmet back on his head, turning him in a moment from a man encased in scary looking metal into a metal bug-eyed monster. It was pretty upsetting, Patrick thought. Maybe that's what the Enclave was going for.

"Colonel Granger here," he said in his muffled, mechanized voice, just adding to the other-worldly monster feeling of the power armor. "What's up?"

There was a pause, most likely the pilots talking to the Colonel through special radios or something. "Say that again?"

Another pause. "You shitting me? Someone is contacting us on secured frequencies?"

Patrick's vertigo momentarily forgotten, he leaned forward. "What's going on?"

Colonel Granger either didn't hear or didn't want to reply to Patrick. "Okay, well… uh… tell them we are representatives from the Enclave, the official remnant of the US Government and Army, and that we request clearance to land."

There was a long pause, drowned out only by the dual engines on either side. After a long moment, Colonel Granger nodded. "Roger. Carry on then."

"What was that?" Patrick asked once Colonel Granger was done talking.

"Well… apparently someone down there at Minot AFB has access to the US military frequencies that the Enclave uses, and they just called us demanding to get out of American airspace."

"What does that mean?" Patrick asked. "I thought you were American."

"We are… though I have no idea what is down there now. Maybe some Americans survived the war? Maybe the Speaker of the House isn't as crazy as I thought, and that some people do want to make a new United States of America."

Patrick thought about that. "But Assiniboia was made from the US, or well American annexed Canada. Does that mean he wants Assiniboia to be part of it too?"

Colonel Gabriel Granger didn't, or couldn't, give an answer.

The engines on the Vertibird powered down after it finally landed. Patrick let out his breath after he was told they were descending. The sudden stop in the middle of the air, followed by the slow, then fast, then slow jerky descent of the aircraft to the broken asphalt of one of the runways of Minot Air Force Base.

With the Vertibird on the ground and it now possible to speak without shouting, Colonel Granger stood up and opened the door to the cockpit. "What's the reading on radiation out there?"

"Sir, it appears to low to moderate, though I'm sure you'd be fine in that hunk of iron around you."

"Oh, I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about the Auxiliary here. I want him to come with me, and he doesn't have radiation shielding."

"Well give him some Rad-X or something, I don't know," the flyer shot back. "I'm a pilot, not a doctor damnit!"

Colonel Granger sighed, and clanked to the white box attached to the bulkhead on the back of the aircraft, and pulled it open, rummaged through it for a moment, before pulling out a bottle, and tossing it to Patrick. "Take one of these before we go out. I'm sure we won't be here long, but you need to take one of these every four hours or so."

Patrick nodded and opened up the container and dumped a small red and white pill out, swallowing it. Colonel Granger walked around and opened the door to the outside, a series of steps tipping over to allow him out. "Well, let's go see these 'monsters' you Wastelander's are so scared of."

Colonel Granger descended the stairs first, but nearly screamed in panic, followed a moment later by a clash and clank of metal on metal, and a chorus of weapon's having their safeties switched off.

Patrick dashed down the stairs, having grabbed his own Assault rifle and pointing it out at whatever Colonel Granger had been scared of. But that only resulted in a couple guns being pointed at him, making him freeze in place.

"What the hell are these things?" Colonel Granger exclaimed, his Tesla Cannon pointed at the group. "They… they aren't Americans!"

"Well, nice to see bigotry still exists," one of the five sardonically remarked in a raspy voice.

The five… things that were pointing the weapons were, to put it mildly, scary. They looked like humans, and even wore patched but mostly recognizable military uniforms, and were clearly capable of speaking. However, it was what was different about them that was terrifying. The fact it looked like their skin was rotting off, they lacked hair or noses, and their skin, if they even had it, was a sickly greenish-red color, and it looked like a simple gust of wind would either make them fall over or have their flesh fall off the bone.

"Ghouls," Patrick said to Colonel Granger after a moment. "Not many up in Assiniboia, but I remember seeing some in Melita over the years."

One of the ghouls, in a patched military uniform with "Halloway" on a name tag on his chest stepped forward, his gun lowered slightly. "Are you the Enclave guys that we called on the radio?" he asked in a voice that sounded like he smoked a thousand cigarettes a day for the past century.

"I… guess so?" Colonel Granger replied, lowering his gun slightly. "I'm guessing you run this place? I thought it was Americans."

"We are fucking Americans!" the ghoul named Halloway shouted. "Just because we look like we're halfway to death doesn't mean we wouldn't bleed for our country!"

"Okay, sorry," Colonel Granger hastily apologized.

"But the General has expressed interest in meeting with you outsiders." The ghoul sneered. "If I had the choice, I'd kill you guys right here, right now. Consider yourselves lucky."

The angry ghoul turned to the other four and pointed to the main building of the Air Force Base, and all five began a march to the building. Patrick and Colonel Granger made sure to stick a bit back, but they found themselves taking half steps more often than not to make sure they didn't end up stepping on the ghoul's heels. For all Patrick knew, it would kill them if they even got to close.

"So what are ghouls?" Colonel Granger whispered to Patrick after removing the helmet for his power armor and tucking it under his shoulder. "You must have dealt with them before."

"As far as I know, they are just humans who were exposed to enough radiation to mutate them, but not to kill them. I was only taught that in school, though back then we only saw a few come up occasionally on trading routes. It's too cold in Assiniboia for them most of the time, so they prefer to stay down south."

Colonel Granger looked up and over the backs of the five ghouls. "So I guess all of America is mutants now," he said with a sigh.

Patrick shook his head. "Nah, there's a lot of humans in American as well. Quite a few of them trade or travel up north.

"No, I mean people who say they are Americans," Colonel Granger said. "I've talked to a few people in Winnipeg when I got there who claimed they were from south of the old border. Most of them don't seem to care or even know the US as the Enclave has taught me it was: freedom, democracy, powerful, rich, great. Most of them though the flag was just a pre-Great War piece of paper. Paper!"

"If you listen to the DBS long enough, there seems to be a story every week of another riot or assassination attempt between pro-American and pro-Assiniboian forces in places like Devil's Lake and Lark Sal," Patrick said. "It's always been a problem down there it seems."

"Oh?" Colonel Granger replied. "Maybe we'll have to investigate this."

The ghouls stopped in front of a door, and Sergeant Halloway turned around to face Patrick and Colonel Granger. "Okay, follow me. And you better know what you want from the General. He's a busy man."

Colonel Granger nodded, and followed the ghoul into the door. Patrick followed behind, giving a small smile to the four other ghouls. They just glared back, making Patrick turn away and hastily follow Colonel Granger into the building.

The ghoul lead them through a maze of corridors and past quite a few other ghouls, all wearing a patched uniform similar to Sergeant Halloway. Finally they arrived at a door with two ghouls standing guard.

"Jim, Mike, I need to see the General," Halloway said.

The two looked over the humans, before one of them opened the door and slipped inside. A moment later he returned. "Okay, you can go in."

Colonel Granger and Patrick stepped into the office. It had been the base commander's office, complete with old flags of the US and its Air Force and filing cabinets and mountains of paper, and it was a pretty good bet that the man who was sitting behind the desk was the commander of the base. He looked like the other ghouls, but was in a much nicer, fancier uniform (though still patched after decades of constant use) with an entire rainbow of different colored ribbons on his chest beside his neatly pressed tie and, similar to the one that Colonel Granger wore way back at the Enclave Vault when Patrick first met him, this one with two stars on his shoulder and on the lapel of his shirt. A jacket and a peaked cap with the badge of the US Army was hung on a coat hanger just to the side of the desk.

The ghoul was shuffling over some papers on his desk, occasionally turning to the computer on his desk to type something into it. To Patrick it almost looked like he was trying to keep busy, though Patrick had a good feeling that, no, that piece of paper he just dealt with was vitally important.

"Gentlemen," the general remarked, standing up from his desk. His raspy voice had a refined drawl, something that Patrick knew from DBS radio programs was from an area called "The Deep South," though he had no idea where that was. Most likely America, and possibly underground for all he knew.

"Major-General," Colonel Granger said, saluting. Patrick, with his limited Militia experience, gave one that he was sure would have gotten a drill sergeant to beat him into the ground.

"Ah, you two don't have to worry about that," he said, walking around his desk. "Besides, I had a pretty good idea that someone was going to be coming soon. If anything, I should be saluting you two for finally getting here!"

"Um… pardon General?" Patrick asked.

"General Zachary Stokes," the ghoul said, a smile on his lips. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to actually talk to someone from the old USA."

"What do you mean?" Colonel Granger asked.

"I guess let me get you up to speed. On October 23, 2077, Minot AFB was attacked by nuclear weapons, along with every major city and military installation in North America that belonged to the United States of America. Thanks to enough warning, 96.7% of the non-flight crew personal were able to evacuate to the fallout shelter constructed under the base, and all but two of the Strategic Air Command bombers successfully lifted off to attack their designated targets. However, none of the base's bombers or fighters returned from their designated targets."

"So how did all of you become ghouls?" Patrick asked. "As far as I know that was only if you were exposed to radiation after the bombs fell."

General Stokes turned to Patrick and gave a small smile. "Well, you're right. The radiation detection equipment for the base was faulty or damaged, and when we came out a few weeks too early, 46.1% of the non-flight crew personal was mutated into ghouls by the radiation. The rest died."

"I bet it wasn't fun," Patrick said.

"No. I wouldn't wish that even on a Red Chinese bastard." The General shook his head. "Even after all the horrors of Anchorage and the Chinese Expeditionary Force, ghoulification is a terrible thing.

"However, as the base commander, it was my duty to maintain Minot AFB for the United States, so that's what we did. He cleared up the debris from the bombs that landed here, got the runways working again, kept the radar and radio communications maintained to the best of our abilities. Built walls and defenses to keep us safe. We even got the farmboys in the military back to work growing food, much as I bet they hated it. Most of them joined the army to get away from that."

"That's dedication," Patrick remarked.

"It's out job, and also our survival. Had we done nothing, we would all have died from leaving this place or by killing each other. We were sure, a few days, maybe weeks or months, after the bombs fell, the President would come on the radio and tell us we could continue on."

"But that message never came," the ghoul said, now scowling, standing from his desk and walking in front of Colonel Granger. "We waited 140 years for someone, anyone with the authority of the old United States to come and give new orders, to continue the fight against China, rebuild this great nation. One. Hundred. Forty. Years."

General Stokes shoved Colonel Granger, and despite what Patrick was expecting, the power armored Enclave man stumbled back. Must have been a surprise to Colonel Granger as well.

"What took you fuckers so long?" General Stokes growled. "Just sitting in a hole, thumbs up your ass? Waiting for every fucking person in North America to just drop dead? Waiting for the United States to turn into a fucking ancient history lesson? Because by now I'm sure that's all America is, and all America will ever fucking be!"

Patrick stared wide eyed as the ghoul General stared at the Enclave colonel, before at last the ghoul let out a loud exhale and stepped back. "I… I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." The General stood up and straightened his tie.

"Your dedication to the duty to your country and your men serves you well," Colonel Granger replied. "I can understand your frustration, and I'm sorry neither the Enclave or any other body of the pre-war government was able to make contact with you until now."

"But why haven't you made contact with Assiniboia?" Patrick asked. "You have the radio technology to do it, right?"

General Stokes looked at Patrick. "You're from Assiniboia?"

"Well, yes," Patrick said.

"I would have you arrested and shot like the traitorous terrorist that you should be," he said, his gravelly voice doing little to hide the cold-blooded steel he felt, making Patrick shudder. "Your entire country should be wiped off the face of the earth for the knife in the back, the kick to the gut you gave to the nuked and dying corpse of America!"

"Why do you hate Assiniboia so much?" Patrick asked. "Assiniboia was just…"

"You Canadians had been allies of America since forever, but they you just left us for the damn Communists in China when we needed your help most?" the General was getting angry again, making Patrick kick himself for bringing up his country in the first place. "Your leaders refused to work with the US, and we couldn't let China get a foothold just to the north of us, so we had to annex Canada. Believe me, the military was not happy having to march in to take over the second biggest country in the world when the US was already overstretched fighting in Alaska, China and elsewhere, but Canada was just a few steps away from becoming the People's Republic of Canuckistan, and the US couldn't allow that."

Patrick shuffled uncomfortably in front of the ghoul. "I… I…"

"Oh give him a break General," Colonel Granger said. "Besides, he isn't even in the government of the country. He's just been trying to find his brother in this vast wasteland."

The General looked over Patrick, before mumbling an apology and walking back to his desk.

"Besides, we weren't here to make you angry General," Colonel Granger said, turned around to face the General.

"Well you sure managed that already, and did a pretty damn good job of it, but fine. What do you want?" The General crossed his emaciated arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

"There was a secret project based at Minot at the time of the Great War…" Colonel Granger started.

"Oh." General Stokes said, before beginning to chuckle. "So, I guess you came here for Project Pegasus huh?"

"Yes," Granger said.

"Big Nuclear powered bomber?"

"I believe so."

"Capable of flying for months at a time, drop nukes wherever they need to go, the next stage of nuclear deterrence?"

"That sounds like it. Where is it?" Colonel Granger asked.

"Well, your S.O.L." General Stokes said.

Colonel Granger raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's gone."

Pip-Boy Infotracker Note #981

How to Fight a Nuclear War with the Trinity: Issued by the Strategic Air Command, 2071

The goal of the US military in this modern world is to defend our homeland from the scourge of atomic bombs. However, the problem with nuclear weapons is that there are so many built by the Chinese, Soviets, British, French and other nations that it's virtually impossible to ensure that no bombers or missiles can actually hit their target.

Therefore, the goal of the Strategic Air Command is to make sure that we can repay the damage that could be caused by our enemies tenfold, and provide a massive deterrent for our enemies to actually using them. The SAC has developed the "Trinity" of nuclear armed forces to ensure the survival of our retaliation capacity: Submarines, Bombers, and Missile Silos.

Bombers were the first and still the best way to deliver nuclear weapons. Massive bombers, carrying dozens of bombs, can lay waste to a dozen cities halfway around the world. However, they are not invulnerable, as enemy interceptor fighters and surface to air missiles can take them down if they are lucky, and if the enemy attacks before the bombers are alerted, many could be destroyed on the ground.

Submarines are another important factor of the Trinity, and in many ways the most secure. Submarines, often powered by nuclear reactors themselves, can sail for months underwater, remained undetected from the enemy, and launch their attacks on their targets and submerge again soon after. Missile technology is rather limiting: only a single warhead can fit on a submarine capable missile, meaning the force of the retaliation is rather limited compared to the other sides of the Trinity.

Land based missile silos are the last part of the Trinity. Massive missiles, carrying specially designed multi-warhead weapons, are the most powerful of the possible retaliatory weapons, but also the most vulnerable. Silo's are stationary targets, well known to the enemy, and undoubtedly targeted by the enemy. While the silo's themselves are designed to withstand nuclear explosions, the weapons could be destroyed if they are not launched soon enough, either by enemy airstrikes or communist insurgents.

The Strategic Air Command Trinity, with the variety of ways to defend America that are complementary between payload, security, and survivability, will always be on guard to defend America!