Chapter Twenty-One
"What do you mean it's gone?" Colonel Granger asked.
"The prototype for Project Pegasus was ordered up into the air the day the bombs fell. We told them to fly north, where we were sure no EMP blasts or stray missiles could hit it. We were in contact with them right up until the first bomb detonated here at Minot. In the chaos after the bombing, what with the radiation, destruction and all of the base's personal either dying or being mutated, it took us two weeks before we got the radio signal back online. We were surprised to find Pegasus was still flying, with enough food and fresh water for another couple weeks, but we couldn't let it land here because of radiation."
"So what did they do next?" Patrick asked.
"They were unable to hail any other Air Force Base, so they decided to keep flying until radiation dropped enough to land at Minot," General Stokes continued. "We kept in contact for another week, but soon after that we lost contact, and we think it was over a lake in Northern Manitoba. Which is now under a few miles of ice. I know, I sent a team in 2082 after the crash to explore the area, but it was all ice."
Colonel Granger sighed. "Well… shit."
"I'm sorry Colonel," General Stokes said. "But had it stayed here, it would have been destroyed in the nuclear detonation."
"I need to contact my superiors," the Colonel said, before stomping and clanging his way out of the room.
"It was a nuclear powered bomber?" Patrick asked. "Like one of those Highwaymen?"
"I really shouldn't be telling you," General Stokes said with a scowl, but then sighed. "But what does it matter now? But it was much more complicated than that, but I guess you could say it was like those cars. Supposed to be able to fly for months on assignment, with enough nuclear weapons to wipe out a medium sized European country. Just one squadron of planes in Project Pegasus would have secured American superiority in the arms race."
Patrick nodded, but then he heard the radio on his Pip-boy screech to life. With a wince, Patrick lifted the device up, and adjusted the dial.
"What was that?" General Stokes asked.
"I don't know, never heard it do that before." Patrick fiddled with the dial a bit more. "Huh, so apparently it's on the Emergency broadcast frequency. Odd, never had anything come to the Pip-Boy before…" Patrick reached the appropriate channel and turned the volume up before setting his hand with the Pip-Boy on the desk to allow General Stokes to hear it as well.
"… Granger, calling Government Site V, come in Site V."
"Site V reading you loud and clear," the static filled voice replied. "Please stand by, directing you to Speaker Graham."
"Who's this Graham?" General Stokes asked, concern in his voice
"Speaker of the House, acting President, guy in charge of the Enclave," Patrick quickly replied. Patrick was more focused on the Pip-Boy, and didn't see the ghoul's eyes go wide at that revelation.
The radio came back on. "Speaker Graham…" there was a loud yawn. He must have just woke up. "What do you have Colonel?"
"Mr. Speaker, I've made contact with Minot AFB."
"That's good! Were you able to get ahold of Project Pegasus?"
"Well… no." Colonel Granger explained everything that happened, the Ghouls, the missing plane.
There was an ominous silence, as Patrick and General Stokes covertly listened in.
"Kill them."
"What?" Colonel Granger asked.
"Wipe out those mutie bastards!" Speaker Graham nearly shouted. "They let a top secret project disappear! Clearly they are not Americans anymore, no matter what they claim."
General Stokes blinked, looking at the Pip-Boy. "What the hell?"
"Sir," Colonel Granger replied. "I protest…"
"Protest all you want, but I want them all dead. And that is an order." The static returned.
"Mr. Speaker!" Colonel Granger shouted into the radio, though no reply came back. Colonel Granger sighed, and the line went dead.
General Stokes sat back into his desk, surprise on his face. "What… even though we were changed by the radiation, that doesn't make us not American!"
Patrick nodded. "I know. But to most of the Enclave, mutants are just as bad as…"
General Stokes reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a 10mm pistol, checking it, before pulling back the slide to arm a bullet into the chamber. "Well, even if he's wearing power armor, the entire base is armed, and even if he kills us all, we will die fighting." The General grabbed the phone on his desk, and started dialing a number.
"General! Wait a minute!" Patrick exclaimed. "I know you see me as a Canadian traitor or whatever, but I will not allow you to throw your life away. And Colonel Granger can have sense talked into him. I know, because I've done it."
General Stokes stared at Patrick, the phone still to his ear. He pushed the last button. A moment later a muffled voice came up. "The base is on Yellow alert. All personnel will be armed, and permission to defend themselves is granted. No one is allowed to initiate hostile action." He slammed the receiver down. "Okay, Assiniboian. I'll listen."
Patrick thought for a moment. "Well, I'm guessing people on the base here could rebuild Project Pegasus? I have a feeling that would be almost as good as the plane itself."
General Stokes drummed his fingers on his desk. "Well… yes. We have a few of the aeronautical engineer's with the companies that built and designed the plane still here, and most of their documents. We might even know where the original blueprints are."
Patrick grinned. "Well now you have the ultimate security."
"Well, no." General Stokes said. "I said I know where they may be, but not that we have it."
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"Well, the blueprints were never kept on the base, but at an office in Bismarck that Poseidon Energy, Lockreed Industries and Ball Aerospace had, the companies involved in Project Pegasus. Always thought it was stupid, as the military base would be more secure, but I was overruled back then." General Stokes shook his head. "I don't even know if they were on the computer or on paper, and who knows if the blueprints would have survived this long."
Patrick drummed his fingers. "Okay… well…" The door swung open, and both the General and Patrick turned to see Colonel Granger in the doorway.
"What are you two talking about?" the Enclave officer asked, his face a complete blank.
"Well, the General was just telling me…" Patrick started
"What the hell do you think you are, just coming in here to kill a bunch of patriotic Americans just because they look different?" General Stokes bellowed, standing up and marching toward the Enclave Colonel. "You seriously think you could just show up and do this?"
Granger blinked. "What are you talking about?"
"We overheard your conversation with the Speaker," Patrick said.
"What? How?" Ganger exclaimed. "That's a top secret frequency!"
"The Pip-Boy picked it up," Patrick said. "And I think it's a terrible idea."
"It's not your call to make!" Granger shouted. "The structure of command is there for a reason."
"Well I think your command structure is…" Before Patrick could finish, a chirping noise came over the radio that Colonel Granger still held in his hand.
"God damnit, I can't do anything that quick…" He mumbled. "Hello?"
"Colonel Granger, I want you to belay the order from the Speaker," a voice barked over the radio, loud enough for Patrick and the ghoul military man to hear it.
"Who is this now?" General Stokes asked.
"The Secretary of Defense," Patrick replied.
"Sir," Colonel Granger said. "He is the commander-in-chief of the Enclave."
"And he has no idea of the situation above ground," the Secretary Hawthorne replied.
"And you do?"
"Well it's a lot better than his. I came up to Winnipeg as the representative of the Enclave to Assiniboia, and I've been getting up to speed as to the situation in the Wasteland. And I think the last thing the Enclave needs to do is to go around, shooting every mutated creature they come across," Hawthorne said. "If the Enclave wants to make itself relevant, we have to work within the balance of power that currently exists, and not go destroy it for our own reasons."
"Sir…"
"The Speaker is not qualified to make that kind of judgement," Secretary Hawthorne interrupted. "But, fine. Whatever. If you want to follow the orders of an out of touch madman, then do it. Just know that I do not agree, a large proportion of the Enclave would disagree, and you will have to live with it for the rest of your life."
The line went dead, leaving the three men standing in the room together in silence. At last, Patrick cleared his throat.
"Colonel, the General said we might be able to find the blueprints for Project Pegasus in Bismarck. If you get those, that should be enough to satisfy your superiors, correct?"
Granger chewed his lip. "Well, yes… I think so…"
"Good enough!" Patrick said, clapping his hands together. "We better get going now then, right?" Patrick pushed at the power armored man, and despite the hundred pounds of metal and ceramic armor, was allowed to be moved to the door.
"Patrick," General Stokes called before Patrick was out the door, making him turn around. The Ghoul came up and offered his hand to Patrick.
"I may still think your a traitor to America, but you are good enough in my books."
Patrick hesitated for a moment, unsure about touching the wrinkled, rotted hand, but he clasped the ghoul's hand anyway. It was warm, a bit warmer than a normal person, but still strong and forceful. But Patrick could also feel a piece of paper pushed into his palm, so when the general pulled his hand away, Patrick made sure he kept the piece of paper, closing his fist to make sure he didn't lose it, before slipping it into his pocket to look at later.
The Vertibird took off a few moments later, making as direct a course for Bismarck as the maps the pilots had available. The movement of a big metal machine lifting off into the air still made Patrick nervous, but the gum and having ridden on one already seemed to be convincing him that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this.
While Colonel Granger was talking to the pilot, Patrick snuck that piece of paper out of his pocket. It was crumpled, but the ink was still legible.
Check your Pip Boy when no one's looking. Patrick frowned as he read it. Was there something wrong?
"What's that there?" Colonel Granger asked, shouting over the roar of the engines on either side of the fuselage .
Patrick folded the paper up, and slipped it back in his pocket. "Nothing. A note from home."
Granger nodded, and sat down again. "Should be in Bismarck in about half an hour. No problem there."
Patrick nodded, but then stopped. "Wait, are we going south?"
"Yeah? Why?"
"Well, the Brotherhood of Steel is known to be south of Minot. Not sure where exactly." Patrick said back.
Colonel Granger nodded and turned around back to the pilots. He came back a moment later. "They said they will keep an eye out. Shouldn't be hard to avoid them while flying. They shouldn't have aircraft of their own, right?"
"From what I heard, the Brotherhood is always full of surprises. For all I know they have a five story robot waiting to march out and destroy us," Patrick replied.
Colonel Granger chuckled. "Either way, we should be fine."
The Enclave soldier sat down in his seat, and sighed. "Even though power armor is really just an extension of yourself, it can be tiring to stand all day. All the stabilizers and gyros can't prevent you from getting pins and needles in your legs."
Patrick just nodded. The thought had crossed his mind that he wouldn't have minded his own power armor, but from what it sounded like it took weeks, if not months, of training to use, and, well, he just didn't have that time. Maybe after he found Zach, he would ask Colonel Granger if he could get some power armor training.
Zach… Patrick blinked. Why hadn't he been thinking about his brother? After all, that was the reason he was out here. Well, one of the reasons. But lately, with everything else going on, it might have made sense why his kidnapped brother was maybe the last thing on his mind. But that wasn't right.
His thoughts were interrupted when a loud bang echoed inside the fuselage, making Patrick sit up.
"What was that?" Patrick asked, just as the Vertibird started to violently move back and forth, throwing Patrick back and forth in his seat.
Another loud boom made the aircraft heave in the air, followed by a loud shatter of glass and hurricane force wind blowing into the Vertibird. One of the pilots screamed, his voice piercing the roar of the engines and booms and bullet ricochets on the armored hull. But it went silent a moment later.
A bunch of masks dropped from the ceiling. Colonel Granger grabbed the one in front of him and put it over his face. He motioned to Patrick to put on his mask. Patrick reached up for the rubber face covering, and struggled for a moment, unsure how it was to work. Somehow, in the panic, he got the mask on, and breathed in air, though it was clammy and tinted with rubber.
The aircraft was still flying, zig-zagging and trying to be a hard target to hit, so the other pilot must have still be in control of the aircraft. A series of beeps and whistles from the front could have only meant that things were going wrong up there.
"We're under attack!" Colonel Granger shouted to Patrick, over the engine and wind and explosions. "Just stay in your seat! If something happens…"
Another explosion, this time louder and right behind Patrick made the Vertibird shudder, and then angle to the right, before starting to spiral downwards. Patrick could feel his stomach trying to escape through his mouth, something that no one in his right mind would like to experience.
"Starboard engine gone!" Patrick thought he heard the pilot shout, but he had no idea if he said it or if it was his imagination. A moment later a loud blaring noise, just to add to the cacophony in the Vertibird, began to sound out. Colonel Granger was instinctively trying to put on the helmet for his power armor, but the air mask over his face hindered him. In anger, he just tossed it to the floor.
And then there was a crash. And then blackness.
"Patrick? Patrick!" Colonel Granger shouted as the young man's eyes began to open. "Patrick? Can you hear me?"
Patrick coughed, and flailed his arm about weakly, before trying to sit up straight.
"Whoa there," Colonel Granger said, pushing at Patrick's chest. "Don't sit up too quickly." Granger laid Patrick down. "You aren't bleeding anymore. I used a couple of your stimpaks, so you should be fine later. Just take it easy now."
"Wh-what happened?" Patrick asked.
"The Vertibird crashed. It looked like rockets were launched at us from the ground."
Patrick groaned. His entire body ached, his head throbbed, he could taste blood in his mouth, and he just wanted to lay down and sleep, if not die.
"Don't sleep on me!" Colonel Granger said, gently shaking Patrick to wake him up. "I'm not sure who shot us down, but I have a feeling it's the Brotherhood of Steel. And if they are really like the military, then they would come to investigate the crash. We gotta get out of here."
Patrick nodded weakly. "Where is my bag of stuff?"
"I got it. Some cans of food were broken, but that's really not a big concern now. We got to move!"
Colonel Granger stood up, carefully lifting Patrick up. Patrick felt dizzy, but the power armored soldier made sure Patrick didn't fall down. "Okay, let's go."
"Where?" Patrick asked, looking around. His vision was a bit blurry too, but that may be because of lightheadedness.
"I can see a farm, about half a mile away. We can just hide there for now."
Patrick nodded again, and with the help from Colonel Granger, they began to walk toward the farm. Well, Patrick was half-carried there by Granger. The power armor wasn't exactly comfortable to lean up against, but it was better than nothing. Granger grunted and strained a lot; something must have happened to the armor. After a few minutes, the full realization of what happened caught up to Patrick, and soon he was able to walk without much support.
As they got closer, Patrick could pick out the barn, an old one story bungalow farmhouse, a barbed wire fence that was just holding back the white bleached bones of animals that hadn't been alive for well over a 100 years, and the rusted remains of a car, tractor, combine and other machines. Weeds and dead trees were about the only things that grew around here, casting weird and disturbing shadows in the late afternoon sun.
"Okay, almost there." Colonel Granger said, as they avoided the barn and went straight for the house. Granger kicked the door of the house, which creaked ominously on its hinges, but didn't fall in. Patrick went in and found a couch in what must have been the living room, and he flopped onto the cushions.
"Okay, we should be safe now," Granger said, before sighing and landing on the old recliner that was right across from Patrick.
"That's the last time I fly," Patrick stated.
"I can't blame you," Colonel Granger said.
"What happened to the pilots?"
"One was killed by the explosion that shredded the instrument panel, the other died in the crash," Colonel Granger said. "They were good men, some of the best trained pilots the Enclave had."
Patrick nodded, but the adrenaline from escaping the wreck was wearing off. "So… what now?"
"We wait," Granger said. "We just stay low, wait for the Brotherhood to investigate the crash, and hope they just go away."
Patrick nodded weakly, but with a loud yawn, he laid down on the couch and fell asleep.
When Patrick woke up, it was dark in the house, and it was hard to see much of anything. While he still ached, he felt a lot better. And it didn't feel like anything was broken. He looked around the place, and found Granger sitting next to a broken window, his big blue glowing gun, which Patrick learned earlier was a Tesla gun he called the "Red Alert," on the window sill pointed outwards. The Enclave soldier was scanning the fields and the farmyard, though nothing had really happened as far as he could tell.
Patrick quietly rolled off the couch, and snuck his way over to the Colonel, who turned around and nodded to Patrick before turning back to standing sentry.
"How are things?" Patrick whispered.
"Quiet. I think I saw some people at the Vertibird, but I don't know who." Granger yawned. "Thank God for the Med-X. I'd have passed out by now."
"Isn't it addictive?" Patrick asked. He noticed Granger was twitching a little bit.
"Oh yeah. But once I get back to the Enclave, I can talk to the doctors there. They know how to remove addictions. Some kind of shot or something."
Patrick never heard it being possible to get rid of addictions that easy, but the Enclave had a lot of advanced stuff, so who knew?
Patrick slunk away again, going to his bag that Granger brought along, and searched for some food. The rusty tin cans of Pork 'n Beans had broke, spilling their contents over his stuff, as had one of the bottles of Nuka Cola, much to Patrick's disgust. But there were a few boxes of other stuff like Cram and Fancy Lads which would be enough for a meal. Sliding back to Colonel Granger, Patrick gave him some food and the bottle of Nuka Cola that wasn't broken. Granger took them with a nod, and ate slowly, still keeping his eyes out the window.
Patrick took some bites out of the bland, dried, barely edible snacks out of one package as he looked through his Pip Boy again. There had been that note from General Stokes, so maybe he had something to say.
He noticed a note from a computer at Minot, so he selected it, opening up a bunch of white text on the green screen.
Mr. Morrison, it began; I really don't feel comfortable trusting an Assiniboian. However, I think you should hear this anyway.
That guy, Speaker Graham, cannot be trusted. I knew the Graham family from before the war. Big landowners and politicians from Louisiana, been in Congress since before the Civil War. They are ruthless, greedy, and will let nothing get in their way. I know, because my father and eldest brother was targeted by Congressman Sylvester Graham in 2069, and financially ruined. I was in the army, a Major at the time, so I could only watch as my family was destroyed, my brother commit suicide after being divorced and lost his business and my dad suffer a heart attack.
Now you might think this is the ramblings of some old coot who should have been dead 140 years ago, but the Graham's are never to be trusted. He's most likely planning on taking over Assiniboia. While I may not like you guys, I'd rather have Canadians there than Graham.
I have no idea who that Secretary of Defense is, but stay close to him. He might be the only person who can rein him in. If Graham does do something, Minot AFB would be ready to help Assiniboia to stop him. Just radio us, and we can come in guns blazing.
God Speed, Mr. Morrison.
General Zachary Stokes.
Patrick closed the file on his Pip Boy, thinking about what he just read. He knew that Speaker Graham was a bit power hungry, and seemed to be totally disconnected from reality and happy about it, but was he really willing to overthrow Assiniboia?
Patrick had no answers about that.
A distant rumble caught Patrick's attention, and an orange light filled the room through the window that Colonel Granger was looking out.
"Damn, the Vertibird just blew up," Colonel Granger said. "Don't know if that's an engine thing or if the Brotherhood did it."
Patrick went back to the window and looked out, but the fireball had faded, and now only a few orange flames and dark smoke, partially visible from the moon could be seen from the crash.
"I don't know… crap!" Patrick exclaimed. A bright white light swiftly moved over the prairie. Patrick ducked, unsure what he just saw.
"Flashlight?" Colonel Granger asked. "Haven't seen one of those in a long time."
"Never heard of it," Patrick said. "But what does it mean?"
"Well, it just shines light so people can see in the dark." Colonel Granger said. "So… I'm guessing they are looking for something."
"Us?"
Colonel Granger didn't reply. But when the light swooped by again, this time a lot closer, the Colonel ducked as well, sliding his gun down as well so it couldn't be seen.
"What do we do now?" Patrick whispered.
"Stay low, be quiet, and hope they don't come in here."
Patrick stayed low and quiet. Soon he could hear some voices, and footfalls on the dry, cracked prairie.
"You sure someone was in there?" a female voice groaned.
"I saw bootprints," a male replied. The light swung through the farmyard, a sliver of light cutting its way into the room and traced on the other wall. "Initiates are supposed to follow clues."
"You make it sound like we're those detective people rather than Brotherhood soldiers," the female voice said. She didn't sound to be much older than 18. "I want to shoot things, not go solve crimes."
"Well what if it's someone you could shoot? Would that make you happy?" the male voice asked. He may have been a couple years older, but not much.
"You saw nothing," she grumbled. "You always see things."
"Yeah, and most of the time it was something!" the man said.
"Nuh uh," the female said again.
"Oh shut up sis." The light swung over the house again. "Besides, the Paladin's like it when we take initiative."
"You don't even know what initiative is," the girl replied.
"Well, whatever it is, it's supposed to be a good thing," the boy replied, coming right up to the broken window and peering inside. Patrick and Colonel Granger did their best to not move. The Brotherhood soldier walked right up to the window, his hand even grabbing hold of the windowsill where the Red Alert had been only a few minutes before. Patrick hoped he didn't look in, or down...
The soldier sighed, and stepped back. "Fine, there isn't anything here. Better get back before everyone goes back."
"Told ya," the female said, most likely with a smirk on her face.
"Shut up!" the boy said, punching the girl on the shoulder.
"Ow! Stop that!"
"Or what?"
The bickering and arguing faded away, the footfalls getting quieter (though not the voices for the longest time), before finally a soft wind over the prairie whistling through the dead trees and grasses replaced their voices.
Patrick took a deep breath, and his entire body shuddered at the close call. He looked over to the Colonel, who also gave a sigh of relief.
"Well, that was close," he said.
"Yeah. Well, I can take over for sentry if you want some sleep."
Colonel Granger shrugged. "Might also want to figure out where we are on that Pip Boy of yours, and how far from Bismarck we are."
Patrick nodded, and Colonel Granger slunk away, his power armor rattling a bit more than it should have. Hopefully it could be fixed.
But Patrick turned around to the window, and pulled out the assault rifle he had, and rested it on the window sill, and began his long, quiet survey of the outside world.
Pip-Boy Infotracker Note #1284
"Vertibird" Takes Off, Promising Revolution in US Army - GNR News, September 8, 2075
The first public demonstration of the VB-02 Vertical Take Off and Landing (VTOL) took place at an undisclosed location today. Galaxy News Radio was among some selected news outlets, military staff, and members of the public who won a special draw invited to view the new aircraft in action, and it was an impressive display of aeronautics and American power that's sure to make the Red Chinese quake in their boots!
Known as the Vertibird, the VB-02 is capable of taking off and landing like a normal helicopter, but is better designed to survive enemy fire, provide rapid deployment of soldiers and material quickly to the front lines, and provide fire support.
"It's an all-in-one package," Air Force General Chester Monroe told the press at the press conference after the demonstration. "It's capable of almost everything that the military requires in a short range aircraft: survivability, firepower, and transport abilities."
General Monroe refused to answer any questions about cost overruns, saying instead that the "price of our modern security" cannot be placed in any concrete dollar amounts.
The Vertibird program has already cost close to $10 trillion dollars in the prototyping and testing phase, and could cost a further $30 trillion by the time the VB-02 fully enters service in 2085.