Chapter Thirty-Seven
The first southbound train to Fort Landon arrived early the next morning. Compared to any other train Patrick had been on since he started his trip, this was packed to the brim. Six passenger cars carrying an entire battalion of soldiers, the windows covered over with a thick blackout curtain to make sure that no light escapes out, and three cargo cars carrying food and ammo, with another two designed specifically for sleipnir's and the traditional red caboose at the very end. At the front, a car full of gravel and scrap metal was pushed ahead of the train proper to ensure that if there was any bombs planted on the track, then at least the engine and the cars behind it wouldn't blow up instantly. And just to be extra sure, soldiers with attached machine guns sat on the top of the cars, tied to a railing to ensure they don't slip off as the train puffs along. With all the extra cargo and passengers, two steam powered Royal Hudson locomotives were being used to haul the load.
"Well, they aren't kidding are they?" Vince said, looking at the heavily armed train.
"I heard stories of how many trains they lost due to sabotage and armed attacks in the last war. It's nice to see they learned the lessons from last time," Patrick replied.
They were allowed in the car that carried the officers rather than packed in with the soldiers. But when Vince was quite surprised when he got into the car.
"My god, they are all wearing skirts!" he exclaimed.
A major turned around when he heard that. "Hell no. These are kilts damnit. This is the Assiniboian Highlanders Regiment, and we just the latest in a long line of Scottish regiments in the history of… well, history!"
Patrick blinked. "But you're going to fight in that?"
The major grinned. "Of course! Get the bagpipes blaring away, give a good-ol' Celtic battle cry, we could make a dozen power armored men turn and run."
Patrick couldn't help but share in the man's confidence.
"Alright, that's enough Dennis," a female voice said.
"Yes sir," the major said, but still grinned.
The woman, also in a kilt but with the markings of a lieutenant-colonel stepped forward. "So, you must be the Auxiliary," she said, looking to Vince.
"Nope, not me. This guy is," Vince said, jerking his thumb at Patrick.
"Huh. I expected the Auxiliary to be older," she said.
Patrick just rolled his eyes, but joined the lieutenant-colonel at the back of the train, where maps were laid out. The radio was tuned to DBS, but only soft, quiet and somber music was playing. At least they weren't repeating that service had been discontinued for the duration of the emergency.
The officer in charge of the Battalion was Lieutenant-Colonel Randi Kirkaldy, who was only the latest in a long line female commanders in the Assiniboian Army, and considering the respect that most of the male soldiers around her gave, must have been doing something right, and it was not just a political maneuver. Like many of the appointments to high command posts were, for better or worse. Memories of Bomber City came back...
"I've heard a lot about you, Auxiliary," Kirkaldy said when they got sitting down at the map table. "If even a fraction of what they said is true…"
"I haven't been listening to DBS to see what they have been saying about me," Patrick said. "But my guess is that a lot of it may be a bit embellished."
"Not just the radio. The army grapevine is a big web that stretches all over Assiniboia, and news travels fast on it," Kirkaldy said. "Some of the soldiers here were sent to Brandon, so they saw first hand what you did with the Syndicate."
Patrick nodded. "That… that was a miserable thing I'd rather not deal with again." The image of The Boss still clung in his mind, the angry sneer, the scream when she died…
"But anyway, to business," the lieutenant-colonel said. "I was briefed on what is going on for the Battle of Fargo and other places, and told to tell you what you want to know. You will get your actual orders when you get to Fort Landon."
"Well, tell me all you can," Patrick said.
"Well, as of last night, Fargo is holding, though the troops are being pushed back into the city. Casualties are high on both sides there, but it sounds like the Brotherhood has the worst of it. Fort Carville is another concern, especially since they are facing the Forge, the best troops in the Brotherhood. Fort McDonald has already been lost, but that was a forgone conclusion when the war started. But, and I bet partially thanks to you and the destruction of the BoS networks in the area, there hasn't been a full-scale revolt against Assiniboia in the American districts or territories."
Patrick looked at the map, with a grey line drawn where the Brotherhood "front line" was. "Couldn't they just go around Fort Carville? Or Fort McDonald? Or just come around from the east to attack the railroad? Because they want to cut supplies to Fargo to make it fall, right?"
"That's my guess. But if they leave Fort Carville, the troops there may break out and cut them off."
"This is a lot of ground, after walking through a big chunk of it. But they all seem focused just with Fargo and this area," Patrick said, pointing to the area south of Grand Forks that lead to Fargo.
"If that's the case, why don't we attack in the west, or higher in the east?" Vince asked.
"For what?" Lieutenant-Colonel Kirkaldy asked back. "In the west, it's just small outposts, mostly to act as a tripwire if we did try something like that. But other than the ruins of Bismarck and Radiation Alley, there is almost nothing of value there. Out east, with all the lakes and animals and stuff, it's even worse. So that's why we are all focused on Fargo and Fort Landon. Fort Landon falls, Fargo's gone. If Fargo's gone, Fort Landon's virtually useless."
Patrick looked at the map again. "So where are you guys going?"
"Most likely straight into Fargo. Just hold them off as long as we can," Lieutenant-Colonel Kirkaldy said. "No great sweeping battles. It will be a long, brutal slog to keep the BoS out, or just to make sure that what they take is so costly it won't be worth it."
"Reminds me of the Battle of Manhattan," Vince said. "I didn't see it, but it's a legend in Empire City out east. Apparently it was two groups, just a bit above raider gangs really, that fought back and forth over the ruins of New York, back and forth, for months until they basically destroyed each other."
"Well I'm certain that Assiniboia can outlast the Brotherhood," Kirkaldy said. "We have the manpower and resources on our side, and they only have a minor technology lead, but a much larger, more intensively trained army at the moment. But it's like one of those candy bombs you get at the drugstore: a really hard outer shell, but just a gooey mess on the inside."
Patrick nodded. "But I also know a thing to make this war shorter." Patrick then told her about what he found out in Brahmin Crossing.
"Whoa, wow," she said, looking over the map. "That puts him right… here." She pointed to a spot in northern Minnesota. "I don't think Assiniboia has ever bothered looking there, thinking it's just a bunch of irradiated lakes and inbred families. But that's where the Elder made his headquarters, huh?"
"Seems really out of the way. He must have some good communications to be able to keep in contact with the rest of the Brotherhood from there," Kirkaldy said. "But that's something Intel never could figure out."
Eventually food was brought around: just some rations from tin cans heated up on a hotplate, but it was enough for Patrick. But what he really needed was some sleep. There were several bunks in the car, and two were cleared out to let him and Vince sleep. Though it wasn't quite big enough to let him stretch all the way, it was comfortable enough that he fell asleep the moment he hit the pillow.
He didn't wake up until the train rumbled into Fort Landon and screeched to a halt. Patrick woke up, glad that this was one of the first train rides in a while that didn't involve him being shot at. Patrick nearly lept out of the bunk, feeling refreshed after the first good sleep he had in over a week, though he could have slept for several hours more. Vince was a bit slower and more stiff as he climbed out of his bunk.
"I'm getting too old for this," Vince grumbled again as he stretched, something popping in his back. He began to cough heavily, but he managed to clear whatever was in his throat.
When they climbed off the train, they were met by more soldiers: privates and corporals spilling out of the other cars, while sergeants and lieutenants barked orders to get platoons and companies lined up. More soldiers were unloading the other cars, and at the end the sleipnir's were being unloaded. Of course the one to cause a scene would be Demon, but the cavalrymen were able to bring the barely tame bronco under control and lead to the stables.
But on the platform stood a man in a khaki with a red and gold marking on his lapel and a crossed baton topped with a crown on his shoulder, making him a lieutenant-general, along with a couple bars that were in place of the medals he would have worn, as well as a large mustache that looked like it was taken from a book that would have been ancient even before the War of 2077, with two finely groomed tips pointing upwards. Several other officers stood with him, scanning the crowd. One of them saw Patrick and Vince, and they all walked over to him.
"Auxiliary!" the man said, offering his hand, as Patrick saluted as best as he could. The General then raised his hand to return the salute, but by then Patrick had lowered his hand for the handshake that was no longer there.
But the general was quicker, and he grabbed Patrick's hand, and shook it vigorously. "Auxiliary, it's a pleasure to meet you in person." He then shook Vince's hand as well.
"Well, thank you uh, General…?" Patrick replied, wincing as he thought his arm was ripped from his socket.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Lieutenant-General Sir Julius Carry, commander of Army Group Fargo," he said, with a small smile. Patrick could see the dark bags under his eyes, and the slight twitch his arm was making. The past few days of war must have been weighing on him. "Anyway, I was informed by Lieutenant-Colonel Kirkaldy that you know something of vital importance. If you could come with me, you can tell me what it is." he said, pointing to a two story building, where the Assiniboian flag lazily flapped on a tall flagpole, and several guards, along with machine gun nests made with sandbags, all stood in front on the grass that was surprisingly green.
The entire fort was a much bigger version of the military encampment at Bomber City, just with permanent buildings in place of tents. Concrete and barbed wire walls surrounded the encampment, with more machine guns and soldiers toting missile launchers and sniper rifles patrolling the edge. More soldiers were marching drills, while others were practicing shooting, along with eating, cleaning and some were even relaxing.
The inside of the building the general lead Patrick and Vince into was a scene of activity and hurry, with soldiers in uniform, and some people who weren't in uniform, typing away at typewriters, operating several RadioGram machines (more than Patrick had ever seen in one place), and a massive, two story map of Assiniboia, and all the land stretching from Regina in Saskatchewan to Thunder Bay in Ontario, and down south to Minneapolis in Minnesota. Soldiers and civilians with ladders and large markers were showing the situation as close to real time as the complicated process of message, de-coding, and translating could take.
The grey markers that stood for the BoS was getting dangerously deep past the red and black dotted line that was the pre war "border," nearly surrounding Fargo and pushing closer and closer to Fort Landon. Fort Carville was now surrounded and cut off. The large red dot that was Fort McDonald had a large grey X placed over it, to show that it had fallen. The grey lines were getting closer and closer to Fort Landon...
"As you can see Auxiliary: we aren't exactly in the best position right now," General Carry said, pointing to the wall map, standing outside the small rope ring that was placed around the map and it's caretakers to prevent anyone from stepping on anything. "We've been doing our best to hold the line, but the Brotherhood has too many soldiers facing us, and our plans to mobilize the army to send here and the militia to protect the homeland, had been hemmed and hawed so much in Winnipeg that we were nearly caught flat-footed. But I cannot lose Fargo, as per my orders from the Government. And I can't lose Fort Landon, because then I lose Fargo." The General sighed. "Of course, it's my job to skin a brahmin while it's still kicking and mooing, so I won't worry you with that." he turned to Patrick. "But what did you learn that could be of big help?"
Patrick then told him of finding out the High Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel was in Bemidji.
The general looked confused so he turned to the map. "Where is Bemidji?" General Carry barked.
One of the civilian mapers with a ten foot pointing stick looked up, and pointed it at the spot where the Lieutenant-Colonel had pointed it earlier on the much, much smaller map on the train.
"Well I'll be damned. The bastard that started this is right there." the general said. "That's the best news I've heard all day." He then turned to a Major standing next to him. "Get me Colonel Mansfield, will ya?" The officer saluted and rushed off.
"Who's that?" Patrick asked.
"The guy in charge of the RAMP Dragoons. He and a large chunk of his force was sent here to aid in the battle wherever we see best." The General grinned. "Well, I think I know how to use them now."
Colonel Mansfield, with his square jaw, blond hair, blue eyes, in his red painted combat armor and flat brimmed campaign hat and Sam Browne belt holding his revolver, he looked like he just stepped off a RAMP recruitment poster. But he had a friendly smile, and gave General Carry a salute as he arrived.
"Reporting as ordered, sir."
"Excellent. Now, thanks to the Auxiliary here, I think we may have a plan to defeat the Brotherhood quickly." Colonel Mansfield looked to Patrick, and quickly looked him over, before pursing his lips, as if admiring what he saw before him. The General then went on to describe the plan to the Colonel, using the large map to point it all out.
Colonel Mansfield rubbed his chin when the general was done talking. "That's really risky, if damn near impossible to pull off," the RAMP Dragoon said, then flashed a predatory grin. "But that's what us Dragoons are for, eh?"
"Then I want you to organize your force, and get ready to move out," the General said. "If you want to get across the Brotherhood lines under nightfall, you have about two hours to do so. To give you cover, I'll order a push at Fargo and Camp Carville to distract the Brotherhood."
"Yes sir," the Colonel said, then turned to Patrick. "You come with me," he said, then turned around and marched off. Patrick and Vince followed.
"So, you're the Auxiliary, huh?" Colonel Mansfield said when they were out of the headquarters and marching across the parade square.
"Why? Do you think I'm a bit too young to do this?" Patrick asked.
"Nope, of course not. I think only a youngster could pull off the crazy stuff I've heard you do," the RAMP Dragoon said, with a wink. "I'm friends with Captain Januet, and he told me all about you before I was ordered here."
Patrick remembered the grumpy Dragoon that came with him to Brandon. "How is he doing?"
"Well, they had to amputate the leg that was crushed when he fell into the hole. Infection set in unfortunately. But we Dragoons take care of our own, so I'm sure he will be well provided for in the long run." The Colonel turned to Patrick. "But anyway, that's neither here nor there. We have a job to do." The arrived at a barracks with the RAMP logo painted on the side. "I'm going to tell the men what we are going to do, so you might want to make sure you got all the supplies you need. Like the general said, we should be leaving here no later than two hours." The Dragoon saluted. "But I will say; it's a pleasure to meet the Auxiliary at last." Patrick returned it, a small smile on his lips in wonder at how the hell he managed to get this far that a RAMP Dragoon was excited to meet him.
Patrick, Vince, Colonel Mansfield and two companies, equivalent of 40 men and women, rode out of Fort Landon at 2 PM on the dot. It would have been a majestic site, seeing all the RAMP Dragoons in their red uniforms and campaign hats. Some of them, the leaders of each company, carried lances with little red and white flags on the top, which struck Patrick as wildly out of date. Of course, everyone also had their revolvers and carbines. Patrick made do with his trusty .44, an assault rifle and the fancy gun he was given by the Enclave. Vince had Big Bertha, but he was also given a powerful assault rifle as well to go with it. He was even able to get a bit of practice shooting while riding his mount. Treherne was, as promised, a calm and cool sleipnir, and took the sound of gunshots in stride.
It was going to take all afternoon and most of the evening of quick riding to reach the front lines, or as much of a front line there would be in a region with so much open ground.
They ate in their saddles, something which Vince had a hard time doing. But they had to keep moving. If they stopped at all, they could be found, and it would be a disaster to the Dragoons.
They splashed across the Red River at a ford about an hour after leaving Fort Landon, and continued due east.
Vince rode up to Patrick. His handling of sleipnir's was growing much quicker than Patrick ever thought. When he mentioned that to the old, one-eyed man, Vince chortled. "I may be an old dog, but you can teach me a few new tricks."
Patrick chuckled, and they continued to ride on for a while before Vince turned to Patrick again. "You think your brother will still be there?"
Patrick thought for a bit. "I don't know. I hope so. I'm thinking we would make it Bemidji before the Paladin Lord could make it."
Vince nodded. "You know, out west, way out in California, there is another group called the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Oh?" Patrick replied.
"Yeah. I only met a couple of them, but they seem both the same and different than these guys," Vince went on. "Out west, that Brotherhood seemed more inclined on finding old technology and protecting it than expanding out in all directions. But they were also a closed-minded, insular group. I heard they once sent people who wanted to join them to a place that had been nuked in the Great War, an irradiated hole in the ground called The Glow. They called it a test, but in reality it was a suicide run. Only one person I ever heard of ever survived it was the Vault Dweller, when he needed their help to stop the Master and the Super Mutants out there."
"Do you think they are the same?" Vince asked.
"My guess is that these guys are a splinter group. This Brotherhood is willing to accept almost anyone with a two feet and a heartbeat. But it does seem odd that they go by the same name, yet are so different." Vince shook his head. "Ah, but who cares? I highly doubt I'll ever make the climb over the Rockies again to find out more about them, and it's not like the Brotherhood here is willing to sit down to shoot the breeze."
Patrick nodded. They rode for a while, Vince having another massive coughing fit.
"You said you don't think you are going to make it over the Rocky Mountains again. You seem to have the drive to do that," Patrick said.
Vince chuckled as he finished coughing. "Oh, I may want to, but my body isn't doing so good."
"No? What?"
"When I met you in Grand Forks a while ago, I told you I was setting out to see the big ol' glacier, right?" Vince asked. Patrick nodded. "Well, that's part of the story."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you see..." Vince started, then trailed off. Patrick looked over to see Vince thinking over his words. "Well… I have lung cancer."
"What?"
"Diagnosed a couple years ago," Vince said. "The Doc in Megaton in the Capital Wasteland confirmed it when I asked him what was wrong. He said he couldn't cure it without cutting my chest open, but he could mitigate it. Stimpacks, some Radaway and Rad-X, and some shots of Whiskey and I was at least able to keep on living. But going over the mountains will most likely end that string of luck: too tall, not enough air up there, and a lot of mean critters that would make short work of a single, old, nearly dead man. But it's been getting worse, just slower than it would have been if I just laid down and took it."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that," Patrick said. Cancer, even though it was prevalent across Assiniboia, was still a nasty disease, and one that scientists from the Health Sciences Center had been working on for over a century now.
"I've made it this far," Vince said. "But the real reason I wanted to go up north was rumors of a pre-war research station, NorthTec. A big Canadian research firm that was apparently working on a cure for cancer. I wanted to see if they had something, maybe if not to save my life, then someone else's." He then laughed, which made him cough again. "For all I know, this is just a wild radgoose chase anyway. Most likely nothing up there but ice, ice and more ice."
Patrick swallowed. "Well, if we get out of this alive, I will gladly come along to help you."
Vince looked over, and gave a small smile. "Nah, it's alright. If this goes according to plan, you are going to have your brother back. You should go back home and rebuild your life than worry about an old man that wants to cheat death a few years more."
"No, I insist. We'll do it together." Patrick held out his hand. Vince looked down at it, then took and they shook.
The rest of the trip was very quiet as the sun went down behind them, making their shadows stretch over the dead grass and dusty ground longer and longer until soon it was gone. The moon was a thin pale sliver that night.
Patrick, with the only Pip-Boy in the group, became the navigator after dark. When they got to the ruins of a small village named Rindal past midnight, Patrick was confident they were past the Brotherhood front line, without having met a single patrol.
"Alright, 20 more kilometers to the target," Colonel Mansfield told everyone when they stopped. "Remember the plan, and good luck."
The group split up: one half went to the north east, the other to the south east. Patrick and Vince remained with Colonel Mansfield as they went to the north, circling around the target.
It took another two hours to get into place directly north of their target. The dragoons dismounted and prepared to fight as foot soldiers, while a few soldiers remained behind to hold the animals. It was a random draw, but Patrick could see the disappointment in the eyes of those that were chosen to stay behind. Vince joined the group on the way to infiltrate the base.
The dragoons, along with Patrick, began to sneak their way closer and closer to their target.
When Patrick got closer, he let out a muffled gasp.
A massive grey shapes, looking a lot like a cigar, was tied to the ground. It was an airship, and Patrick had never seen one before up close. In the last war, several of them flew up to Winnipeg and dropped bombs several times, but was used more for transporting troops and equipment. But this one was massive, bigger than almost any building Patrick had seen before, with the possible exception of the skyscrapers in Winnipeg. But it looked like one of those buildings placed on its side, and able to hold just as many people.
"Now remember, don't shoot the airship," Colonel Mansfield whispered to his troops. "It's full of hydrogen gas, and will explode easily." He then gave that grin. "But the Brotherhood bastards are fair game. Alright? Let's go!"
They snuck closer and closer to the airbase, spreading out as they went. A few Brotherhood soldiers in metal armor strolled around the base, calm and relaxed. They weren't expecting anybody. And why would they? Assiniboia was busy around Fargo protecting themselves. And who in their right mind would want a bloody airship?
Well Patrick and the Dragoons did.
They got within fifteen feet of the barbed wire perimeter and bright lights pointed in toward the airship around the Brotherhood outpost when they stopped. One soldier on guard duty was humming to himself, casually walking back and forth. He suddenly was grabbed by a figure in a shadow, went rigid and fell. A dragoon appeared from the shadow, bloody knife in hand. He then gave a short wave to the others to know that he was in.
Another Brotherhood member was taken down, leaving a large stretch of the base undefended. Patrick now began to sneak closer. The barbed wire was a full fence, and there was plenty of room for someone like himself to crawl through.
His jacket, however, had other ideas. A loose stitch caught one of the barbs, holding Patrick tight in place. He muffled a yelp in surprise, and then tried to reach up to undo the tangle. But the barb had managed to dig deep into his jacket, and was scratching his back. Patrick winced, hoping it wasn't rusty enough to give him tetanus. But eventually Patrick was able to wiggle his way out of the tight spot, and the barb let go, making the wire spring back into place.
"Hey, what was that?" someone off to the side asked. Patrick froze.
"I dunno. The wind?"
"There isn't a bloody breeze at all here," the first voice said. "I'm going to check it out."
Patrick scrambled forward as quick as he could, and then ducked behind a couple rusty barrels. The Pip-Boy on Patrick's arm suddenly began to crackle: the Geiger counter detected radiation. Patrick looked at the barrels, to see the old-world radioactive symbol marked on them. His eyes began to widen, but he couldn't move. Not yet.
The perceptive Brotherhood soldier walked to where Patrick had been. He looked over the area, and noticed the mark where Patrick was lying when he was caught, and the dirt that had been disturbed when he tried to get away.
"Who's there?" The soldier said, raising his laser rifle up. "I'm not going to ask again: where are you!"
Patrick crouched down closer to the radioactive barrels. Right now he wished he had a Rad-X or something, but he had to leave his backpack behind. He couldn't even remember if he had any with him. The Geiger counter on his Pip-Boy that was ticking so loudly to drown out the silence was still in the low region, around one to two rads a second. But enough of those seconds, and he'd be a hair's breadth away from death.
The soldier began to go around and around, searching the area. He bent down, grabbing a flashlight from his pocket and shining it at the ground at a footprint Patrick had left. He then looked ahead to see another footprint, then another, leading straight to the radioactive barrels.
The soldier began to cautiously approach Patrick. Patrick took a breath, and held it in, his hand covering the Geiger counter. It muffled the sound, and he hoped it would be enough.
The soldier was right next to the barrels, and he looked around. Patrick shivered as he willed himself to remain perfectly still, to not breath, to not even blink for being too loud.
"Hey! Reggie!" a voice called off in the distance. "What the hell are you doing?"
The Brotherhood soldier above Patrick turned around. "I think someone's here," he said.
"Aww, it's just your mind playing tricks on you again. Get over here, and finish this game with me already!"
The soldier looked around again, then sighed. "Fine, be right over." He began to walk away.
Patrick finally let his breath out as he heard the footsteps going away. Slowly, of course, just in case.
Off to the south, there was sudden gunfire. Patrick froze again. Something had gone wrong.
Several loud whistles began to blare through the night, and soon the entire base was a beehive of activity. Assiniboian Dragoons and Brotherhood soldiers began to fight, shooting at each other. The Brotherhood guys were taken by surprise, and began to fall back, or fall down and not get up again.. Patrick finally ran away from the radioactive barrels and toward the airship. Vince was soon running along beside him, firing at any target that popped up.
Colonel Mansfield was at one of the gangplanks that lead up to the airship. "Go, go, go!" he barked, pointing Patrick up the ramp that lead up. "Just don't shoot anything important looking!" He then turned around, and fired several shots with his revolver at a target.
Patrick climbed up the gangplank until he got into the cab of the airship, his revolver out and ready. Vince was right behind him. Only two people were in it, a man and a woman, both of them with an old fashioned peaked cap on their head with the Brotherhood logo on it with their usual uniforms.
"What the… who the hell are you?" the woman barked.
"I'm just commandeering this craft. Now, if you want to live, I suggest you do what you want me to do," Patrick said.
"Not if my brother's wipe you raiders out," the woman snarled.
"Raiders?" Vince asked. "Oh lady, this is a lot worse than raiders."
The faces on the pilots fell as Colonel Mansfield and four other RAMP Dragoons came up the gangplank a moment later. The Colonel was limping, a dark red patch on his black pants that was covered over by a piece of cloth. "The base has been secured," Mansfield said. "We can now proceed with the next stage."
"What are you talking about?" the female pilot asked.
"I need you to fly this Bemidji, with my friends here," Patrick said.
"Yeah? And why would I do that?" she shot back.
"Because you are dealing with the Auxiliary here," Colonel Mansfield said, pointing to Patrick. "And I'm pretty sure you've heard of a few things he's done."
The male pilot was visibly shaken. "Clarice, I think we better listen."
Clarice snarled. "Like hell I will! I would rather die than to help you Assiniboian bastards!"
Colonel Mansfield lost the smile he was well known for. "I suggest you reconsider."
"Like hell I will! For the Brotherhood!" she screamed, turning around to smash the control panel. But before she could, Colonel Mansfield, Vince and Patrick pulled the trigger on their guns at almost the same time. The triple bang was extremely loud in the small cab of the airship, and Patrick's ears were left ringing. But Clarice was stopped before she did any damage, and she slumped to the ground.
Patrick turned to the second, quieter pilot. "Now, are you going to pull any stupid stunts like your friend there?"
"N-no," he stammered. "I'll do what you ask me too."
Two of the dragoons grabbed Clarice's body, and unceremoniously threw it out onto the gangplank, and it began to roll down the inclined steps.
"Well, you know where we want to go," Patrick said. "Take us to Bemidji."
Airship was, as far as Patrick was concerned, perhaps the best way to travel. It was maybe a bit slower than Vertibird, but several times faster than sleipnir, and not quite as noisy as either. It was smoother than train, and you could go anywhere. Patrick wondered why Assiniboia had never invested in airships: it would have been easier to do a lot of stuff from moving supplies to people all over Assiniboia. He might have to ask someone in the government later.
The few dragoons, Patrick and Vince all prepared for what was to come. One of the dragoons had several pulse grenades.
"They'll make a big electric bang," he explained. "Won't harm anyone, but it will make everything electronic go out."
"Oh, it must be like this gun I got from the Enclave," Patrick said, pointing to the fancy laser rifle he had.
"But here, take one. Just in case," the dragoon said. Patrick held the long cylindrical device in his hand. He put it into an inside pocket of his jacket.
They made good time, arriving at Bemidji as the sun rose. Most of it was ruins, just like any town abandoned for any length of time after the War of 2077, but in the center of the town, with a large concrete and metal wall around it, was a large military base. Patrick couldn't make out all the details, but it was almost like a copy of Fort Landon: barracks, marching grounds, and a large building that dominated the rest of the base, a huge cathedral like building. Patrick had a pretty good guess of where the Elder made his home here.
"Okay, we are here," the pilot said as they got closer.
Colonel Mansfield turned to Patrick. He got a stimpack earlier, and his leg was a lot better now. "Well, this has gone swimmingly well," he said, looking out the window with Patrick. "But, we don't exactly have the troops to storm the place. It's a lot bigger than I expected. I'm guessing they have an entire battalion of troops there. I thought we would be just dealing with a few bodyguards." He didn't look worried though, which surprised Patrick.
Patrick turned to the pilot. "What kind of weapon systems are there on the airship?"
The pilot looked around. "Uhh… we have a few machine gun turrets along the bottom of the ship. But that's about it."
"No bombs? No cannons? No robots?" Colonel Mansfield asked.
"Nope. This was a cargo ship. All the weaponized airships are stationed further south at this time," the pilot said.
Patrick and Mansfield turned to each other.
"Shit."
The radio crackled to life. "Unidentified airship, report your name, rank and intentions," the static filled voice said.
The pilot turned to Patrick, who nodded for him to answer. The pilot picked up the radio. "This is Knight David Verone, and the Brotherhood Airship Daedalus. We have been ordered to report to Bemidji on the orders of the High Elder."
There was a long silence. Only the hum of the engines that propelled the ship could be heard.
"Do you think they fell for it?" Patrick asked.
As if an answer to the question, bright red flashes from the ground suddenly filled the air. The pilot, standing at the wheel of the craft, spun it around, making the entire craft slowly, sluggishly turn.
"What's happening?" Patrick asked, clutching to a railing on the edge of the cab.
"I think that's the answer you were looking for!" Colonel Mansfield shouted.
There was a roar, and an intense heat in the cabin, and suddenly the airship was no longer moving forward. Instead it was falling down at a steady, brisk clip.
"Oh, the humanity!" a Dragoon shouted as the entire craft fell from the sky.
"Stay calm!" someone else, most likely the pilot shouted. "The cabin is designed to withstand a fire, so you won't burn to death. Just hold on, and brace for impact!"
The ground came closer and closer, faster and faster. Patrick held onto the rail, and closed his eyes.
Pip-Boy 3000 Infotracker Note #####
Brotherhood of Steel Motivational Quote of the Day:
Brave men rejoice in adversity, just as brave soldiers triumph in war.
- Lucius Annaeus Seneca