Chapter Six
Hank Camry
April 25, 2284 (Local calendar)
Camp McCarren
The NCR's main base in the Mojave had grown considerably in the time since Hank first saw it, the numerous tents that had once filled the old parking lot slowly being replaced by more permanent structures to house the troops that called the base home, but it still seemed vastly underpopulated given the size.
Most of the new troopers who came in were on their way to other postings, notably Hoover Dam and the NCR's new front in Legion territory, so whilst the base could hold upwards of a regiment's worth of troops it never seemed to hold more than a battalion, and rarely at that. There were even days, Hank had seen, where the civilian population of caravan traders, contractors and visiting dignitaries seemed to rival the actual garrison for numbers.
Today didn't look like one of those days though, the main yard heavy with the noise of fresh troopers readying equipment, eating chow and spending time on the rifle range, and Hank nodded to a few of the more familiar faces he saw as he went for the old terminal building. Inside it was just as busy, a veritable sea of khaki clad troopers going about their business with a clamour to match and Hank weaved his way through it to Colonel Hsu's office on the ground floor.
He found the colonel was standing at a table that had a map of the Mojave spread across it with every major location and landmark noted down, Hsu occasionally pointing to one location or another as he spoke to the room's other occupant, a man who was easily seven feet tall and dressed in a style of armour Hank had never seen before. His first impression was that he was Brotherhood or Enclave, the only two factions in the wastes technologically capable of creating new models of power armour, only to dismiss it soon after.
This armour, whatever it was, looked far sleeker and more advanced than anything either of those factions could hope to build, making no noise that Hank could hear whenever the man leant down to examine something on the map. A helmet was also on the table, a full faced affair with a golden visor, and next to that was some kind of small hologram projector showing the image of a young woman, perhaps even a teenager, wearing a blue dress that, bizarrely, had armour plates on her chest, forearms and hips. She even had a longsword out before her, the tip of which was resting against what would have been the ground with her hands on the pommel, looking as though she were standing guard.
Hank gave the two a wary look as he entered the office but refrained from touching the grip of his pistol, figuring that if Hsu was talking to the guy so readily and without an armed guard nearby he, and his hologram, couldn't be any kind of threat, so he just walked inside.
The hologram seemed to be the first to notice him, looking up to say, 'It appears we have a guest.'
Hsu looked up as well and gave a small smile on seeing Hank, gesturing for him to come in with one hand as he nodded to a nearby urn, several mugs sitting nearby.
'Is this him?' the power armoured man said.
'Yes, it is,' Hsu said then, to the newcomer, added, 'Good to see you again, Hank.'
'And you, colonel,' Hank said as he fixed himself a cup of coffee. 'Maybe someday we can meet without it involving work.'
He returned to the table with his coffee and gave the man another look, this time focusing more on his face if only because it was the only part of him not covered in the armour. At a guess Hank would have put the man somewhere in his mid-twenties, more than fifteen years younger than him, but it was evident he had lived just as harsh a life going by the numerous scars and nicks that were visible. So, a soldier in all likelihood.
'Who's your friend?' Hank said.
'Ah, introductions,' Hsu said. 'This is Spartan Ryan and Artoria, his… partner, I guess would be the best description. They're part of a group that just landed in California a few weeks ago. I don't know if you've heard about that.'
'I haven't been listening to the radio for a while,' Hank said.
'In any case, they're offering to help us out,' Hsu said. 'I'm sure Ryan can fill you in on the details later.'
'Sure can,' Ryan said before holding his hand out. 'You must be Hank. The colonel's spoken highly of you.'
Hank hesitated for a moment then shook Ryan's hand, finding it was surprisingly delicate despite the size, and said, 'He exaggerates.'
'I'm sure he does,' Ryan said.
'So what's this all about?' Hank said as he let go and stood at the table, looking down at the map of the Mojave. 'I'm guessing you have a job for me, and that I'm supposed to be paired up with Ryan here.'
'You are,' Hsu said. 'And yes, there's a job. Two, actually, starting with this one.'
He reached behind him and grabbed a folder that contained a few pages of a larger report and a blurry, indistinct photo of a lone figure walking through the wastes somewhere. Hank skimmed through the pages and saw it was about recent attacks on the Brotherhood's bases in California, all of which was being attributed to the person in the photo.
'Intelligence types are calling him the Black Ghost,' Hsu said as Hank read. 'We have reason to believe he's targeting the Brotherhood and we want to get into contact with him, even if it's just to find out why. Your job would be to search the Mojave for him.'
'He's here?' Hank said
Ryan shook his head. 'They don't know. He might be, he might not be, so someone has to provide an answer.'
'And with all our efforts now focused in Arizona, we don't have the resources to look into it,' Hsu said. 'But you've proven an effective asset before.'
'Lucky me,' Hank said. 'And the other job?'
'Investigate reports of a Legion slave ring,' Hsu said, holding out another folder full of papers. 'People have been going missing at an alarming rate, all across the Mojave, and the brass suspects the Legion might have some involvement.'
'I didn't realise so many people were gone,' Hank said as he read through the report.
When he and Gene had talked about the disappearances yesterday he had gotten the impression only a select handful of people were missing, but Hsu's report seemed to suggest upwards of a hundred people was the real number, not including those society took no notice of like drifters and beggars. There was even a list of missing people in the file, several of which had stars next to their names.
'They're close family members of important figures,' Hsu said when Hank showed it to him. 'We're thinking political prisoners, or just high value targets taken as payback. Consider those the priority to find.'
'Of course,' Hank said. 'Anything else?'
'Not right now,' Hsu said with a shake of his head. 'Though we might be calling on Ryan for something later.'
He pointed to a spot on the map, south of Searchlight, and Hank recognised it as the old city of Bullhead. It had once belonged to the NCR but then the Legion came along and ousted them, the citizens who had been unable to flee turned into slaves. Now, with the Legion on the run, the NCR was looking to take the place back. More than that, though, Hank could see holding the city would open up another route into Legion territory, and one directly towards their capital of Flagstaff.
A useful thing to have, especially as lacking adequate supply routes had prevented the NCR from pursuing the Legion during the First Battle of Hoover Dam.
'Just say when, sir,' Ryan said.
'Good to hear,' Hsu said. 'Okay, gentlemen. That's everything I have for you though Hank, a quick word before you go?'
'I'll meet you outside,' Ryan said as he donned his helmet and inserted the hologram projector into the back of it, moving off into the main concourse where, amongst the rank and file troopers, his armoured bulk was easily visible.
More than a few of them gave the man curious looks but none seemed to dare approach him, essentially parting before Ryan until he went through the front doors and was lost to sight. When that happened, Hank turned to Hsu who said, 'While you're working together, I want you to try and get a feel for Ryan's character. The brass wants to know if we can trust him and his group, especially on more delicate matters.'
'I can do that,' Hank said.
'Great,' Hsu said. 'Oh, and you'd better keep those files. They contain everything we thought you'll need to know about your jobs.'
Hank nodded and stuffed the two folders into his pack then hurried after Ryan, finding him lingering by the main door and looking out across the old parking lot. Even before he could speak up, though, Ryan's head was turning his way as if he could sense his presence.
'Everything sorted with the colonel?' Ryan said.
'Yeah, just a few personal matters,' Hank said. 'Nothing serious. Come on.'
He took off towards the camp's main entrance with Ryan just a few feet behind him, but despite wearing armour that looked like it easily weighed several hundred kilos he made little to no noise, or at least nothing louder than what Hank himself was making in his own gear.
'We'll make a start on this Black Ghost guy,' he said once they left the camp, emerging into the Mojave proper. 'There's a Brotherhood of Steel base to the south of here. They might know something.'
'Does the NCR know about them?' Ryan said.
'They do,' Hank said before adding, 'I managed to work out a truce between them and the chapter about a year ago. They help patrol the nearby roads, the NCR hands over any suits of power armour they find. Not a bad deal, but I think it got the chapter excommunicated from the rest of the Brotherhood. If that's what you're curious about.'
'It was,' Ryan said. 'Suppose I should keep quiet on the fact I've killed a bunch of them.'
'That's what I do,' Hank said.
Spartan Ryan
April 25, 2284 (Local calendar)
Sloan
The first few hours of walking passed by in silence as Ryan and Hank kept their eyes open for any potential dangers, raiders and wildlife alike, with just the moaning of the wind to fill the silence. Hank led the way down the cracked road which Ryan was more than happy for him to do. He was a stranger in this land, after all, and from the way Colonel Hsu had spoken about him it seemed like Hank had trekked from one end of the Mojave to the other, and beyond, setting right everything wrong with it.
Not bad for a guy in his forties, Ryan thought, and doubly so for someone that had been a courier before taking up the mercenary life, though considering the dangerous state of post-nuclear America they had to be a hardy breed to begin with.
At the same time, Ryan had to consider just how good a military the NCR was if it took an outsider, a courier, coming along to clean up so many messes for them. Even taking into account their manpower issues, surely most of what Hank had accomplished could have been done just as easily by a squad of troopers, maybe even some of the Rangers.
It wasn't like he was outfitted any better than them. His main weapon was a carbine chambered in 5.56mm with a 9mm pistol for backup, near enough the same as the troopers, and his leather armour looked no better or worse than their gear when it came to providing protection. So why had he succeeded where they failed? Were the NCR just that bad, or was there something about Hank that set him apart from them?
Ryan hoped it was the latter of the two, because otherwise it would mean that he and the crew of West Virginia had backed the wrong horse on making landfall in California. The question then became exactly what it was about Hank that made him such an effective operator despite his apparently humble origins. His intelligence and wit? A dogged determination? Ungodly proficiency with every type of weapon known to man? Or was he just very lucky?
Hopefully the answer would reveal itself in the coming days and weeks of them working together, and in turn give Ryan a better picture of just what the NCR's military could accomplish. Either Hank was a skilled individual, or the troopers really were just that bad and incompetent.
They had passed a number of them on the road south, either on patrol or travelling to a new billet, and at least a squad's worth of them were standing guard in Sloan, a mining settlement they were taking a small break in. Hank had suggested it, saying he knew the cook who lived here, leaving Ryan to settle himself in an area of Sloan set aside for passing travellers.
The place was sat roughly midway between Primm and New Vegas, making it a perfect stopping point for people coming to visit the big city, or those returning home after blowing through all their savings, and as was liable to happen in such an instance the workers at Sloan had capitalised on the fact by offering a place to stay and other services. That being said, it wasn't much. Some tents, a few firepits and a trader who sold only the basics for surviving out in the wastes.
Hardly a centre of commerce like other towns in the wastes but at least it helped bring in a little extra income for the residents of Sloan, and probably provided a lifeline for the people passing through. There were around a dozen of them in the camp with Ryan, all of whom were giving him looks which was to be expected, considering his appearance, with one small child, a boy, staring at him with saucer like eyes.
Ryan spared him a glance then removed his helmet as Hank reappeared, carrying two tin bowls and a plate of bread rolls.
'Brahmin stew,' he said as he handed the bowl over. 'They were out of omelettes.'
'Thanks,' Ryan said.
Hank sat down next to him and pulled out two bottles of Sunset Sarsaparilla, one for each of them, and once they started eating Ryan said, 'The colonel tells me you were a courier before this.'
'I was,' Hank said. 'The Mojave Express, though I did a bit of freelancing as well.'
'Quite the shift in careers,' Ryan said. 'First a courier, now a mercenary that field officers know by name? What brought that on, a midlife crisis?'
A humourless grin tugged at Hank's lips but he shook his head.
'No, I was ambushed on a delivery not too far from here, outside a place called Goodsprings,' he said. 'Some bigshot from Vegas wanted my package so he shot me for it, left me for dead, only I got better and set out after him, killed him, and managed to deliver my package just a few weeks later than intended.'
'And that led to being a mercenary?' Ryan said.
Hank shrugged. 'Kind of. The NCR had been keeping track of what I'd done since leaving Goodsprings for some reason, and they approached me with a job after I'd delivered the package. Then when that was done they had another job, and another after that, and so on and so forth until I was less a courier and more a civilian contractor for them.
'I even started doing random jobs for other people all across the Mojave, between missions. Some were missing persons cases, like now.'
'And the others?' Ryan said.
'A little bit of everything,' Hank said, shrugging again. 'Collecting bounties, settling scores, exploring old Vaults for tech. You name it, I've probably done it. Hell, at one point the Atomic Wrangler hired me to find them new hookers.'
'Seriously?' Ryan said.
'Seriously,' Hank said. 'And that's not including the shit I stumbled into myself, like a casino heist being run by some crazy ex-Brotherhood Elder.'
'Now that I'd be interested in hearing about,' Ryan said but was waved off.
'That's a story for another day,' Hank said. 'Besides, it's your turn to share. What makes the brass think you're capable enough to be entrusted with this job?'
'It probably has something to do with the fact I'm from a parallel world,' Ryan said.
He paused a moment to let that register in Hank's mind before launching into an abbreviated rundown of his own backstory, including an overview of the Spartan-IV program and what its personnel could do, culminating in West Virginia's arrival at the irradiated Earth. Throughout it all Hank remained quiet, listening to Ryan with an incredulous look at first but the more he talked, the more convinced he seemed to become.
When Ryan finally finished, all Hank had to say on the matter was a subdued, 'No shit.'
'I was expecting something a little stronger than that,' Ryan said.
'Sorry to disappoint,' Hank said. 'Though it was fairly obvious you weren't from around here. A parallel world, though? How does that work?'
It was Ryan's turn to shrug. 'No idea. The ship's crew are looking into it but who knows if they'll figure it out.'
'Well, I wish them luck.'
Hank clinked his Sunset Sarsaparilla against Ryan's then took a hearty swing, as did the Spartan though inwardly he found himself preferring the taste of Nuka-Cola over the root beer which, he had seen, was the popular drink here in the Mojave. The rest of their break in Sloan passed quickly enough, the two of them swapping tales of their past exploits until it was time to move out with Hank once again taking the lead and Ryan a few feet back.
