Mutatis Mutandis 15
Commander Jackrum of the Talon Company flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dirt and ground away the smoke with the ball of his foot. The swift carrion birds circling high above his head sent faint shadows racing across the parched landscape
"We can't keep doing this." Turner said again.
Jackrum sighed. "Let'em in. Open the gate!"
His order was relayed along the newly fortified Talon Company headquarters. The stream of terrified wasters moved forward in a grim procession, flowing into the courtyard of the Talon Company headquarters. A few younger mercs were standing in a line, directing the flow and sorting the refugees as best they could.
Fort Bannister had been a mess when he'd taken command those weeks ago, and his first project had been its reconstruction and strengthening. It had been a make-work project, and a way to give his mercenaries, both old a new, a sense of identity and unity. This wasn't just a gaggle of heartless mercs. This was the Talon Company. The project to rebuild their home taught pride and respect.
The rearming had also prepared them for the coming storm. Jackrum had known about Brutus and the Mutants. He'd met their leader long before anyone else in the Wasteland -anyone else still alive in the wasteland- had ever heard the name. Cleaning up the Talon Company had begun with eliminating the corrupt leadership. Jackrum knew that though he'd succeeded, there were still plenty of lingering questions with unpleasant answers. The Talon company had been working with Brutus, planning to double-cross the mutant in order to clear the way for something else. Something worse. For his cooperation, Jackrum had been offered more caps than most ever saw.
But Burke and Jabsco had also asked him to compromise his morals, twisted though they were and that was unacceptable.
So there he was, in charge of the second most heavily fortified pseudo-military installation in the wasteland, awaiting what he knew would probably be the longest siege in post-war history. He'd had his men build low walls of concrete and sheet metal. Sandbags filled the gaps, and there were more slits and peepholes than he could count. Every fifteen feet had a small shack set up. Every second shack had either a turret, or a mininuke launcher with a full stock of ammunition. The bowels of the fort were stocked with Aqua Pura and other necessities. He'd sent major expeditions out to the ruins of Evergreen Mills, Paradise Falls, and a few other stockpiles. Jason Howlett had given him a private list of hidden weapons stockpiles. The Wanderer had been busy over the four years, and Jackrum had benefitted greatly from their haphazard alliance.
The cliff overlooking the newly renovated fort had been heavily mined, and fortified. Every inch of ground on the slope leading up to it, and to the weakest parts of all the defenses, had been sighted with mini-nuke mortars.
Jackrum had done all of this, and thought he was ready. Then he'd heard of the fall of the Citadel, and the utter destruction of the Brotherhood of Steel. Confidence had been promptly replaced with cold dread.
He wasn't the only one, either. Plenty had heard Three-Dog's last broadcast. And plenty had heard of the Talon Company's restructuring. Immediately the poor, the weak, and the innocent in the wasteland had come begging at his door, pleading for shelter. Soft-hearted as he was, and despite his own doubts, Jackrum had been unable to deny them hope. So he watched them stream into the compound and sign up. Men, women, and even a few children. Drifters, drunkards, wayfarers, and wanderers had all joined up. He had close to four hundred recruits already, and the numbers were growing at alarming rates.
"We can't keep this up." Sergeant Turner told him, flicking through his clipboard. The young merc was smart. Probably smarter than Jackrum himself. The kid had shown a knack for logistics, and Jackrum trusted him to run the supply chains. Unfortunately that meant tolerating the boy's clipboard. Jackrum despised clipboards, but lists and numbers were what separated the Talon Company from the common fighting rabble. Things were made Official upon being written down, and Approved when an unintelligible signature was added.
"At this rate we'll run out of supplies by the end of the month."
"Scavenge further." Jackrum said. "Try the subway tunnels. The power stations. Weaker settlements if we have to. The Muties'll take it if we don't."
"But-"
"Have you ever watched a slaughter, kid?" the old merc asked. "Have you ever seen helpless people cornered and gunned down? It ain't pretty." He watched as a young family, their faces flush with exhaustion, crossed the threshold and took a moment to celebrate their relief.
"I grew up in Rivet City." Jackrum told him. "One day when I was a little kid, the muties attacked. My Pa got caught on the wrong side of the drawbridge, along with a few others. They shot him in the ass and dragged him off."
"What did you do?" Turner asked carefully, watching his superior officer.
Jackrum smiled at the memory. "Lit my first cigarette and laughed my ass off. Bastard had a mean right hook and a temper to match it." His smile faltered. "But old lady Weatherly, Vera's mother, she wasn't so bad. Gave me food and hid me from'im when I needed it. Same with Joey's parents."
"Who's Joey?"
"Security guard. A friend of mine. Helped me out of a few rough spots." He nodded in satisfaction as the last of the refugees made it into the compound, and the heavily reinforced door groaned shut. "In this world, all you got to rely on is other people, kid. There's enough things trying to kill us out there, now's not the time to shut our doors."
"But the supplies-"
"You wanna tell'em to fuck off? Be my guest." Jackrum suggested, motioning at the crowd. Turner followed his gaze. The young family had settled on a slab of broken concrete. The mother, a dark-haired young woman, was gently massaging her son's feet. "Go on, Turner. Tell'em to leave."
"I…" Turner opened his mouth, then shut it and looked down, defeated. "I can't." he glanced at his clipboard. "I'll make things stretch."
The Veteran's hand landed comfortingly "Cos' your human, kid." He gazed southeast, to the skyline of D.C.. the Washington monument was missing, and pale smoke was rising above the city, shrouding it in haze.
He said, "And sumthin' tells me before this is over, things are gonna get a lot worse for our kind."
Dusk had fallen over the world by the time Jason reached the western shore of the Potomac. He crouched behind a concrete divider and peered through his scope. Immediately in front of him, at the bottom of an exposed slope, was the Duchess Gambit. A body, swollen with salt water and stinking of gut-rot, was floating in the Potomac, bumping gently against the dock. He'd encountered worse stenches, but this one was distracting. Across the river, Acrid smoke was rising from Project Purity, but that was not Jason's target. He buried the anger and looked further, to the dozen or so Behemoths trudging back and forth across the open ground between the wasteland's salvation and its capital.
Rivet City was holding out; in the twilight, Jason could see the lines of tracer rounds and the muzzle flashes from sniper rifles. The thrumming staccato of distant gunfire offset the calming sound of the ocean waves. Both were interrupted by the unbearable stench of the corpse. Nadine's, probably.
Sarah's doing.
Irrelevant. The Worst thing about losing Nadine was losing access to Calvert. But it seemed that another trip to Point Lookout would have turned out badly for him regardless, so perhaps it was for the best. All things considered, Sarah had probably done him a favor.
Jason peered back through the scope. The Behemoths were up to something. There was a structure and pattern to their movements. Their efforts seemed to be focused around the fire. From his position, Jason could make out three, which probably meant that there were at least two more behind Project Purity, but he could not make out much more. He'd have to move closer.
He cross slipped silently over the barrier and down the slope, holding his nose as he crossed the dock. Dogmeat padded along behind him, growling quietly at the mutants across the bay. Jason took a moment to stash all weapons that couldn't survive the trip through the water. He had no intention of fighting. Merely some reconnaissance to find out exactly what he was dealing with. He kept his combat knife, a 10mm pistol, and the Perforator. The silenced weapons was a black-ops version of the regular American assault rifle, and it had been designed to withstand the more bizarre environmental conditions associated with such operations.
When he was ready, he turned to Dogmeat. The mutt was not good at sneaking, or infiltration, or any of the tactics Jason was so well-practiced in. That was the reason Jason had always left him behind, and he had no intention of needlessly putting Dogmeat's life in danger. Besides, someone had to guard the weapons.
His companion whined at him but obeyed when he gave the order to stay put. The water was cold, but this was nothing new to Jason, who took a few seconds to adjust, and then quietly paddled forward, leaving barely a ripple in the water behind him. He had been forced to swim many times over the course of his travels, often loaded with far more equipment than he was currently carrying. He reached the other side and crept ashore, taking temporary shelter underneath the low wall at the western edge of the Lincoln memorial plateau. Soaking wet, he let the worst of the water drip away. His hair was soaking wet, and he squeezed it dry, missing his bandana; the bangs were constantly in his eyes. When he was ready, he peered up over the top of the wall.
A supermutant sentry was standing guard, but turned inwards, watching the violent flashing lights of the Rivet City siege. Jason scanned the sapphire skyline and spotted two more sentries, thirty feet in either direction, spaced around the outer rim of Project Purity.
Three silenced bullets later there were no sentries spaced around the outer edge of Project Purity, and Jason was skirting around the building itself. He reached tangle of walkways, scaffolding and pipes which covered the front of the memorial, and ducked in the shadows beneath them, circling counterclockwise until he was in full view of the Mutant encampment. Listening to the stomp of heavy feet above his head, he settled down to watch.
The Mutants were burning seashells. The enormous net sacks, normally filled with ichor and body parts, were packed tightly with seashells of all shapes and sizes.
Why the hell…?
He ducked further into the shadows as an overlord shambled out of the tidal basin, hefting another bag over its shoulder.
Jason's frown deepened; they were dumping the sacks into the fire, causing acrid pale smoke to rise into the sky, blotting out the stars. The mist stung his eyes, making him tear up. Why would they burn seashells? That question needed answering, immediately. There was nothing ceremonial about it, Jason was sure. That meant it had something to do with the siege. He took a closer look at the mutants around the fire. A few of them had shovels and bags, and they were collecting and sifting through the ashes and forming a separate pile of pale powder, streaked with indefinable additives.
A chemical weapon.
Jason pulled out a stealthboy and switched it on, melting into the night.
Horace Pinkerton was worried. Two days ago, he'd heard the opening volley of the Mutant attack. He'd checked through his peephole for a brief moment, seen the flood of green and grey pouring from the north and east, and promptly locked down his little sanctuary, doubling the traps and arming himself for the worst. He was currently in his lab, working desperately to fix an old set of armour. His best shot, he knew, lay in keeping his head down, but there was no harm in being prepared for the worst.
He bent further over his work bench, tightening a few bolts. He'd reinforced his combat armour, adding extra plating to protect the lower abdomen and upper arms. It'd been a long time since the old man had used it, and he wanted it to be as sturdy as possible.
"Pinkerton."
The scientist jumped, his wrench flying from his grasp. The Wanderer was standing in a shadowy corner, barely visible. Pinkerton sniffed in irritation, straighting and wiping his hands off on his shirt. He said, "I suppose it was only a matter of time before you showed up…"
"Taken a look outside recently?" The Wanderer asked.
"Yep." The scientist answered immediately, his voice oozing dry sarcasm. "Stepped outside for a cigarette not ten minutes ago."
The Wanderer stared.
"What on earth do you think I did? Have you seen how many of them are out there?"
"They're burning seashells." The Wanderer told him.
Pinkerton sniggered. "Quite a hobby for a supermutant."
"They're collecting this stuff." The Wanderer placed a small bag of pale yellow powder on his work bench. "I sniffed it and it burned my nose."
"Idiot." Pinkerton said, gently but firmly pushing him aside. The scientist opened the bag and waved a hand above it, wafting some of the scent towards himself. He promptly backed away from the stinging, eye-watering stench.
"So what is it?"
"Shut up and let me work." Covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, he scooped a small amount of the stinging powder into a vial and set it in a test tube stand. He had a hypothesis, but he needed to confirmation. He crossed his workstation and pulled out a bottle of Aqua Pura, pouring a carefully estimated amount onto the powder. After a few moments, the water began to bubble, turning white and smoking slightly as the vial emitted a disquieting hissing noise.
"Water's boiling." Pinkerton confirmed. "What you got there, boy, is calcium oxide. Quicklime. I didn't know it came from seashells."
"Quicklime?" the Wanderer asked, but Pinkerton was already moving, far faster than he had been before. He crossed his lab again and pulled out a copy of the Big Book of Science, opening to the index and finding the relevant page. "Calcium Oxide, also known as Quicklime, is a caustic chemical compound widely used in a variety of industrial-"
"Skip ahead a little." The Wanderer ordered harshly. "Why do the Mutants want it?"
"To hurt us, if I absolutely had to guess." Pinkerton replied dryly. His finger traced down the page until it reached the list of health hazards. "Calcium Oxide causes severe irritation when inhaled or placed in contact with moist skin or eyes. Inhalation may cause coughing, sneezing, labored breathing. It may then evolve into burns with perforation of the nasal septum, abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting. Although quicklime is not considered a fire hazard, its reaction with water can release enough heat to ignite combustible materials."
Pinkerton snapped his book shut, staring at the cover in horror. "They're going to pump it into Rivet City. Mutants aren't that smart! How do they know how to do that?"
"How long do we have?" the Wanderer demanded grimly.
The scientist show his head, setting his book down. "I don't know. Until they feel they have enough lime, I suppose. They could start now if they wanted to."
"How do I stop it?"
"Get rid of the powder, obviously. How big is their pile?"
"Four feet by five in diameter. Conical."
"That's a lot of burnt seashells." Pinkerton mused. "I doubt they could collect that many again. Not for some time. They've probably used up most of the shells in the bay. The ones they can reach, anyway."
"How do I get rid of the pile?"
"Blow it up. You could scatter it. But then any human caught in the cloud will end up blind and probably dead."
Jason stared at the vial, and the boiling water within. His eyes narrowed, "would it blind the mutants?"
"I have no idea. They'd be coated in it, though."
The Wanderer cracked a smile. "And what would happen if they were then sprayed with Aqua Vitae?"
"Severe burns to any skin in contact with both. Quicklime eats flesh away." Pinkerton told him, scratching his chin. "That's a very… inhumane death."
"They're supermutants." The wanderer said mechanically. "Can you warn Rivet City? Tell them what I'm going to do?"
"I…" Pinkerton frowned. It'd been years since he'd set foot in that cursed settlement. Too much bad history… but now lives were at stake. He took a deep breath. "I suppose I could."
"Do it." The Wanderer melted into the darkness. "I've got to pay a visit to Project Purity."
A chemistry student could probably blow this entire chapter out of the water, but it's good enough for me, and they had nuclear-powered cars in this universe, not to mention Rad-away.
Fuck it. On with it!
I also thought it was about time we reintroduce Jackrum. God, I love writing him. I'm pleased to say the absurdly long wait between last chapter and the one before it was an anomaly. My muse is singin' right now!
Anyway, I'll keep working. Reviews are appreciated They keep me going!
P.S. i updated the first of Brutus' new scenes (chapter 5, if i'm not mistaken). take a look and tell me what you think of his new attitude.