Mutatis Mutandis 26

Jackrum set down his binoculars and rubbed the back of his neck. "This is a terrible plan, Sergeant Turner.

"It's your plan, sir."

"Doesn't mean it isn't terrible."

"You said it first, sir."

Jackrum grinned to himself. "Turner, you become any more of a smartass, and-"

"I'll be in direct competition with you, sir. Yes, I know." The kid said absentmindedly, peering at their target through his own set of binoculars. "But my momma always said go big or go home."

"A mum like that and all you did with your life was join the Talon Company?"

"And now I'm saving the wasteland." The young man replied. "One terrible plan at a time. Doesn't get much bigger than that."

"Fair enough. Still a bad plan though." Jackrum grunted. He sighed and glanced back along the long line of Talon Company soldiers. "Alright, boys, let's get it done… and we'll just have to hope the Wanderer doesn't throttle us with our own small intestines for it."

"Do we have a backup plan, sir?"

"We're at plan C already, Turner. This is the backup plan."

Lieutenant Samantha Summers of the East Coast Enclave Remnants was worried. In the past four days, her tiny encampment had been forced to fend off eleven Supermutant attacks. Usually those numbers were reversed. Her small band had been sent to monitor the ongoing carnage, and to salvage anything of value they could from the resulting mess. She stared down at her orders again, and tried not to wonder about her superior officer's sanity. Perhaps he thought an opportunity had opened up. Or perhaps he was scrounging desperately for something to impress the bosses back west. Afterall, ever since the Landcrawler's explosion, the Enclave had been forced to retreat from the Wasteland with their tail between their legs.

Her team of specialists had been sent back for a particular piece of salvage: A human being. She held up the flimsy piece of paper and reread the target's profile.

Subject: Jason Howlett, alias the Lone Wanderer

Age: Estimated by eyewitness accounts to be between twenty and twenty-five.

Description: Blonde hair, blue eyes. height, 5'6".

Favored garb: Duster and red bandana, outfit apparently a 'Symbol of Hope' for the native population.

History: Born in Vault 101. Son of James Howlett, the Wastelander who built Project Purity. Went feral upon Father's death at hands of Colonel Augustus Autumn. Allied with Brotherhood of Steel and other Wasteland factions in order to steal Project Purity and encourage hostile action against Enclave forces..

Spent several years wandering the Wasteland – No specific data.

Local lore claims he is invulnerable – No supporting evidence.

May be a mutant – No supporting evidence.

Favored weapons (based on post-incident forensic analysis):

Combat knife

Assault rifle

Railroad spikes. Used mostly for barbaric ceremonial practice of crucifying captured Enclave personnel.

Place of Residence: Wasteland settlement known as Megaton. Note: Attacks against Howlett's home deemed too risky- reasonable fear of strong retribution. Household investigated once. Agent's throat ripped out by vicious canine security system. Body found crucified in nearest Enclave encampment (all personnel KIA. Suspected culprit- Jason Howlett).

To all Enclave personnel: Jason Howlett is considered extremely hostile, and excessively dangerous. To be shot on sight, body burned.

Warning: All enclave personnel must exercise extreme caution. Howlett's hatred of the Enclave is irrational and merciless. No camp has ever survived an attack by Jason Howlett. Only one enclave member has ever survived contact with Jason Howlett. IF SEEN, DO NOT APPROACH. Jason Howlett has been known to lure Enclave personnel into deadly traps using various means from promises of advanced technological discoveries to valuable wasteland specimens to promising his own capture and destruction. High casualty rates have resulted in many unconfirmed kills. Numbers listed below are estimates based on post-incident forensic analysis.

Note: Practice of Post-Incident Forensic Investigation was halted after realization that Jason Howlett uses slaughtered enclave outposts as bait for both Rescue and Forensic Analysis teams. Subject does not recognize differences between combative and non-combative roles for Enclave Personnel. Administrative staff are not safe! Honorable Rules of Engagement are not respected by subject.

Number of enclave Personnel suspected killed by Jason Howlett:311 (Including President John Henry Eden and Colonel Augusts Autumn.)

Number of Enclave soldiers confirmed killed by Jason Howlett:27 (note: kills confirmed by unreliable local sources. No Enclave member has ever survived an encounter long enough to confirm a comrade's death at the hands of Jason Howlett. Subject leaves no survivors.)

Estimated Value in US dollars of Enclave property damaged, destroyed, or stolen by Jason Howlett: $78, 000,000. Including 1 Landcrawler, 32 Vertibirds, 274(estimated) sets of Power Armour, Assorted small arms. Scientific equipment and materials, data, captured specimens, etc…

In summary, Jason Howlett, A.K.A. the Lone Wanderer is to be considered an extremely dangerous enemy of the United States Government. Subject is to be approached only with extreme caution. Lethal Force recommended.

If encountered, please capture subject, dead or alive, and return to current Enclave base of operations. If risk involved in capturing or killing Jason Howlett is for any reason deemed too high, Enclave personnel are ordered to retreat. Note: 'Risk' as to be determined contextually by Enclave personnel engaging subject.

Signed,

Major Bartholomew Beverly, in Lieu of Colonel Autumn and President John Henry Eden.

God Bless America.

Of course, every Enclave member who even had the slightest chance of ever doing a tour in the Wasteland was briefed on the Lone Wanderer. They all had this exact profile memorized. Yet the profile told her nothing. It did not tell her how exactly one young man managed time and time again to overpower entire enclave fortifications. How exactly he was able to subdue fully armoured soldiers using only primitive weaponry. How he had been able to infiltrate and blow up the Landcrawler.

The horror stories told around the mess hall tables were somewhat more helpful, most painting the picture of a vengeful ghost who struck without mercy, slaughtering entire campsites in an instant. The forensics supported this claim, oddly enough. Entire squads has been found dead, facing all different directions within the confines of their campsites. Officers were more often than not slumped over their desks, coffee cups half full, and cigarettes which had burned down to the stub. Bodies of enclave soldiers whose lives had ended without warning, lying in standard patrol patterns. It all spoke to a man who struck with stealth and precision, avoiding sloppy firefights and preventing himself from being forced into a direct engagement with superior numbers. The man was clearly more intelligent than the average waster, though that was to be expected; he was of a purer genetic strain, having come from a vault. Although maybe not; in some versions of the story, his father had been granted sanctuary in the vault, which would make the Wanderer as much a wastelander as any other primitive.

As for the stealth, Summers had spent some amount of time considering how one could sneak around well-trained enclave troops. A stealth-boy had to be involved, she felt. Yet the sleeper agents in Rivet City had never witnessed him buying one.

Still… three hundred and eleven. It was a mind-boggling number. The entire Brotherhood of Steel -damn them- had managed to finish off about four-hundred and fifty enclave soldiers in the entire duration of the war.

For one man to end so many lives, and the enclave had nothing to show for it. And Beverly wanted her to capture this… man? Especially given the current state of the wasteland? Their little heavily armed band had been in the wasteland for three days, and they had been forced to fend off several supermutant attacks numbering in the dozens. Her ammunition stockpiles, meant to last her for two weeks, was already down thirty-five percent. Her twenty-five man team was down to fifty percent strength, and they'd lost one of their two vertibirds to a mutant with a missile launcher. Never in any of her six tours of duty had she found them this driven. Something was happening further inland. A vertibird had been shot down, but not before it reported the ring of rubble which was formerly the Brotherhood of Steel's headquarters.

"Ma'am." A soldier wearing Hellfire armour stepped up and saluted. "We've got hostiles massing on the hill." She followed his pointed finger and stared up at the crest of the nearest hill. There were indeed a group of very well-armed wastelanders gathering on the hilltop. Most of them were dressed in the Talon Company faction's black combat armour.

"Should we scare them off, Ma'am?"

"They make good forced labour." Suggested another trooper. "We catch a few and they can help us build new vertibirds."

Summers pulled her plasma rifle from her shoulder. "Defensive formation. Rifleman in front, Incinerators behind. I'll get ready to write up another incident report…"

"Uhh… Ma'am. They have a white flag up."

Summers stared. The wastelanders had strung a section of bedsheet on a fencepost, and were waving it back and forth desperately.

"They want to parlay?"

"Can you really negotiate with lower forms of life?" a few members of her squad chuckled. "Would they even understand us?"

"Hold fire." Summers ordered, feeling somewhat relieved. "If the primitives so much as cough, burn them all." Standard procedure was to simply open fire, but a white flag was a white flag. Besides, what was the worst they could possibly do? Dent her armour?

Noting the lack of immediate hostility, two of the wasters broke from the main group and travelled slowly down the hill. One of them was a young mercenary with a sharp look in his eye and a bandaged head. The other was an older man, scarred by conflict and jaded with life. His tired eyes held a bored expression which conveyed very clearly that nothing left in the world could possibly surprise him.

"What do you want, waster?" Summers asked, as they neared the fortifications.

"You in charge here?" the older man asked, eyeing all the energy weapons aimed at him.

"Lieutenant Samantha Summers." She introduced herself.

"Commander Jonathon Rumsfeld." The merc replied, extending his hand for her to shake.

She didn't. "Give me a good reason not to shoot you."

"I have something you may find valuable. I want to make a trade."

"What, bottlecaps?" Summers sneered. "We don't negotiate with sub-humans."

"I find that attitude very offense."

"I don't care, Wastlander."

"Look," said the Waster, "We could have a row. Maybe you'll survive this, and maybe you won't. Not with my snipers on the hilltops around us. But them muties out there will pick up the pieces no matter who wins."

As he spoke, the enclave soldiers surrounding them immediately began searching the wasteland hills for the glint of sniper scopes. The mercenaries above had gotten firmly dug in, and Summers could make out plenty of rocket launchers and miniguns. No quality of power armour could survive a campsite being bathed in that kind of firepower.

The Mercenary continued. "We haven't come to kill you. We've come to ask for your help. Now if I lower my gun, are you going to shoot me?"

"Absolutely." Summers replied without hesitation, mostly to hide the slight worry which had suddenly taken hold. Her subordinates laughed.

"Oh…" The mercenary chewed his lip for a moment. He glanced around at her squad. "Well… thank you for being honest. I so rarely get that in my line of work."

"Picture me surprised… Mercenary."

"Sir," The younger merc interrupted them. "Sir, could we please get on with this. The muties are probably on the move…"

"Right…" the Merc nodded at his subordinate. He turned back to Summers. "Young ones, eh? Always in a hurry. But this one's smart. I'm starting to think of him as the son I never had."

"Concentrate fire on the kid." Summers ordered. Immediately, every enclave weapon was pointed at the young waster mercenary, whose eyes went wide.

"Wow. You are… you really don't give an inch, do you?" asked the older man.

"No." Samantha turned her attention to her own troops.

"Open fi-" She ordered.

"I can get you the Wanderer!" the mercenary announced quickly.

Her soldiers hesitated, some of them on the very edge of pulling their triggers.

"Hold fire!" Summers ordered, giving her impudent visitor a searching look. The Wastelanders would say anything to save themselves, but something in the man's expression, a layer of confidence challenged her to call his bluff. It was more than a feeble attempt to stave off a painful death. It was a deliverable promise.

"I can get him in a certain place of your choosing, at a certain time. Past that, you're on your own." The Mercenary told her.

"You know him, then?" Summers inquired.

"Well I doubt he'd come to my rescue or anything." The Mercenary told her, reading her line of thought. "But yeah. I know him. He trusts me a little."

"Once again…" she said dryly.

"Flabbergasting, I know." The Mercenary replied, his tone equally dry. "But the fact is that me and my boys need help with the muties. You help us, we help you."

This was among the most nerve-wracking endeavors Jackrum had ever undertaken. He encountered the enclave a few times during his tenure as a mercenary. They were formidable opponents, and more often than not, he had been forced to retreat from the area until they left. He had watched them easily tear apart mutant forces, Brotherhood defenders, and even a deathclaw once. Those hellfire soldiers with their giant incinerator weapons had left the Wasteland burning.

And now he was by himself, blindfolded, and being escorted into a Vertibird, well aware that this act could well mean the end of the road for him. Turner had stayed behind to set up the survivors in Evergreen Mills. Jackrum had to admit, the kid had grown into quite a capable leader in his own right. Even so, how did it come to this? Jackrum had been a mercenary once, living from paycheck to paycheck and job to job. Never for most of his life could he ever have imagined having the fate of the entire Wasteland on his shoulders. Since when had he grown the balls to pull stunts like this?

And double-crossing the Lone Wanderer for the sake of the Wasteland… not a mistake, but a very dangerous move. The kid was blind; the survivors did not have the teeth to take on the mutie threat. Not without armoured units of some sort. Jackrum had hoped the Brotherhood of Steel would suffice, but with them gone, and the outcasts gone, there was really nowhere else to turn. The Wanderer would have to deal with it on his own terms.

"Where are we headed?" he asked, receiving a rough elbow to his ribs for the trouble.

"Quiet, Waster." Someone ordered.

Summers answered a moment later. "I am taking you back to our headquarters. I'll let my superior decide what to do with you. And your offer."

"If you guys don't accept, are you going to take me back to the Wasteland?" Jackrum asked hopefully.

"Why waste the fuel?" Summers asked lightly. "We'll just kill you and be done with it."

"Lovely."

"Don't worry." She said, her voice coy. "I'll make it painless."

"You know its painless, huh? Personal experience?"

"No test subject has ever complained afterwards." The Lieutenant replied. He could hear her shuffling around the cabin as the Vertibird lifted into the air. The two pilots were exchanging orders and information. "So I've got to assume I did it right."

"Sounds legit." He observed dryly.

"Indeed."

Most of the trip was spent in silence. Jackrum had no idea where they were heading, nor how long it had been since they had taken off. The ride was a thoroughly jittery and unpleasant experience. Every time they hit the slightest turbulence, Jackrum's stomach would drop, and he'd be forced to resist the urge to vomit. The enclave squad surrounding him stayed silent for the duration of the trip. The only sound was the pilots up at the front exchanging latitudes and longitudes and pitches and yaws and all sorts of other flight jargon which Jackrum didn't understand. Every so often they'd state some GPS coordinates, which he would try and inevitably fail to remember.

They landed after what felt like several hours. Enclave personnel chattered at one another. The Vertibird hatch was opened and blessed fresh air flooded the confined space. Power armoured soldiers clanked and scrambled all around Jackrum. His blindfold was ripped off, and he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

The woman named Summers was standing in front of him, her Hellfire helmet had been removed. She was not an ugly woman by any means, but her hair had been tied back in a severe bun, and her face was lined and creased with both age and stress. She was a soldier, first and foremost.

"Get up, Waster. Get moving." She ordered. He got to his feet and was promptly shoved out of the vertibird and onto the rough tarmac of a landing strip. They had landed inside an airforce base. To his right was the hulking ruin of an enormous machine, several stories high. It looked as though someone had sprayed it with high-powered missiles.

"Our Landcrawler." Summers told him, stepping out of the Vertibird. "Or what's left of it, anyway."

"Adams Airforce base." Jackrum said, examining the ruins. At the very end of the airfield, he could see the carcasses of the pre-war jetfighters which had been removed to make room for vertibirds. Enclave personnel buzzed around the planes, stripping parts off of them. He turned back to her. "So now I know where we are. Was the blindfold necessary?"

"Standard procedure."

"Useless procedure."

"You know, I could simply shoot you here and now and pretend you never made an offer in the first place." She told him.

"So do it." Jackrum challenged.

She fingered her plasma pistol for a moment, and then glared at him. her hand dropped to her side.

"Yeah…" Jackrum said triumphantly. "That's how badly you want him. Now, where's the man in charge?"

She pointed towards a set of warehouses on the opposite side of the airfield. Jackrum started off towards them, maneuvering through the rows of vertibirds, and dodging the enclave maintenance personnel. Summers caught up a moment later, staying a few steps behind him.

"So, I though the Brotherhood were protecting this place. Keeping you guys out."

"They got recalled when the muties attacked. We moved back in."

"Must burn you right up that a bunch of primitive wasters held it off for that long, huh?"

"Shut up. I can shoot to wound."

Summers lead him through several sets of warehouses until they came to a small side door. It had been heavily fortified with sandbags and the enclave portable fortifications. Several Hellfire soldiers were standing at the ready, their incinerators lit. the yellow eyes of their helmets were very unsettling, and Jackrum shifted uncomfortably as they gave him a thorough examination.

One of them looked to Summers. "Ma'am?"

"Prisoner." She said. "Important intel which Major Beverly should hear. Don't worry, he's been disarmed. I have it covered."

"Yes, Ma'am." They moved aside, allowing Jackrum access to the rather unremarkable door beyond.

Summers laid her hand on his shoulder and gave it a painful squeeze. "I want you on your best behavior, Wastelander. You're about to meet the head of the Enclave."

"I'll mind my P's and Q's." Jackrum said, wincing as she let him go. "Don't you worry.

The room beyond was rather small, full of filing cabinets and computer databanks. There was a radio propped on a side-tablein the corner. It was buzzing out a scratchy version of Stars and Stripes Forever. A desk sat in the center of the room, covered in paperwork and maps. The young man sitting at it glanced up and gave him a searching look. Summers filed in behind Jackrum and moved over to stand beside her commanding officer. The man was wearing the standard enclave officer's outfit, complete with black gloves and the strange little gray hat. He looked to Summers first. "Lieutenant?"

"Sir."

"Why did you bring a Wastelander here?"

"He wanted to negotiate, sir. He says he can get us the Lone Wanderer."

"Really?" the young man raised his eyebrows and stared at Jackrum, who stared right back. God, the kid looked to be barely out of his teens. His face was completely unmarred, and he had young, innocent baby blue eyes.

"What's your name?" Jackrum asked.

"I am Major Bartholomew Beverly."

Jackrum stared. He glanced up at Samantha Summers and shook his head. "Seriously? And Augustus Autumn of course. Do you guys just keep some book around the nursery titled Baby Names and Alliteration?"

"Mind your manners, Waster." Summers warned.

Jackrum ignored her. "How old are you, kid?"

"Twenty-two."

"Oh, Christ. Just cuttin' yer teeth, then? I get it." Jackrum eyed the young commander. "Hmm…"

"You can give us the Wanderer?" the Commander asked.

"Yeah. For a pretty hefty price."

"Any price is acceptable to me." Beverly told him.

Jackrum raised an eyebrow and fished out his cigarette packet. He bit a smoke and pulled out between his teeth, grabbing his matches with his other hand. "In that case, we might be able to do business.

"I don't approve of smoking." Beverly said.

"Yeah, well you guys don't approve of Wastelanders either, so I guess you got me coming and going." Jackrum said, lighting up and taking a long drag. "What have you got against the Wanderer?"

"Aside from what he's done to the Enclave as a whole?" Beverly asked, coughing delicately. "Both of my parents are on his suspected casualty list. One of them died during our attempt to liberate Project Purity, and the other was in that Landcrawler when the Wanderer ordered the Orbital Strike. You must have seen the result when you landed."

"I'm sorry…" Jackrum coughed and gave him a quizzical look. "When you what the purifier?"

"Liberated. To Liberate. To free. To recapture from the enemy."

"May be a few too many syllables for him, sir." Summers said.

"I know what Liberate means. It's just, according to my sources, you guys stole it, then tried to take credit for it."

"Lies and slander, Waster. Spread by invalids and pot-stirring malcontents. Watch your tongue." Beverly glared at him.

"Can't. My nose is in the way."

Summers rolled her eyes.

"What do you want in exchange for the Wanderer?" Beverly asked.

"Well…" Jackrum looked around the small room. "You guys got a chair?"

"Stand." Summers ordered.

"That's real polite, lady."

"You're the one who wanted to smoke in here." Summers replied evenly. They stared at one another. Jackrum carefully lowered his cigarette and butted it out against his breastplate. Summers immediately stepped behind a set of filing cabinets and pulled a small wooden chair into view. She brought it around the side of the desk and handed it to the mercenary.

"Thank you." Jackrum took a seat. She didn't acknowledge him. She just moved back to her former position behind Beverly. "Anyway, what I want in return for the Wanderer is help. Your troops. Vertibirds. Explosives. All of those energy weapons. We gotta take on the muties together or they're going to wipe us all out.

"What makes you think we have any plans to engage them?" Beverly asked. "Perhaps we'll just salvage what we can afterwards and head back west…"

"So you're going to cut and run." Jackrum said thoughtfully. "How far can you guys run? Actually never mind. You guys couldn't even hold your own against one Vault kid with an assault rifle. How can I expect you to stand against the muties?"

Summers flinched, her pride stung. "The Wanderer is more than a lucky shot. You know that. He has…"

"What? What does he have, Ms. Summers? Super Duper Ninja Powers?" Jackrum grinned at her. "That what you guys are going to tell your bosses back west? Think that's going to fly?"

"We'll just have to make do." She responded coldly.

"We cannot take and hold the Wasteland at the rate the Wanderer slaughters our troops. We are going to run out of people." Beverly said, addressing Summers. He looked back at Jackrum. "That being said, we're going to lose just as many people going to war with the Mutants. I need something more than the head of one very troublesome terrorist criminal before I can justify committing my forces to defend primitives."

"I'll take him out back and shoot him, sir." Summers offered. "Then we can get back to packing up and going home."

Jackrum raised his hands. "Hold on, hold on! There's something else. Just… Just gimme a second, alright? I need to think." He rose to his feet and stepped out the door. The two hellfire troopers gave him a cursory examination, but when all he did was lean against the wall and light up a cigarette, they resumed their duties.

…Now what?

If he failed to convince them, he was going to die. Escape was hopeless. There was no way he could fight his way across the base. Hell, he didn't even know which direction to head towards anyway.

Now what? What could he possibly offer them? It hadn't even occurred to him that they could just pack up and leave. That that was a viable option for them… They needed incentive even to stay, never mind fight.

Start at the beginning. The Enclave wanted power. That meant Project Purity, but giving them the purifier meant putting the Talon Company and anyone allied with them on the Wanderer's shit list. Hell, Jackrum was going to have to do some fancy footwork just to talk his way out of this, never mind handing the hopes and dreams of James Howlett to the people who had already killed him for it.

Did it matter? Why did it matter what Jason Howlett thought? The Wasteland was at stake. The lives of innocent men, women and children, hell, the fate of humanity as a whole. At least, on this side of the country. It was all at risk. What did it matter if in the end, the Enclave owned the Capital Wasteland, so long as there was a Capital Wasteland to own. One run by human beings, and as bigoted and terrible as they were, the Enclave at least had that going for them.

It was always a problem which could be dealt with later. One issue at a time, and right now, the issue was the fifteen-hundred strong mutant horde overrunning the wasteland.

One problem at a time.

The door beside him opened, and Summers stepped out. "Waster? You're taking your good sweet time."

"Just enjoying my smoke." Jackrum replied. He took a long drag, burning the cigarette down to the butt. He dropped it on the ground and stamped it out. "I'm ready."

Once again, he took a seat in front of Major Beverly. Summers stayed near the door this time, and Jackrum did not have to look to know that she had unholstered her pistol.

"Well?" asked Beverly.

"Project Purity is yours. If you help us."

Beverly's eyes widened, ever so slightly.

"And I can't guarantee this, but whatever kinda government will be set up, you'll probably have a voice in it." Jackrum added for good measure. "You guys want to rule the Wasteland. Fine. Just so long as you save it."

"Many primitives will not be happy with that arrangement."

"They won't." Jackrum admitted. "Hell, I won't either. But right now the only organized military force left is under my command. The Brotherhood's gone, and Rivet City is under siege. What I say goes as far as the Wasteland is concerned. If I say trust the Enclave, we trust the enclave. It's not like anyone has much choice, me included."

"And the Wanderer?"

Jackrum shrugged. "I tell him where to be, you bring whatever you need to to get rid of him." And lets just hope the kid is ready for it. If we need to take back the Wasteland from the Enclave, he'll be our ace-in-the-hole.

Summers and Beverly exchanged glances.

"Seventy-five Hellfire soldiers. Twelve Vertibirds."

"How about as many as it takes of everything you've got?"

"Not an option." Summers said.

"I didn't ask you. Beverly?"

The young Major stared across the desk, frowning at Jackrum. He was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He said, "After the Enclave saves the Wasteland, Galaxy News gets shut down. For good."

"What?" Jackrum stared. "But-"

"But nothing. Three Dog is turned over to us. Any technicians or assistant teams he had working on behalf of Galaxy News are disbanded, and the radio equipment dismantled. Enclave Radio is to be the only radio station in the Capital Wasteland."

"I don't know where Three Dog is. The Wanderer was at Galaxy News when the Mutants struck. I don't know where he hid him." Jackrum told them, trying not to panic. The idea of the Capital Wasteland without Galaxy News… it was unacceptable. Impossible.

"Do you want your people to live, or not?" Beverly asked triumphantly.

"I'll…" Jackrum sighed, defeated. "I'll see what I can do. But I honestly don't know where he is at the moment. I've never met him. Fact is a year ago I was just a sergeant."

"And how the hell did you end up being in charge of the Talon Company?" Beverly demanded. "Last we heard, it was under Jabsco's command.

"Worked with the Wanderer to take out Jabsco." Jackrum said quietly.

"Ooh." A smile quirked at the corner of Summers' mouth. "Then this must really burn, huh Waster?"

Jackrum kept his mouth resolutely shut. He just stared at the floor between his knees.

"I will allow you one hundred and fifty Enclave troopers, kept supplied by us." Beverly said. "That is the majority of my fighting forces. I'll also give you twenty-five armed vertibirds for use in offensive operations against the mutant horde. If any are lost, I might – might consider restoring those numbers for you."

"Sir?" Summers asked, looking somewhat shocked.

"You'll be there too, Summers, overseeing his operations and insuring that Enclave resources are being put to proper use against the Supermutant threat." Beverly ordered. He shuffled a stack of papers and set it aside. "See to it, Lieutenant. Good luck, Commander."

Summers glowered at him, but followed orders and gently escorted him out of Major Beverly's office.

The trip back felt both shorter, and infinitely longer, as there was nothing for Jackrum to do by contemplate the consequences of the deal he had just struck.

The Wasteland without Galaxy News… would it even be the same Wasteland? No. But Jackrum had known that going in. How many people was he willing to sell out to save it? Helping them ambush the Wanderer was one thing; the kid could shake off a nuke. But Three-Dog? Even the Talon Company at their worst had loved Three-Dog. The DJ was the voice of the Wasteland. The voice of every working man. Every irradiated ghoul. Every dehydrated drifter… what would there be? Who would speak for the Wasters? Hwo would speak for the Talon Company? Even Jackrum himself… The Wasteland would be a police state, ruled by Enclave Propaganda. How much of history would be re-written? Would James' twenty-year struggle to give them all fresh water be remembered? Or would it simply be another Enclave accomplishment. Would Jackrum be known as anything more than a puppet and a stooge? What about the Wanderer? All the good the kid had done for them, and future generations would know him only as a terrorist.

Assuming any of it helped against the mutants, of course…

He looked up at Summers, who was watching him with a guarded expression.

"Do you think what I did was right?" he asked, wondering why he should care what the woman thought. In her eyes, he could see a small amount of grudging respect.

"Allying with us?" she responded carefully. They were flying in a private vertibird, it was leading a swarm of the machines over the wasteland towards Evergreen Mills, the human's safe haven.

Jackrum nodded in response.

"It's good for the enclave." She said slowly. "But… I've listened to Three Dog's radio sometimes. I wasn't supposed to. But…" she snickered sourly. "The music was better. I've never thought you wasters had any integrity. You haven't proven me wrong today. You'll do anything to survive."

Jackrum nodded and looked back down at the floor of the cabin. The vertibird shook violently as they hit a small amount of turbulence, but the ride seemed to smooth out a dozen seconds later.

Summers was still watching him. "That being said," she added carefully. "Without Power Armour, I've never gone up against a supermutant. I can't imagine taking a risk like that, so perhaps integrity is for people who can afford it."

They landed about four hours later. Dusk was just settling over the western fringes of the Capital Wasteland. Jackrum watched from the open hatch as they circled the enormous crater. He could see the human beings below, running to and fro across the open ground. They'd been given strict orders not to shoot first, but that didn't mean they couldn't prepare for an incoming Enclave assault, something which Jackrum was infinitely glad was not about to happen.

A greeting party emerged from the large building on the western edge of the crater. Turner was among them, walking forwards as Jackrum's Vertibird descended into the mill's courtyard. Jackrum stepped out of his vertibird and landed carefully on the dusty ground, squinting against the wind of the turbines. Summers followed him a few moments later, and the Vertibird took off, heading southwest back towards Adams airforce base.

All around the crater, Vertibirds were landing and dispensing Enclave troops. Some of the flying machines stayed parked where they landed, others took off back towards the Enclave headquarters.

"How did it go, sir?" Turner asked carefully, taking note of his CO's pale, worried visage. Jackrum lit a cigarette with one shaky hand. He watched the Enclave troops flood his Talon Company defenses, taking up positions alongside the Wastelanders. "They're with us now, Sergeant Turner. But one day I may have to ask you to buy back my soul. This was a terrible idea." He took a long puff and let it out through his nostrils, watching Summers as she moved from position to position, handing out instructions to her troops. "A terrible idea."