October 29, 2077.
It was over. The war that had raged across three continents and destroyed countless countries and lives had been concluded. America had survived, though only barely. Small groups in areas far from the Chinese bombs, and vast populations inside the vaults below. Nearly ninety percent of America had been scoured of life. Those that were left needed guidance now, more than ever.
Poseidon Oil Rig, Pacific Ocean.
The once-president of the United States is now seated in his new command center. Screens cover a wall with status reports from vaults and images from the few satellites that remain functional, technicians scurry to and fro with stacks of papers, and two soldiers in power armor guard the door. A general approached his desk.
"Well sir, we've made it, but..." The man's shoulders slumped.
"Sir, how are we going to fix this? Our infrastructure is decimated, our space assets all but destroyed, communications are nonexistent with the mainland.."
"The same way America always has, general. We're going to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and get to work."
The general shifted slightly. "Well sir, there seem to be very few vaults that are actually functioning as we thought they would..."
The President's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean, "As we thought they would", general?"
"Well sir.. Vault Tec apparently started some experiments"
"Experiments?"
"Yes sir. Super soldier serums like at mariposa and psychological tests."
The president looked at the general for a few seconds, deciding his next course of action.
"The experiments must stop. All personnel and records of these experiments will be forwarded to me, and all currently activated assets in these super soldier programs will be liquidated. Tell the vaults that they have a single directive now- Survive until we can reach them."
The general saluted.
"Right away sir."
His technological advisor came in at nearly the same time as the general left, holding a stack of papers at least three feet thick.
"Mister President! I have the power armor specs you requested!" He said.
"I don't think I'll be able to read all of that in time, give me the bare bones rundown on what your project is."
Truth was, He had no idea what a HI-FLO Hydraulics system was, nor what poly-laminate composite armor even meant.
"Well sir, after you asked us to look into better radiation protection for our soldiers, and in compliance with your approved modifications, we've managed to create what we call "T52-A Advanced Power Armor".
That was a mouthful.
"It shares the same frame as the t51-b armor, and is indeed created from existing suits, but allows our troops to navigate radioactive areas as though they were walking along a sunny beach!"
"You've tested this?" The president asked, fearing for what would happen to his troops in some of the worse off areas.
"Well, only in the laboratory. We were going to deploy it on our first scouting mission! It should ward off the worst effects of the F.E.V spills and radiation while still being viably bulletproof!"
"Viably?"
"Well, we expect our former citizens to have mainly small arms with a few rifle type weapons, so the armor has had its radiation lining increased, while removing a few centimeters of armor… It should resist anything under a .50 calibre shell, or it's cousin the 12.7mm then it should deflect those about fifty percent of the time and stop…."
The president drifted away in his mind as the scientist began to go on about statistics and specifications he wouldn't be able to understand anyway. A particularly strange sounding group of words was "cryo positronic radiative fluxes interfering with neuropeptide stimulators".
A flurry of chaos had consumed the acting command center of the United States, though to call it as much was misleading. The final reports of mainland scouts had come back. The mainland was stable in very few areas, with tectonic shifts happening every few hours as well as the hundreds of thousands of miles wiped clean by both the detonation and ensuing fallout after the Chinese attack.
The president began sifting through his reports, searching for sites he could resurrect or begin anew on. They couldn't stay on the rig forever, after all.
"Jenkins!" He said, bringing his most recent aide to him. "What do we know about this 'Navarro" place?"
Jenkins had to recall for a second, having read nearly a hundred reports of various costal facilities that morning.
"Well sir, it is a refueling station owned- er, Previously owned by the Poseidon Energy subsidy of Poseidon Oil."
"What facilities does it have we could use?"
"Well sir, The facility itself was the main oil refinery for that section before, and has the highest capacity of any within ninety miles. It also has an extensive underground command center from before the war, and a town is nearby."
The president thought for a moment.
"What is the possibility of civillians being alive there?"
"Almost nonexistent sir, the base was sealed tight even before the war and the town has been overrun by looters. They call themselves "Caesar's Legion" for some reason."
This gave the president pause.
"Caesar's Legion? What kind of name is that? Something out of a schoolboy's inane doodling?"
"No idea sir. This Caesar fellow does seem to have a few people in combat armor though. Military combat armor."
"So deserters then?"
"I'm afraid they might be sir."
"The decision is made then, we march on Navarro."
-Two hours later-
Sergeant Jensen was a simple man. He did his job, and then went home to his wife. Before that had meant he was going to march out to the barracks, guard the door, and leave after the night guard came around. Now he was going to crush some gang that fancied themselves historians.
The helicopter flight was slightly choppy on the way, as wind currents around the world had been shifted by tons of earth and heat only rivaled by a sun. The landing was assuredly much better.
Jensen left the helicopter, and his orders were clear. No Survivors. A flash later, and his orders asserted themselves quickly.
"Contacts" He yelled, warming up his weapon's motor.
The kick of his minigun was almost nonexistent because of his powered armor. The only thing louder than his gun being the yells of his squad mates and the sound of rounds bouncing off of him. A man became a cloud of dust under his hail of fire, a wall falling down after being perforated by nearly ten thousand rounds. Then the melee units came. Armed with what seemed to be shotgun fists, they took down one of his squad mates in a hail of explosive punches. He heard the man's dying gasps over all else, and turned the attackers into a grisly confetti, their sports gear protecting them as well as the air around them. Another man fell when a rocket embedded itself in his gut and exploded.
Two men were dead under his command, and one more was wounded, though only lightly. He vaguely remembered a saying about plans and first contact as he tended to the corpses of his brothers in arms.
The president massaged his temples for what felt like the hundredth time that day, wondering how strange the next group of reports would be. Every one of the last fifty was either a town that was gone, turned to anarchy, full of escaped F.E.V mutants, robots, or other miscellaneous and strange things. Not to mention the other Enclave members pressuring him to ignore the mainland. At least House was probably dead. He had always been a thorn in the government's side, as well as a senior member of the Enclave before the war. There had been some anomalies near Vegas during the bombing though... He decided he was going to need more than a drink by the time all of this was over.
Yes, I've merged chapters one and two, as well as re-editing them.-The Captain