Chapter 61: Situation Uncertain

"YOU FUCKING FAILURE!" Captain Wallace screamed as he immediately tossed his bedpan at Milligan. Wallace had been on a tear since he had regained consciousness, calling up his officers and screaming at them and the doctors who were treating him. In the aftermath of the battle, the wounded officers were being treated under the control center of the junction, just above the garage where the wounded enlisted were being held. The captured and wounded Liberty Clanners were being held in makeshift pavilions in the middle of the trainyard, under constant surveillance of the Marshals.

"THE PLAN CALLED FOR YOU TO LEAD THE FUCKING CHARGE, YOU FUCKING USELESS SIMPLETON!" Captain Wallace screamed. "AND YOU FUCKING BAIL WHEN WE NEEDED YOU THE MOST, YOU UNRELIABLE PIECE OF SHIT!"

Milligan said nothing in his defense, which only served to incense Wallace further. "…Because of you, I had to pick up your slack. Every man I lost leading that assault is on your hands. I'll probably see a medal after all is said and done, maybe it'll be enough to offset THIS!" Wallace peeled off some of his hair and gripped it in his fist. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT, MILLIGAN! NOW, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" he screamed.

Milligan abruptly turned and left after his tongue-lashing had been completed. Waiting outside, War Chief Tandi looked at her comrade-in-arms. "…Went about as well as I expected, Captain."

"Lieutenant," Lt. Milligan corrected. "Gorobets got to me first."

"Sorry, Zach," Tandi looked away. "I can speak on your behalf and explain-"

"No," Lt. Milligan shook his head. "They're both right. I let my personal feelings get in the way, I deserve the heat. You probably had it handled anyway."

Tandi felt a cold sweat. That animal wearing the bear almost had her dead to rights before air support managed to disperse the assault. In truth, without Milligan's immediate intervention, she would have very well been killed. But as much as she wanted to tell him, as much as he needed to hear that, right now wasn't the time or place. Milligan was still in charge of First Recon, though now he would be under more intense supervision from Gorobets himself. Maybe when things finally settled, Tandi could explain, if not justify, the actions that had taken place.

Rathmore sat on his cot as the doctor droned on in his mind. He'd been feeling tired, unnaturally so, and had spat up blood on his way up the stairs for his medical exam post his encounter with whatever that thing was. He recognized what Wallace was going through. This new thing for him, however, was rather…"

"…This is unprecedented," the doctor finally concluded. "I've never seen or heard anything like this before."

"…So, what's the plan?" Rathmore asked, quietly.

"Well, right now, I think we should focus solely on quality of life. Cut back on any drinking and smoking, try to avoid anything particularly strenuous. Any additional exposure to radiation from this point forward should probably be supervised by medical staff. In fact, if you want, I can talk to the Colonel and have you…"

"I'm not taking a transfer home," Rathmore growled.

"But with your condition…" the doctor tried to interrupt.

"As long as I'm combat capable, I'm not leaving. So, if you don't have anything else to tell me, you best be taking care of the guys downstairs while they're still breathing and stop worrying about mine," Rathmore stated.

"…I understand, Captain," the doctor nodded as she packed up her things.

"Thank you," Rathmore said quietly as she left. The rooms seemed to clear out, more or less, judging from the shadows on the improvised divider curtains filing out. It seemed that he was alone now. Him and his fuming, snarling angry roommate. Rathmore put his feet on the ground as he reached into his coat that was hanging on a chair.

Wallace continued to mutter and growl, cursing fate and God and Milligan and Mullens and Dodger and that thing in the suit and Gorobets and the Marshals and his parents for not talking him out of the service and himself for not committing to an actual college and joining the military because it "suited" him the best. He reached up to his cheek and gently scratched it, the epidermis no longer as flushed with blood as it was supposed to have been. He pulled back and looked at the now dead skin jammed under his nail, knowing that before long the rest of it would follow suit. Tears began to well up under his eyes.

The curtain drew back as Rathmore stood over him, looking down at Wallace on the worst day of his life. Ethan did not have the energy to scream back at his longtime rival, nor did he care that he was being seen in such a sorry state. He pulled his knees up to his chin and buried his face into them, waiting for Rathmore to say whatever he wanted to say.

"…It'll get easier."

Ethan looked up to see Rathmore. "…It's going to suck, I'm not going to lie. But soon enough, you'll learn how to deal with it. Once everything is done, though, the worst part is going to be all the time you'll spend waiting." Normally, Rathmore would have said that the worst part of being a ghoul was the risk of going feral, but he knew Captain Ethan Wallace long enough to know that he was going to fight to preserve that brain of his with every ounce of willpower he had.

"…You're going to be OK," Rathmore stated as he left his comrade in arms to himself. Reaching the balcony, Rathmore overlooked the junction as he fished out a cigar and lit it. Taking a puff, Rathmore half expected his lungs to sting, now that he knew that the cancer throughout his body was no longer suspended. The very thing keeping him alive was now remembering what it was meant to do. Rathmore couldn't help himself. He just had to laugh, even as the action caused him to hack up his lungs.


Natalie and Gorobets looked over the final tallies. Of the six hundred NCR soldiers who had accompanied them this far east, roughly four hundred were still combat capable. Of the eighty Marshals, fifty. The medical corps and Followers were staying on top of the wounded thus far, but supplies were being stretched thin, with the prioritized care going to the troopers over the many wounded Liberty Clanners.

"…We've too many wounded and not enough supplies," Natalie shook her head as she placed her face in her hands.

Gorobets sat and stroked his chin. "…And we're too far out to make extractions for our wounded. Taking them with us isn't an option and leaving them here is a death sentence." From the control tower, he looked out over what he had to work with. An overworked medical staff, a collection of angry and irritable soldiers, and a bunch of wounded prisoners. Not much to work with. Was it?


Daphne strolled through the camp, having checked on her girls after receiving the news about the disaster at Circle Junction. Kenzie was dead, Braxus was in the winds, and Vulpes and Nemesio had fled, the cowards. Slowly, a number of ambling gunners began to trickle back to the encampment in the mountains, where the tents of their families had congregated while the fighters tried to deal with California. It was a mess, now that Kenzie was gone the other clans would vie for command, and the battle over leadership could very well promise to be a bloody one.

As she made her way back to her tent, she looked inside to see Tia sobbing into her hands. "You… fool girl…" Daphne hissed as she shut the flap behind her. "Mood's already down enough, ain't gonna be helped by seeing a little girl cry," she gently scolded as she held her daughter close to her, brushing her hair.

"So m-many people, Ma. D-dead," Tia choked out.

"…They died fighting, girl. There's so many worse ways to die," Daphne tried to comfort her.

"C-California is going to kill us," Tia sobbed.

"No, they ain't," Daphne shook her head.

"Yes, they is," Tia protested.

"No! They ain't!" Daphne emphatically repeated.

"How do you k-know?" Tia sniffed.

"They can't afford to," Daphne explained. "They need us."


"We have one guarantee to stabilize the situation," Gorobets explained. "The Liberty Clans are shaken right now and cut off from their allies. Neither of us can afford continued hostilities, and nothing expedites peace more than desperation."

"So, we're sending a white-flag delegation to wherever the bulk of the Clans are kept?" Natalie asked for elaboration. "I mean, we have Kenzie's dead body on our hands, they might not be receptive to talk."

"We also have a couple dozen bargaining chips on that field right about now," Gorobets pointed out the prisoners. "I'm going to order medical to prioritize stabilizing the prisoners we have. That should give us about sixty-eight reprobates to get our feet in the door."

"It's sixty-five now, according to my men's last count," Natalie added. "Time may be of the essence. So, what's their skin in this game?"


"They got our people, we got supplies," Daphne continued to explain. "They've got to be running low right about now, and, well, a lot of our folk ain't gonna need the extra stuff."

"We're gonna give those Cali fuckers and Mojave shitheads our first aid?!" Tia almost screamed. "But they're our enemy!"

"We've got a lot of enemies, girl!" Daphne explained, not minding the outburst. "We always do, but right now we have too many. We can't stay together and fight California and Vulpes at the same time! Folk says that the Clans broke but the Ministerio remained intact. Vulpes is going to turn on us, sooner more like than later, and Clan law dictates that we retaliate when we're able. That won't happen with Cali breathing down our necks, but if we make a deal…"


"…we can see our wounded secure and away from action while a retrieval force is sent to Circle Junction when it's able," Natalie finished Gorobets train of thought. "Even keeping them here at Circle Junction is better than the alternative of leaving them in hostile territory."

"The wasteland is always hostile, but if we can establish some kind of diplomacy, we can mitigate enough of the risks," Gorobets agreed. "I doubt we'll be friends sitting around a campfire, but a ceasefire and a truce putting a stop to the hostilities should be enough for the time being. We got their people and they got supplies to spare, and right now neither of us can afford a fight." Gorobets began to chuckle. "This boat we're sharing sucks."

"Tell me about it," Natalie sighed. "I was supposed to arrest any LC that gets uppity close enough to the Mojave border."

"Too used to dealing with them as criminals to make a deal with them now?" Gorobets asked.

"Making deals with criminals is the only way Vegas can run," Natalie scoffed, and the two shared a laugh.


"…So, what happens after we make a trade?" Tia asked. "I don't think we'll be inviting Cali to any potlucks."

"We don't gotta, we just gotta stay out of each other's way and leave their business to them and ours to us," Daphne explained. "All we can do is hope that the war died with Kenzie and will stay dead with Vulpes. That's why we got leaders, kid, so we know who to blame when something goes wrong."

"But what happens when everyone argues about who's fault is what?" Tia asked.

"Well, folks out west call that a "government," Daphne explained, blowing a raspberry at the end of the sentence and getting a laugh out of her daughter. "But since we're Liberty Clan and everyone generally agrees we need to stick together, I'm thinking we're going to hold a Sovereign Elevation."

"…What's that?" Tia asked.

"Seriously?" Daphne looked down at her daughter with a mixture of confusion and derision. "No one told you what the Sovereign Elevation is?" Tia shook her head. "…Fucking knew Willow was a better whore than a schoolteacher," Daphne sighed under her breath. "…The Sovereign Elevation is an agreement between the clans during a time of emergency to agree to follow a single individual in times of emergency. Basically, a King of Freedom, who all the others agree to follow unconditionally."

Tia made a face. "…Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"You know what an oxymoron is?" Daphne asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, like fucking for virginity," Tia explained. Daphne made a mental note to personally beat Willow the next time she saw her. "ANYWAY!" Daphne forced the conversation back on track. "The only rule is that the clan heads cannot be nominated for the position. It has to be a member of the clans that all the others can get behind. Someone who has the respect of everyone in the Liberty Clans."

"…We know anyone like that?" Tia asked.

Daphne's mind immediately went to the most feared member of the McGrath Clan. The Sovereign Elevation was a measurement of respect, not popularity, so with that in mind, Cade would be a shoo-in for the position if he were available. She gulped at the notion and hoped that he was currently having too much fun in the wasteland to return anytime soon.

There was a commotion outside the tent. Daphne bade her daughter remain inside as she left the tent, watching a gaggle of homesteaders and free spirits all panicking as they were fleeing something, looking in the distance, Daphne could make out the skins and shapes of animals and heard even above the fearful screams the unmistakable howling of the Pelt-Brutes.


Vulpes sat amidst the congregation as they went about their daily prayers and rituals. Even in the middle of nowhere, almost like clockwork, Nemesio had to ensure that rites were observed on a regular basis. As ridiculous as Vulpes wanted to view the practices, even he could not deny a certain element of… admirable discipline such acts demonstrated. The black-garbed priests wanted not for food, water, shelter, or privacy, only a fellowship amongst one another and a connection between them and some kind of deity whom had only been called the "Revelation."

The two-hundred some-odd cultists were Vulpes lifeline between him and a safe return to Aspen or whichever other safehouse he could locate. Once there, he would await payment and further orders, whichever came first. Though Vulpes himself thought little of money, even he could not deny the opportunity that certain honored contracts could provide. Even he, after all this time, had his ambitions.

"BROTHERS!" Nemesio called out. "WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH A BOUNTY!" In an orderly fashion, the priests rose from their prayers and duties and filed after one another towards the sound of their bishop's voice. Vulpes cut through the lines, pushing his way past them as he approached the ridge. His eyes widened in shock at the sight.

Below, Nemesio stood before a massive serpent, its head upturned and lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. As Vulpes marveled over the sheer girth of the creature, the priests let out a cheer in jubilation. The Revelation had gifted them with a sign for their continued survival and dedication to their mission. From the flesh of the beast, they would be nourished for weeks.

"PRAISE, BROTHERS, PRAISE AND SHOW GRATUITY AND HUMILITY, FOR THE REVELATION PROVIDES FOR ALL WHO FOLLOW THE PATH!" Nemesio announced as the priests pulled out their knives. Vulpes, having never eaten snake before, wondered whether or not to start a fire and try cooking the raw flesh before pretending to eat it. Nemesio turned towards the carcass of the serpent, placing a hand on the belly as he bowed his head. "May you find eternal peace, noble beast, we are forever indebted to your sacrifice."

He drew his sword and lit it, the blue flames igniting over the blade. "AND I GET DIBS ON THE HEART!" the bishop announced as he pierced the beast.

The belly began to convulse and seize. Nemesio fell back, sword at the ready while the priests drew their weapons. Vulpes tactically retreated behind the initial ranks of the priests, keeping his eyes on the incident before him as a snout breached through the wound.

Finally able to breathe air, the rest of the head forced its way out of the beast, its horns tearing into the wound further as the neck extended out. Gasping for air as snake guts fell from its half-melted jaw, the creature within forced the rest of its body out. Claws, torso, feet, and finally its tail. The creature within squirmed out of the puddle of viscera it found itself in, gradually waiting for the feeling to return to its legs.

"Gah, fuggin snakguss," the beast belted out of its half-melted jaw and severely damaged tongue. "Stank lak a dayd heumie!"

As the deathclaw hacked out a snake rib and some errant blood vessels, his vision began to readjust to the light of the sun. Having been swallowed headfirst, it was all it could do but allow its instincts to guide it from the gullet, doing only that which came naturally to it. Scratching, biting, eating. Killing.

Sawney had killed a Massasauga. Single-clawed. What mattered about the method more than that of the deed? Truly, he had surpassed his siblings as a predator. Now his only rival was that of Poppa. He would amend that soon enough.

From the working half of his olfactory organ, he found himself bombarded by new scents. Looking around, he saw a covered human with a flaming torch in the middle of the day, and past him dozens of humans armed with weapons. Crap. Fortunately for him, Sawney had a plan for just such an unfavorable situation.

Making a strangled gasp, Sawney pantomimed something having been lodged in his throat. After a few seconds of dramatic strangulation, the deathclaw fell forward, tongue out of its mouth as its eyes stared vacantly at the humans.

"…Diablos Mio," Nemesio breathed. "…Do you realize what this means?" he asked as he turned to his flock. "We have witnessed a miracle of the Revelation!"

"ALL HAIL THE REVELATION!" the priests cried out in unanimous jubilation, a confused Vulpes staring at the lizard as its supposedly dead eyes darted around it.

"A birth in the Revelation's image, it is truly a momentous and holy day. Though the prophet was not meant to survive, I shall take it upon myself to sanctify its body into holy relics," Nemesio explained as he motioned with his sword. "The horns, teeth, eyes, claws, heart, and reproductive organs shall be divided as artifacts."

"NAH YE WHELL NAUGH!" Sawney screeched as he forced his body back up, knocking aside Nemesio as he rose. "AH NEE AUL DOES FINGS!"

The priests all locked their weapons onto Sawney, and Sawney suddenly felt very stupid. Vulpes wondered what deathclaw tasted like as Nemesio watched the beast in awe. "…It speaks," the bishop said to himself, quietly. "…It speaks!" Nemesio rose to his feet and turned to his congregation. "IT SPEAKS!"

Sawney and Vulpes watched in equal bewilderment as the priests let out a cheer. "THE REVELATION SENDS US A PROPHET!" Nemesio announced, his goggles fogging as he fell to his knees.

"Wha da faq?" Sawney asked as Vulpes tried to find a way to escape before he was grabbed by the priests and forced closer to the animal, failing. As he was dragged involuntarily closer to the lizard, Sawney felt something was off about one of these humans. The one with the torch placed himself in front of Sawney's biting distance. "Great prophet, what word do you have to share with us?"

There were too many humans for Sawney to kill, and enough guns to bring him down before he could even start in earnest. Sawney stared at the flock around him, trying and failing to choose an optimal path to slaughter his way through them. "…Whasa proffit?"

"WHASA PROFFIT!" Nemesio repeated, to which his followers repeated in earnest. Vulpes could not believe this was how his day was going, and neither could Sawney. However, it appeared that these humans were not going to sting and try to kill him, so against all his better judgment, Sawney kept his claws to himself as he watched the pack of humans cheer him on. Unfamiliar with positive reinforcement, Sawney decided to speak once again.

"…AHM HUGRAY!" he announced as he turned his head back into the snake and began to continue feasting on the innards. The priests let out a cheer as they swarmed around their new prophet, similarly carving into the snake's flesh as Vulpes looked on in amazement and horror. Sawney pulled his head out of the snake for air as he chewed on his meat. He looked down at the peculiar smelling "human" who stared at him in kind. Recognizing the dangers of antagonizing so many of these bizarre humans, Sawney instead put his focus towards trying to put them at ease by replicating a human custom he'd often witnessed from afar.

Vulpes watched as the deathclaw drew back what was left of its lips, turning them upwards as it bared its viscera-stained fangs at him. The purely rational part of his brain, the part that hadn't yet been overwhelmed by the sight before him, managed to interpret what the lizard was attempting. A smile. The rational part of his brain then demanded he force Nemesio to stop stuffing whatever was under his mask and kill that thing for all their sakes. Recognizing that was impossible, Vulpes repeated the action in kind.

I'm going to have to kill this one, they thought simultaneously. The lizard buried his head back inside the snake. The synth stared on, judging which parts of its anatomy could be most easily exploited. Three miles away, Cade pulled down his binoculars. "…Looks like a whole lot of not my problem," he said to his dented eyebot companion as he resumed his march down south.