}!{
"We'll take it all. First America, then the world." - High Marshal Roman Stern, Year's End Celebration Address 2102
..::..
After enduring two months of having every one of their outposts rooted and burned out by Lt. Weiss' expedition, the Scarbrand Badlanders went silent as many of the raiders disappeared into the wilderness following a final assault at the Jagged Maw. Those who weren't killed in the fighting were brought outside to be summarily executed. Soon, the old telephone poles and wire towers that dotted the desert landscape were decorated by the hanging corpses of dead scavs.
Mad Moody, the leader of the Badlanders, was reserved the worst fate.
The heavyset raider was found holed up in his cavern office above the Jagged Maw canyon hideout. Hoping to save himself, the man surrendered to the rooks who first breached the barricades, offering to give up his stash of caps and women slaves in exchange for his life. They offered him no mercy and dragged him down to the pits where his followers kept the discarded slaves to be processed into meat for their war dogs. Finding a meat-grinder, the rooks chucked the screaming raider inside and turned him into a pile of red paste. This, in turn, was fed to the starving hounds trapped in their rusted kennels in the bowels of the rocky fortress.
Although the actions of her men were deemed unprofessional and downright evil, Lt. Weiss chose not to punish the rooks for their brutality. She did, however, reprimand them for not thinking of a more efficient way to dispose of their prisoners.
Once the Jagged Maw was theirs, and thereby signifying that the entire Corpse Coast was completely in Dominion hands, the rooks hauled home their bounty of freed slaves and salvaged gear. The Jagged Maw was rigged with explosives and reduced to rubble by the time they reached Liberty Point.
So much had changed in the settlement since they wrestled it away from the Lexxers. Four new buildings were added to address the growing number of necessities; the WDM, which meant 'wet and dry market', a hospital, a schoolhouse, and the Desert Star- which was a brothel. After creating a safe haven out of the previously violent coastland, and lured by the promise of opportunities once denied to them, people started coming out of the wasteland and flocked to the gates of Liberty Point. Businesses started to boom as trade flowed steadily with the coming traffic, signifying the success of the expedition.
The rooks, now left without an enemy to fight, became an occupational force. And because of the ongoing war against the Brotherhood of Steel, travel to and from the Dominion mainland became limited. A squad of frontier judges was due to arrive within the month, and until then the rooks were the only thing keeping the peace.
So far, the war had left the Corpse Coast relatively untouched. The regiment garrisoned at Liberty Point was to hold its position and fortify the settlement in preparation for any invasion. The Brotherhood of Steel kept pressing at their borders, and sometimes gained ground as the conflict introduced some major breakthroughs in their weapons development. And whatever territories they seized, they too gained the resources found therein. Gradually, they were reaching a point where their martial prowess was becoming more than a match for the Dominion.
But the efforts the rooks at the Corpse Coast were not in vain, nor did they go unnoticed.
While the primary goal was to seize as much land and resources as they could, the stability they introduced into the Texan Wasteland was a far better reward than the Dominion could ever know. And as for the wasters who were liberated from the raiders, they came to see the Dominion as a godsent. Submission to their authority was a small price to pay when the promise of a better and safer life in the coastland was now available to them.
Under the protection of the rooks, they were free to work the soil of the Corpse Coast without fearing the raider warbands that they've grown so accustomed to seeing swoop down from the hills and canyons. Equipped with the vast array of technologies of the Dominion, they turned the poisoned ground at Liberty Point to fertile land, capable of yielding crops to feed their growing community. Children could go to school, the sick could be treated at the new hospital, and crime was at an all time low.
Just the kind of environment that Rose wanted, the kind she'd like for the baby growing inside her.
It was Dex's kid. There was no doubt about it. She'd left the Oasis and her old life behind long enough to know for sure. Dex was happy about the news, and so were the settlers at Liberty Point. Rose's pregnancy was celebrated as a sign by the tribals that their lives were truly turning around for the better. Only Hope held certain apprehensions concerning the coming baby. The Dominion didn't care where the babies came from, her reasons were of a more personal nature. People called it 'big-sister-mentality' or something. As much of a black-sheep Dex was to the Weiss family, Hope always looked out for him. She didn't quite approve of her brother's choice of partners, and now there was a big chance he'd never leave Rose.
Her parents back at Elysion wouldn't like the news, but there's nothing anyone can do. The kid was coming, whether they liked it or not. And if Dex was looking to stay at Liberty Point, at least Hope could keep an eye on them. Maybe she could instill some respectable traits in the kid, give it a better purpose than its wayward father.
With Rose pregnant, the couple decided it was best to stay behind Liberty Point's walls, just until after the baby was born. This meant that Rose would have to be assigned tasks that were more suitable for her state, considering she was well into the second trimester by then. Her short career as a mercenary ended with her new job as Lt. Weiss' receptionist at the barracks' front desk. As for Dex, to pick up the slack, he volunteered for guard duty. All the money he and Rose were saving up was going towards the tiny cubicle in the newly designated Living Sector, a district that was patterned after the layout of Vault 115.
Liberty Point was their home now, and all thoughts towards moving to Elysion gradually faded in the coming days.
Meanwhile, having examined the intel gathered from the recovered artifacts of the Niner and the Jagged Maw, analysts stumbled upon a few reports indicating the existence of another vault hidden in the mountains a hundred miles from the Corpse Coast. Vault 23, a vault designed specifically to protect and house an exclusively military population. If there was a chance that the vault weathered the apocalypse as well as the Dominion did with Vault 115, there was a chance that their stockpile of Old World weapons may be available for salvage.
If the inhabitants were still alive, a bit of coercion for cooperation should suffice.
Hope organized a small expeditionary force to send out into the Wasteland to look for Vault 23. By then, the rooks had enough experience with the coastland to consider themselves as veterans. She had no shortage of reliable soldiers to undertake the task, but none were as reliable as Sterling. Due to his efforts at the Corpse Coast, assisting in the destruction of all three major raider factions and in the reclamation of their territories, Sterling was promoted to Sergeant First Class. The lieutenant decided he was the best choice of a rook to lead the team, and this time she wouldn't have to keep the manpower to a minimum. Numbers made all the difference between her soldiers coming back to Liberty Point alive or in body-bags.
The choice of who was going to fill the ranks of the expedition was left entirely to Sterling, and the sergeant wasted no time in picking the best.
The expeditionary force would be made up of thirty men and would be escorted by a single Black Bear tank at the helm of a convoy of five Centaur IFV's. Exploring an uncharted area of the Wasteland required some heavy firepower to back the expedition up. This time, the Dominion wasn't going to lose another team like the four men who were the first casualties at the Niner.
There were a handful of coastland tribals who were allowed to tag along on the journey. Among them was Autumn, who was ever eager to help the Dominion in their endeavors. In a way, her insistence on accompanying Sgt. Sterling on his trips outside Liberty Point was born out of an inexplicable desire to redeem herself. Following the deaths of her friends at the hands of the Cult of the Reshapened, Autumn had since lived with the guilt of having abandoned them when the cultists closed in. Her loyalty to the Dominion could go a long way, it was useful. Some people in the settlement even consider her a citizen, all but in name.
And since she proved to be more than capable of handling herself in a fight, Sterling finally approved her repeated requests to serve in the expedition.
Her son, Winter, watched with anxious little eyes as his mother donned her combat hazmat suit and body armor. He picked up her rifle from the table and struggled to lift it across his scrawny shoulders. "Mother, here."
Autumn smiled reassuringly and squeezed her son's arm after slipping her hand through the rifle strap, "Goodbye, Winter. Don't cause Uncle Woodland any trouble. Be a good boy while I'm gone, alright?"
Try as he might, Winter couldn't let her go without one last hug. He wrapped his arms around his mother's thigh and squeezed tightly as if to keep her there. Autumn didn't scold him. He was just a little boy worrying about his mother, after all. After firmly but gently prying him from her leg, the woman was off to serve in the Dominion's ranks as an auxiliary.
The convoy of Centaurs was ready to head out into the wilderness. Their cargo, all the essentials required to set up a staging ground for the new settlement, if the conditions were favorable, had been stowed. The rooks, all suited up and eager to get underway, boarded their IFV's. Designated gunners took up their mounted heavy weapons and kept their vigilant eyes out to cover the angles. At Sterling's command, the convoy headed east.
Although the Dominion was aware that it had a war on its hands, expansion of its territories remained one of its primary objectives. And unless the Brotherhood of Steel reached the capital city, all expeditionary efforts would continue.
The Texas Wasteland had hundreds of vaults just waiting to be cracked open. The Dominion wasn't going to let it all fall in the hands of raiders or cultist factions like the Brotherhood.
When they had gone at a distance of 40 kilometers, an EITS drone was sent ahead of the column to scout out the region for possible obstacles or hostile elements. The robot's readings registered a highly irradiated zone similar to the Niner. It was a basin-shaped valley of sand, glass and stone. These were the hallmarks of ground zero, the hypocenter of a nuclear explosion. And something else was brewing within the valley. Great winds swept the sands into horrid clouds of hateful red, blowing radiation outward like the exhaust fumes of a running car.
Rad-storms. Nature's bastard, an unnatural weather phenomenon twisted by the power of the atom, a rad-storm was among the worst to be encountered in the Texan Wasteland. Depending on the size of the actual storm, its powerful cyclone had the potential to bury entire settlements under great mountains of dirt and debris. And all the radiation resulting from the aftermath ensured that no crops would ever grow in its wake for several generations.
If there was a vault in the middle of all that, Sterling hoped it was insulated enough to have anything of value left for them to find.
The engineer team observing the EITS drone's visual feed took note of the visible fissures in the glass and rocks. Molten red bubbled out of the fissures until the ground ruptured, forming thin streams of lava that flowed in broken river veins all over the land. The drone also picked up on some seismic activity, indicative of possible volcanic activity.
All of these readings proved that the potential benefits of a settlement were next to nil.
"Damn." Sterling muttered as he hovered over the screen, "Looks like the nuke opened a gate straight into hell."
"What do we do, sergeant?" One of the engineers asked, "Conditions aren't ideal, but... I think we could at least retrieve the assets from the vault."
"Then find it." Sterling grabbed the receiver on the intercom so he could order the convoy to halt. "I don't wanna go back to Liberty Point empty-handed, but I'm not looking to risk our asses for nothing either. You've got one hour."
It was an hour well spent. While the rooks sat tight and waited for the all-clear to move, the EITS drone scanned every point of interest until at last it picked up on signs of intelligent life. It didn't find the vault, but it found something just as interesting. Contrary to Sterling's expectations, even in that hellish place, there were people eking some fragile form of living. Just above one of the rare patches of undisturbed land was a shanty town of ramshackle huts and junk shacks patched together by thick ropes and rusting steel wires. Huge walls of stone and mud brick provided a relatively protective barrier against outward foes, with a single steel gate red with rust to permit entry. Fraying electrical cables crisscrossed the towering spires erected in between the huts, providing a crude conduit of power from the rickety windmill power plants that loomed over the nearby twin hills.
"How is there a town in the middle of all this?" The sergeant said in disbelief.
"The bot's registering multiple life readings." The engineer announced, "It's a settlement alright, and it's alive."
The next step was to knock on their front door and say hello. If they were friendly, the expedition might just find the answers it was looking for. If they were hostile, and if the expedition was successful in putting them down, it was one less hostile settlement to worry about. The convoy continued on, right into the heart of Hell Valley. They followed the route charted by the engineers based off of the drone's maps, to travel on the most stable part of the unstable region. Pretty soon, the rooks got all the action they wanted, and they haven't even reached the front gate of the shanty town yet.
It happened on the one cracked and dusty highway that wasn't in the path of the molten rivers.
A caravan was pinned down by a raider ambush in the middle of an old bridge stretching across a quietly laughing stream, which glowed green from the intense radiation clouds permeating through the contaminated ground. The raiders closed off both ends of the bridge, locking the caravan down in a crossfire. While their strategy wasn't all ideal, it was enough to keep the wasters pinned.
The raiders all wore spiked metal armor and were armed with an assortment of energy-weapons, ranging from lasers to plasma. Acquiring that bit of technology meant that there were a lot of Pre-War military depots around, and that these particular raiders were smart enough to hack their way through the security terminals.
The caravan was made up of ill-equipped wasters dressed in hazmat suits with rusty sentry robots, jury-rigged to act as cargo-bots. The raiders destroyed most of the robots and killed some of the wasters in the first few minutes of the fight. The rest hunkered down behind the smoking wrecks and returned fire. The amount of stuff they were lugging around was more than enough to paint a target on the caravan's back, and if it weren't for the Dominion's timely arrival the cargo would've ended up in the raiders' hands.
The Black Bear tank pulled itself up on the crest of a nearby hill and traversed its turret on the raiders blocking one end of the bridge. The loader loaded a high-explosive shell, and the gunner sent it screaming into the middle of their huddled formation. Pieces of burning human remains flew in all directions, and the resulting explosion surprised the raiders blocking the other end of the bridge. For a moment, they stopped firing.
Once the path was clear, Sterling had the driver of his Centaur move the vehicle in a position to provide covering fire. He then turned to his men and ordered them to secure the bridge, "Give 'em hell, rooks!"
Throwing the rear doors open, the Dominion soldiers trotted out and took positions to cover the angles. Reckoner rifles chattered noisily as some of the rooks suppressed the raiders to open up a path for the caravanners to pass through. Those who were too far away for them to engage were picked off by Rose's more powerful rifle.
Suddenly, a large green ball of plasma sped across the bridge and hit one of the rooks. It barely touched his arm, but that was enough for it to latch onto him like a baby mirelurk. With a surprised yelp and a deathly sigh, the soldier's body turned to ash. The plasma ball, having consumed its fill of matter, disappeared into green mist. All over the road, the green ashes scattered with tiny bone fragments to serve as the only indication it all belonged to a man once.
The raider leader who fired the plasma ball, a woman encased securely in Pre-War T-45 power-armor, hefted a heavily modified plasma-caster onto her shoulder and prepared to fire another shot. The crude white paint of a bristling skull devouring a rad symbol had replaced the US Commonwealth Star. A spent fusion cell popped right out of the chamber when she flipped the ejector, making way for a fresh one. Fired up at the sight of one of their own being killed, the rooks surged forward and furiously cut down the raiders. The caravanners, seeing their opportunity to escape, retreated into the safety of the Dominion convoy.
"Hannigan, you see that bitch with the fancy plasma-cannon?" Sterling barked into the radio. "Mind giving her what-for?"
"Be my pleasure." Came the reply.
The Black Bear rocked back and blew sand in all directions as its powerful main gun fired. The shell hit the raider leader dead-center, sending pieces of her to decorate the irradiated sands for years to come. Her weapon, broken beyond repair, leaked bright blue coolant and radioactive matter as it came to rest in the middle of the black and blasted earth where its owner used to be.
The tank commander's laughter crackled through the receiver, "One less to worry about."
The caravan survivors made their way into the safety of the Dominion convoy, towing behind them the last undamaged sentry robots. Apart from the few half-dozen armed caravan guards, who were all but wiped out in the raider ambush, the only thing that kept the survivors alive was the biggest sentry bot of the lot. Unlike the others that were modified to lug around the caravan's baggage and supplies, the robot retained most of its formidable weaponry. A standard-issue 5mm minigun on one arm and an automatic 40mm grenade machinegun on the other.
The name Ranger Jack was painted onto its torso, covering the eyesore of a rusted patch from the sentry's old and peeling olive green coat. Ranger Jack also sported a dusty brown park ranger's hat on its head, making the robot look just like how its name sounds.
As Sterling got off the Centaur, a corporal quietly asked if they had any reason to worry about the caravan. "Sir, think they might be Brotherhood of Steel?"
The sergeant paused for a second, then shook his head. "From what I hear, Brotherhood loves decorating their shit with the Cog and Sword. You'll know 'em when you see 'em."
The leader of the caravan, standing out from the rest with his multi-cam military fatigues in place of a hazmat suit, addressed the sergeant with a stiff salute. Behind the scratched glass surface of his protective mask lay wrinkled and scarred tissue, almost as if the man suffered some kind of burn that permanently disfigured him. The distinctive Pre-War US Commonwealth Marine Corps emblem; The Eagle, Globe and Anchor; hung from his neck next to his dogtags. More burns could be seen on his fingers and wrist as his gloved hand lowered to rest on the Beretta M9 hanging from his belt.
His voice was rough, raspy, like rubbing sandpaper to one's ears. He remarked on the impressive sight of the Black Bear rolling down the hill towards the main road, "Huh, been a while since I've seen some armor in action. Thanks for the assist."
Sterling threw a glance towards the survivors, then towards the dead raiders scattered all over the battlefield. The rooks left no one alive, and made certain by bayonetting every body they came across before rallying back to the convoy. "Who were those guys who attacked you?"
"Rad-Eaters. They're new around here." The marine replied, taking off his mask. "And I'm guessing you are too."
Sterling visibly recoiled at the sight of the man's face. The scars and burns he saw through the mask were just the tip of the iceberg. He looked like a flayed corpse sent to dry out under the desert sun. Muscles and veins pushed obscenely through the paper-thin skin, a hole was all that remained where his nose should have been, and his eyes were clouded with small patches of cataracts.
The marine was a ghoul, the first non-feral ghoul Sterling's met in his life.
"I'm Master Sergeant Leckman, US Marine Corps, Mercer's Devil-Dogs. Welcome to Hell Valley."
Sterling felt like saluting in turn, so he did. "I'm First Sergeant Sterling, Dominion Rooks."
"Ah Dominion! I've heard of you guys." Leckman said, a crooked smile finding its way onto his ugly face. "Fine work driving the Lexxers out of their turf. Those fuckers've been collaring and hauling off my boys to work their sweatshops for far too long. About time they've been put out of business!"
Sterling recalled the feral ghouls he and his men encountered in the hull of the Lexington when they were clearing out the slavers from the bottom up. Back then they were just obstacles in his path, he'd killed them without a second thought. He refrained from letting that bit of information slip. The last thing he wanted to do was make an enemy of one of the last living relics of the Old World. He did wonder, however, how Lexxers managed to venture this far out into the Wasteland just to capture some of the ghoul marines. Considering their reputation for being tough as nails, Sterling imagined it proved costly.
"We didn't just wipe out the Lexxers. We destroyed the Cult, and most recently, the Badlanders too. We're bringing order and stability back to this land. And from the looks of it, I think this Hell Valley could use some of that as well."
"Then you'll find yourself in good company." Leckman pointed in the direction of the shanty town just a few hundred meters away from the bridge, "You'll wanna meet Colonel Mercer back in the settlement. The Devil-Dogs have been the only thing keeping this valley from becoming another raider-infested hellhole. Come with us, you just might be the game-changer we need."
Leckman was grinning at the Black Bear as it rolled up to the front of the convoy. The war machine's presence on the field gave the ghoul a boost in his confidence. With the caravan survivors now attached to the expedition, the rooks made it their responsibility to ensure their safe arrival at the settlement. The sooner they met up with Leckman's commander, the sooner Sterling could get the answers he needed to make sense of Hell Valley.
Paladin Brand nervously tapped his fingers across the steering wheel as he drove the last Centaur Mk. II-76 out of no man's land and into Dominion territory. The lights shining from Riverside's walls were just ahead, shy of a thousand meters from him. Even as it was getting dark, he could see that the Dominion had fortified the perimeter with additional gun emplacements and automatic sentry turrets. Four dugout positions, allowing four Black Bear tanks to hull-down to weather any engagements under the safety of dirt and sandbags, were added to cover the entry points provided by the nearby hills.
Brand glanced back at the six Brotherhood infiltrators sitting in the rear compartment of the armored car. Each man carried a personal stealth-boy kit wired up to their Brotherhood-issued recon armor, which was vital for the mission they were about to carry out.
Once again, as the use of sheer force and numbers proved inadequate to promise success, the Brotherhood of Steel chose to employ the use of cunning. The plan was simple; the infiltrators were to ride stealthily past the main gate, disable as many defenses as they could in advance of the coming fleet, and cause as much mayhem as they possibly could before the rest of the Brotherhood forces made their final assault on Riverside. The Liberator, Benevolence and Malevolence airships were on standby until Brand gave the all-clear signal. Once the Dominion defenses were weakened, the Brotherhood would engage and overwhelm the enemy with everything it had. Their super-lasers would not fail them this time, as Head Scribe Harper upgraded them to sustain prolonged use in the field.
"This is it." Brand said, "Get ready."
The infiltrators activated their stealth-boys and the Paladin donned his helmet. In an instant, all anyone could see from the outside was a lone survivor limping his way back to Dominion lines. To make the plan work, Brand would have to play the part of a loyal Dominion soldier again. He'd hoped it was the last time he'd have to don the uniform, but lately it seemed as though it has become the only way they could win their battles. Such a strategy was far from honorable, but sacrificing honor in order to beat the Dominion became all the more easier to do the longer the war dragged on.
As Brand passed the perimeter checkpoint, he felt his doubts fade as he focused his mind on the objective at hand. The rooks at the gate recognized him and waved him through. Brand made sure he parked the battered Centaur in the most secluded spot of the motor pool before dropping the infiltrators off. Then, he got off and prepared himself for the mission debrief that was sure to come. Col. Fox would be eager for an update and Brand planned on using the meeting to assassinate Riverside's command staff and effectively diminish the Dominion's capability to coordinate any form of defense.
Already, his fellow infiltrators were getting busy covertly planting explosives on the citadel's power supply stations. On Brand's orders, they were to keep the damage to the tank depots and motor pools to a minimum, as destroying the Dominion vehicles would rob them of vital exploitable resources. Destroying the fusion generators would cause enough catastrophic damage to the surrounding buildings that the citadel defenders would be left in disarray, softening them up for the fire coming from the skies.
After turning in his carbine at the armory, Brand followed the rooks guiding him inside the command center and stood at attention once he was in the presence of Col. Fox, who had just about finished speaking with someone on the phone.
"Sgt. Brand, welcome back." Fox put down the handset and turned around, "Or should I say 'Paladin' Brand?"
One of the rooks hit him on the back of his head with the butt of his rifle, sending Brand down on all fours. Warm blood trickled out of the gash and coated his neck. The other rook disarmed him by taking away his officer's sidearm. Dazed, the paladin was vaguely aware of the doors shutting behind them, locking out any non-essential personnel as the colonel took it upon himself to uncover the mole in their ranks.
"Gotta hand it to you tinmen. For such a crude waster faction, you've managed to employ a complicated Old World tactic and make it work."
How did they find out? The question echoed in Brand's head, among other things. Unknown to him, the Dominion was able to invent a more efficient way to extract information from their enemies, and it led them on a clear trail straight to him. Back in Carlon, even in Elysion, the Dominion judges were rounding up every spy that have infiltrated the civilian population and were hauling them all back to the same black site where Karter was interred. Every one of them caught compromised those who were not, and it was only a matter of time before their entire network collapsed completely.
He should've known better than to think that the trick would work twice. But then again, it was already too late. They've already set the ball rolling, he only needed to buy the infiltration team time to dismantle Riverside's defenses. Their brothers and sisters will be avenged.
Brand said through gritted teeth, "You people are going to bring about the second apocalypse, but the Brotherhood of Steel will stop you."
A series of explosions outside the command center rocked the whole citadel, making Brand smirk at the impeccable timing. The colonel ordered the spy to be cuffed while he called up a situation report. Distracted by the flickering lights and dust clouds blowing down from the faint tremors, the rooks didn't notice the telltale transparent outlines of figures cloaked in stealth-fields approaching from the corridors outside.
Then suddenly, the lights went out.
"Damn it, someone get to the switches and turn those emergency generators on!" Fox barked, "Now!"
Carrying out his order, two rooks opened the doors to the colonel's office and were subsequently gunned down by the Brotherhood infiltrators waiting outside. In quick response, the Dominion soldiers with Col. Fox returned fire, and a violent exchange of laser-fire and bullets ensued. Brand ducked down and stayed down as best as he could.
Having spotted the explosions from on high, the Brotherhood fleet descended upon Riverside with everything it had. Airships, vertibird gunships and transport vessels carrying ground troops and mechs. Red streaks of burning particle beams rained down from the skies, blasting whole clusters of entrenched rooks into ash. And when the airships finally gained control of Riverside's airspace, it was all over from there. Sentry turrets, now left literally powerless from the blackout, stood silently as Brotherhood knights jumped from their vertibirds and cut down the exposed Dominion infantry stumbling out of the barracks.
The advantage of the surprise attack faded in the next few minutes, for the Dominion soldiers were just as, if not better, disciplined as the Brotherhood of Steel. After the initial confusion died down, they displayed a near fanatical defense in spite of now being outnumbered ten to one.
The powerful titans of steel, the Brotherhood mechs, spearheaded the approach as they swept and cleared every street and building. While they weren't as armored as the Dominion MBT's, their capability to squeeze through tight spaces where heavy armor can't normally pass allowed them to better support their ground units. The amount of firepower they were bringing tipped the scales, and with air superiority on their side the citadel defenders couldn't hold Riverside for long.
Back at the command center, after the infiltrators dealt with the colonel and his men, Brand was released from his bonds and hauled to his feet.
"Might wanna get that wound looked at, paladin." One of the scouts offered.
"Later." Brand turned him down, "There's much to be done."
The paladin glanced down at Col. Fox, who lay dying at his feet, surrounded by the corpses of his loyal rooks. Even as he slipped ever closer to death's door, the colonel still had a lot of fight left in him.
"You can't stop us..." He rasped, blood pouring out of the holes in his chest, some of them finding their way up his throat and into his mouth. "For every one of us you kill, ten more will take his place."
Brand grunted silently as the pain of his own wound lanced through his skull. He sneered at the colonel's challenge as he picked up his weapon from his limp hand, "I guess we'll have to make good use of your armory then. Should be plenty of ammo for every one of you sorry bastards."
Having disarmed the corpses and stowed away their precious ammunition, the infiltrators left Fox to die and joined in the battle outside.
}!{
Happy 2022 :)