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Knight-Commander McKenzie sat straight in her bunk when she sensed the figure standing at her cell door.
They'd taken away her armor and had her change into a simple red jumpsuit with a special serial number sewn onto the back and front. Her cell was an iron box, with a bunk bed welded securely to the wall and an aluminum toilet opposite of it. The door was a two-inch thick slab of steel, with a tiny window made out of a fogged-up glassy material that would clear up with the push of a button. She was onboard the Jörmungandr, a prisoner among many others. The Dominion refrained from massacring the survivors of the mountain stronghold, for reasons Kenzie had yet to know. As the hours ticked on, she started to wonder if surrendering was the best course of action when they found themselves surrounded by the Dominion army.
The answers to her questions came a bit sooner than expected. She had a visitor- one that held considerable sway over the fates of all the Brotherhood prisoners onboard the Dominion flagship.
A man entered her cell dressed in a purely white uniform, bedecked with golden livery and an assortment of medals Kenzie had never seen before. The man was an aesir. By this time, his kind would've been a common sight as the next Wasteland mutant. However, this was a day of firsts. Kenzie had gotten used to the faces of her Dominion captors. Disgust, hatred, loathing. But for him, there was no malice in his expression. Was it pity? She couldn't quite get a read on it. That alone got the Knight-Commander's attention, and with guarded curiosity did she entertain the Dominion officer.
"You must be Knight-Commander McKenzie." When he spoke to her, he spoke with the old money Texan drawl that most Dominion soldiers had. He stood at a meter's length from her bunk, "I am Admiral Byron Locke, Dominion Air Force. Welcome aboard the Jörmungandr."
'Admiral?' Kenzie thought it strange that an Air Force officer would hold a title customarily reserved for naval officers. "Save it, minion. I'm not falling for your good-natured façade."
"Façade? Ah." The admiral nodded slowly, "You're angry, suspicious, and rightly so. It's not easy being on the losing side of a war, even worse as a prisoner of war."
Kenzie remained silent as she stared at the wall, avoiding Locke's gaze.
"And I know what you're thinking. What do I know about being on the wrong side of a cell door, or what do I know about being at the mercy of someone else?" Admiral Locke motioned for one of the guards to bring in something for the Knight-Commander, "I tell you, young lady, more than anyone for a thousand miles of where we are now- I know better."
Kenzie turned to look at what the guards were wheeling into her cell. Her eyes widened as the sweet and salty scent of freshly cooked potatoes and grilled cheese sandwiches assaulted her nostrils. The steam rose from the white paper plates, and the cool sweat dripping from the sides of the plastic cup made her mouth water. She was hungry. It had been weeks since she'd had a proper meal, for the Brotherhood's supply lines had long been cut off. She and all the other knights were reduced to near-inedible MRE's that had already expired, making half the stronghold population sick with dysentery and food-poisoning. Of all the things that made up the Jörmungandr crew menu, sandwiches and potatoes were among the most basic food made available. But to Kenzie, and the rest of the prisoners, such a meal was a gift from the gods.
"Food... for a few minutes of your undivided attention. Do we have a deal?"
Kenzie's stomach growled audibly, and she gave the admiral an embarrassed but positively-inclined expression. The plates were brought to her, without the usual dining implements.
"Sorry, you'll have to eat with your hands. Security protocols and all that."
Kenzie grunted and wolfed down the sandwiches, savoring the bombardment of flavors on her tongue. She closed her eyes, relishing in the feeling of being human once more. Weeks of living like rats trapped in a hot box had damaged morale among the Brotherhood defenders. Even if the food and soft beds came from the Dominion, it was still a welcome change.
When she'd finished her meal, the Knight-Commander prepared herself for what came next. The door was shut behind the admiral, but the guards were just a holler away if anything were to happen to him. Besides, Kenzie was sure he could handle an unarmed prisoner as herself with great ease. She had no intention of attempting to escape, at least not in that way.
Locke studied her wary look, gauging his words carefully before speaking. "Would you believe it if I told you that I lived long before the Great War?"
What he got in turn was a blank, disbelieving glance.
"I suppose not, but it's the truth. I was born on June 23, 2044. I fought the Chinese in the Pacific Theatre as captain of the USC Archibald Henderson. We took a direct hit from a stealth-bomber, and I was wounded badly in the explosion. I lost all my limbs, suffered multiple fractures along my spine, and the fire burned my lungs. Later, I was flown back to the mainland for treatment. I expected to wake up in a hospital somewhere, only to find myself in a secret laboratory run by Vault-Tec."
Vault-Tec. The Brotherhood knew exactly who they were, and just hearing their involvement made the story a little bit credible. Kenzie found herself absorbed in the admiral's tale, in spite of reminding herself moments before to remain on guard for Dominion lies and manipulations.
"They couldn't save me, so they decided to extract my brain from my body and store it in a special preservation tank for their future experiments. For the next few years, I remained a prisoner in one of Vault-Tec's containment facilities, trapped in an artificial coma until Roman Stern found a way to release me and all the other brains Vault-Tec stole from so many good soldiers."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Locke paused for a moment, then gave his reply. "Because I want you to know who we are. Up until now you've been fighting us without even knowing the people your leaders have so monstrously demonized. I've spoken with your men and many others of the Brotherhood, they all have the same stories. 'The Dominion is a totalitarian regime led by a tyrant, a nation of slavers with a vast collection of technologies that they time and again use to the detriment of the Wasteland'."
"And?" Kenzie challenged, "Isn't it true?"
"No, we're nothing so... pedestrian. I would waste words trying to convince you otherwise, so instead I will point to the Wasteland itself. Pause for a moment, recall all you have seen when you took our citadel and trampled on the homes of the people you so claimed to protect from the dangers of technology."
Locke referred to the scarcity or lack of raider elements in Dominion lands, the green fields that started to grow back over the desert, the rains that poured from the skies where once there were only sandstorms. The land was healing under the rule of the Dominion, and so were the people. The closer the Brotherhood pushed earlier that year, the more evident the changes were. It was impossible for them to ignore, no matter how surreal it seemed at the time.
"This war you started was never about toppling a tyrant's empire or to help the people of the Wasteland. It was about control. It was always about control, and you are losing."
That part, at least, she could believe. "What do you want from me?"
Satisfied that they've gotten somewhere, Locke nodded. "You are the Knight-Commander. I want you to help your friends, convince them to end this war without further resistance."
Kenzie's eyes flashed in anger, "You're asking me to betray my people?"
Locke shook his head, "Think of how many of them you'll save, if they lay down their arms and surrender to the Dominion. But the more they struggle, the less chance they have at living to see the end of this pointless clash. You are a smart bunch, a cut above the enemies we've faced before. We don't want to kill you, it's a waste of good minds and able bodies. But we will do it if we have to."
The Knight-Commander looked away, bracing herself for the moment the admiral's friendly disposition changed. "No, I cannot do what you ask."
Locke didn't seem to mind her refusal much. The truth was he had nothing to lose from it, and so he turned to leave. "The siege on Landfall will begin soon. At the very least, think on what I've said. You can save so many lives..."
"What lives, admiral?" Kenzie asked, "Ours? Or yours?"
"Both." He replied as the door shut behind him.
Before heading out of the brig, Locke paused to give further orders on the prisoners' behalf. "I want them treated with all due decency. These people aren't raiders. See to it that they're well fed, but keep a close eye on them. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir." The guards acknowledged.
Satisfied, Locke proceeded into the elevator so he could make his rounds inspecting the various decks of the Dominion flagship. The Jörmungandr was the size of a small city, and keeping it organized was in itself a daunting task. Still, he had to start somewhere, and so the admiral traveled to the nearest deck- the armory. The Dominion R&D made several additions to the military's growing arsenal, and it was fast becoming a challenge to keep track of all of them. Locke had seen what the Commonwealth had to offer during the Great War, saw them in action too when they invaded the shores of China. But the new world's order far surpassed Old America's war machine, and it was pushing the boundaries even further. He just had to see what the development programs had come up with.
"Ah, Admiral Locke!" Nate Easy, the Jörmungandr's weapon systems officer, jumped in surprise at the admiral's unexpected visit. Everyone within thirteen feet of the elevator stood at attention as per protocol when in the presence of a high ranking officer. Easy dismissed the airman who provided him with the updated invoice papers detailing the latest shipment of weapons to the Jörmungandr's armory. He got ahead of the disorganized state of the room, diverting the admiral's attention away from the bustle of engineer crews moving cargo to and from the transport trams rolling in from the opposite end of the deck. "Welcome to the armory, sir! Apologies for the mess, but we've underestimated the amount of shipment Elysion's provided us. Rest assured we'll be in tip-top shape by-"
"At ease, wizzo." Locke said with a reassuring smile, using the colloquial term for the officer's title. "I'm not here to bust anyone's chops. Not yet anyway. Just wanted to familiarize myself with the ship. Damn thing's twice the size of anything I've run before."
"Thank you sir. If that's the case, allow me to give you a quick tour of the place." Easy pointed to the storage racks lined up in neat little rows like the aisles of a grocery store. "Over there's where we keep general inventory. Small-arms, heavy weapons, ammo, armor and upgrades."
Each rack stored a plethora of rifles, handguns and launchers enough to arm the entire post-apocalyptic state. Boxes and cases of ammunition and explosives were stacked up together and clamped down to the metal floor with safety harnesses. Special storage units housed vital components for power-armor, along with their special modifications for the various types of engagements the rooks would undergo in the future.
An engineer, suited up in a power-armor with a forklift modification, crossed paths with a group of Blackwatch operators entering the armory from the main entrance. The engineer, justly so, made way for the aesir soldiers as they picked up a few of the new weapons to prepare for their next mission. Without a word, the giants turned back the way they came. The massive steel doors, looking ever so menacing with their steel teeth, looked like the jaws of Cerberus as they closed behind them.
Before they left, Locke got a good look at the weapons they took down from the racks. They were large cannons, painted black, each consisting of a metal muzzle-likely containing a kind of focusing crystal or lens- and a tough, mechanical stock. The bodies of the weapons were covered in protective hydraulic tubings that housed vital electrical components, as well as a fluted mechanism similar to a turbine.
When he asked the weapon systems officer about it, Easy described them as the successor to the gatling-laser. Dr. Holiday, , referred to it as a fusion-lance. Facing the growing concern of their armored companies upon encountering the Brotherhood's mechs, and after succeeding in creating the A4-2 Warhounds, Holiday's research branched out to explore the capabilities of the jet fighter's weapons.
This led to the creation of the MAAW prototype, meaning 'Multi-role Anti-Material Weapon'. It was meant to be the answer to the Brotherhood mech question.
Locke understood how technology worked in the military. It would start small, then gradually get bigger. In no time at all, he just might see more of those fusion-lances on the Jörmungandr's gun batteries.
"Outstanding." The admiral remarked, intending to visit the neighboring section of the deck. "Keep up the good work, soldier."
He followed the path taken by the Blackwatch operators, which led him to the ship's shooting range. The Jörmungandr wasn't the type of ship to house a proper simulation room, but the range was the closest they could get to one. Everyone needed to keep their skills sharp, necessitating its existence. The rooks cleared out of the room, giving Blackwatch the space they needed. Admiral Locke stuck around, he wanted to see the new weapons in action.
The tallest among the aesir soldiers lifted one of the MAAW's with as much ease as he would have in power-armor. The muscles on his massive arms bulged obscenely as he hefted the large cannon to level with his waist. From the look of it, the thing weighed at least 85 pounds. He'd removed the top part of his jumpsuit and tied the sleeves together over his hips, making him look like something between a casual reservist or a rook on leave, definitely not something out of spec ops.
An aluminum target dummy sprung out of the range, and the soldier took aim. His fingers squeezed on the large trigger built into the rear grip, priming the turbine to deliver power from the large fusion core locked securely into the power pod. The cannon rattled to life, then emitted a high-pitched noise as the air molecules around its barrel vibrated intensely. An unbroken lance of red energy launched from the MAAW, superheating the dummy until it burst into ash and molten lead. The Blackwatch operators spectating on the weapon's performance exchanged glances, thoroughly impressed with its capabilities.
Four more dummies were set up for the soldier to take on, and it was discovered that with prolonged firing the weapon was able to create a localized deadly corona of energy that jumped from target to target, generating the same disintegration effect as the first.
Admiral Locke nodded, showing his approval for the demonstration.
His next destination was the Jörmungandr main hangar on the top deck, just directly below the bridge. The hangar housed both the little fleet of Warhound jet fighters, vertibird transport and gunships, as well as the ground vehicles of the Dominion Army. The amount of vehicles and equipment necessary to undertake what was sure to be the biggest operation since the First Expansion Campaign required a large holding facility, making the hangar easily the largest deck in the Jörmungandr.
Below the hangar was the ship magazine, where the gun batteries' ammunition was stored. The magazine was designed to be a 'segmented compartment' apart from the rest of the deck. As a safety precaution in case of a breach and ammo ignition, the whole room could be sealed off from the rest of the ship by a series of emergency blast bulkheads. At the push of a button in the bridge, the magazine could be ejected from the Jörmungandr and dropped off. To minimize the potential casualties, should the worst occur, operations within the magazine were largely handled automatically. A small crew of six could work with a larger number of worker drones and eyebots.
The barracks was situated in the deck below the magazine. The Jörmungandr was home to a very large complement of crew, so it was only logical to provide a large enough living space to house them in. This deck included a recreations wing to help the soldiers weather out the long waits in between battles, featuring a small bar with enough room for a pool table, an oval table to play Texas Hold'em with, and darts. Locke didn't much appreciate drinking or gambling in his crew, but the High Marshal was insistent enough to issue a formal mandate that it must be so. When soldiers were bored, they could turn destructive. Further down the corridor, to the left was the Sick Bay, and to the right was the Mess Hall or Galley.
The bottommost deck was reserved for Engineering, where the great fusion cores that powered the massive ship were housed and maintained by the Dominion's finest engineers. Protocol prevented the admiral from entering the deck without a protection suit, so he didn't bother stepping out of the observation deck. Next to the hangar, Engineering was a bustling beehive of activity. To generate the amount of power to keep the Jörmungandr engines running, operations were carried out with utmost vigilance. Just like the armory, the deck was also a segmented compartment. In the event of a catastrophic meltdown, the entire deck could be sealed off with special lead-lined bulkheads and separated from the Jörmungandr. The Dominion had learned from Vault-Tec's mistakes in more ways than one, and every precaution was explored since the flagship's early designs.
Having made his rounds, the admiral finally returned to the bridge. Next to the main hangar, it was the busiest deck on the ship. From a layman's perspective, it was just another spacious room filled with back-to-back blinking consoles. In truth, it was the nerve center of the entire ship's operations. Docking and deployment, communications, sighting and firing of the ship's vast array of artillery batteries; all were done here. The Jörmungandr was capable of coordinating a dozen different engagements at once, and with the siege of the Brotherhood headquarters coming up it could only mean that the crew was set to be taxed to the limit.
"Attention, on deck!" Someone announced.
Locke got ahead of them before they could stand, "As you were, as you were." He headed up to the comfy black chair situated at the epicenter of the bridge. The chair came with its own attached console, and functioned more as an operator's booth than just another bit of furniture to decorate the deck.
"Admiral." The captain saluted once, then gently pushed the large ship's wheel to spin counter-clockwise to bring the Jörmungandr portside.
"Good day, Hummingbird." The admiral slipped into his chair and manually pulled up the screen from its slot. "How're we doing?"
Captain Jim 'Walela' Winlock, a tall man of 6 and a half due to his mixed Cherokee and German descent, twisted his neck uncomfortably as the edges of his lapel started to abrade at his skin. Winlock had been born as a Dominion citizen, but considered himself part tribal thanks to his father, who married a settler when Elysion was still just a bunch of prefab buildings put together in a cluster. Everyone in the flight academy called him Hummingbird, which was the literal translation of his middle name, because of his lively and energetic personality.
These days, he was just twitchy. "Ahem, yessir. We're all green across the board. Making steady headway for Landfall. ETA two hours and thirty minutes."
"Excited to end the war, eh?" Locke said with a smile, "Me too, old sport."
The old admiral was right about one thing. There was an 'end', to a battle but not the war. Landfall would be just a statement, that the Dominion was capable of hitting back. Their fight against the Brotherhood would be long, perhaps would even span decades. For the reach of the Creed of Steel was long, and their resolve evenly matched. Try as he might, Locke could never avoid a bloodless end to the conflict.
How could he, with an enemy so convinced that they were in the right?
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