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The High Marshal took a tentative whiff of the crisp Cajun Wasteland air, then breathed it all in when he found it to his liking. A quick glance at the local flora and fauna was enough to mark the border between Texas and the adjacent states.
Gigantic gnarled trees with boughs heavy with hairy grasping vines formed the thick overgrowth at the edge of the Dominion frontier base. Mutated lizards and winged insects that called this place home tested the electric fences that acted as barriers. Every now and then, a sentry turret would swivel its main weaponry and pop the ones that got too close. Those that managed to touch the fences put up a light-show before falling to the mud in a sizzling heap.
Stern was on a surprise inspection that day, he wanted to see what life was like on the frontier for so many of the Dominion's soldiers. Written reports didn't paint a clear picture for him. Plus, he wanted to get away from Elysion for a while as the work he'd poured himself into for so long had started to get to him. It was a great opportunity for him to see how well his subordinates could handle the empire in his absence, although he went through great pains to keep it a secret. The Cerberian Guard wouldn't betray his trust, as they were the only ones who knew about his departure from the Obsidian Keep.
Out there, in the rough and distant lands that would soon fall into Dominion hands, Stern was safe. As he toured the base grounds, the High Marshal felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He remembered the days when he commanded his men from the front lines, against China in the Sino-American War. The heat of the summer days, baking under the sun as they marched or drove through the mountains. The chill of winter when they laid siege to the towns of cities. The mud, the blood, sweat and tears shed amongst brothers. In a way, he missed all that. Now, he commanded from the comforts of the capital city, in an environment tailored to perfection and to cater to his every whim.
Here, he could finally step out of paradise and rejoin the common soldier in the hellscape of the Wasteland.
As Stern wandered off into the barracks, he noticed two pairs of civilian trailers parked next to the mess tents. There were no advertisement boards nailed to the outer hull, but there was hardly any need. The scantily clad men and women sitting close to the entrances were enough to tell what kind of caravan they were. They were there to satisfy a very particular need for the Dominion personnel, easily justified by the colonel in charge of the operation. Army brothels have become commonplace, although strict regulations concerning the cleanliness and health of the sex-workers have transformed the practice into a near bureaucratic profession. STD's were a serious business, the Dominion had enough to worry about while working the frontier.
The High Marshal decided to give them a wide berth. While he understood the needs of his soldiers, he wasn't one to indulge in that bit of luxury. When the inspection was finished, Stern rallied his entourage and prepared to make the journey to the next outpost. The Centaur was readied and he boarded the armored transport. The gates were opened, and the convoy rolled out into the wilderness.
Stern was busying himself with the pip-boy, reading about Four Seasons and the troublesome Crowe clan, when he heard the crack of something high up in the sky. A quick glance through the window afforded him a good view of the bright streak carving up the orange sky. It'd been a long time since he'd seen something fall from the heavens in that manner. Back in the Great War, the sight could mean two things- a nuke or a falling satellite. This one, as it turned out, was neither. It flew with grace, like it was built that way and changed its course. Stern ordered the convoy to stop and sent a fleet of EITS drones to follow the spacecraft's trajectory.
The thing was heading into the Cajun Wasteland, out of Dominion territory and into the unknown. Realizing this, Stern's cheeks bunched up in a wide grin. The High Marshal was just in the right mood for an adventure. "Follow the UFO." He said, "Tell the men to keep their heads on a swivel, we're about to make a detour." The convoy made its detour and followed the fading trail of the spacecraft. Up through the dense overgrowth, the bogs and mutant infested glowing green rivers they went. To the ones escorting the High Marshal, they've grown accustomed to the sight of such things. But to Stern, he was having the time of his life. Like an old dog on his first car ride in years, he relished in the opportunity to get back in action. Going out into the wilderness meant its fair share of violence and he was going to savor every second of it.
He hovered over the drone operator, watching through a dozen eyes as the bots swept through the wastes, covering miles and miles of ground until they at last came upon the shuttle. The craft was adorned in familiar livery, the marks of an era that made a different turn when the bombs fell. It was made by human hands, Stern found, and assailed by the same. Around the landing site were six assault vehicles, all bearing a standard so proudly painted over their hulls- the star spangled banner of Old America.
Three words tumbled out of the former US Army colonel, "What the hell?"
Old America was dead, whoever was carrying her colors was just disrespecting her memory. Just by looking at them, Stern knew in that moment that they were his enemy. It didn't help their case that they were roughly handling the crew of the spaceship. The High Marshal only had to say it and the Cerberian Guard prepped for combat. The convoy moved as fast as it could, gaining the height of the nearby hills to seize the advantage it could get its hands on. The quiet whine of the Centaur engines barely carried off to the wind, not in the least alerting the enemy below. The boots of the men in hard-suits stomped noisily as they got into position. Stern was the only one among them dressed in simple body armor over his camo jumpsuit, but he carried just as much firepower as any of them.
He carried a minigun with a drum magazine, hefting it with ease as though it weighed like a simple rifle. Stern narrowed his eyes when he heard the crackle of gunfire in the distance.
"Sir, they're executing the crew!" The operator announced.
"Okay boys, let's go make our presence known." The High Marshal declared, "Watch your fire, I want the crew and the ship intact. Clear?"
The Cerberian Guard acknowledged the command and trotted off to surround the landing site. Just a few feet away from the ship stood a whole squad of men in power-armor, a type unknown to the Dominion. It was just as bulky as the T-51, but it was built with a new kind of alloy that made it seem like alienware. Whoever designed it made the armor look like an overengineered jet than a walking tank. The leader of the squad, a sergeant by the look of the stripes painted onto his pauldron, was manhandling one of the crewmembers.
Every one of the crew was dressed in a spacesuit, a little trim compared to the ones a couple decades back but padded enough to be distinguishable from any type of gear. A power-pack actuated a hydraulic harness, which gave each crewmember an extra pair of robotic arms to assist in their daily work. The harness was a common tool for the denizens of Horizon, but to people like the Enclave they looked rather strange. The one held in the sergeant's iron grip, a woman, squirmed uncomfortably as he bellowed through the horrid voice-amplifier so close to her face. Her helmet was gone, smashed to pieces when she tried to fight back earlier. Those of her crew that managed to get their weapons up were summarily executed on the spot, the rest surrendered rather meekly as they had no stomach for violence.
"Answer me! How many more?" The Enclave officer shouted, "How many more came with you?"
The woman's name was Moira Vahlen, a Horizon science officer. At the moment she bitterly regretted pressing the issue of maintaining contact with the surface. Now, she was paying the price for her mistake. Earth was as barbaric as the council thought, no amount of nukes could reset that dark side of human nature enough. Vahlen spat at the man holding her painfully by the left arm, "Fahr zur hölle, schwein!"
Suddenly, one of the Enclave IFV's erupted in flames and toppled to its side. The resulting shockwave sent everyone staggering and kicked up a large cloud of dust. Dominion Centaurs were firing from the hill, taking the Enclave stormtroopers by surprise.
"What the fuck!" The sergeant cried out, "Cover, boys! Looks like we've got company!"
Strutting fearlessly into the fray, as though feeling invincible in his aesir body, High Marshal Stern brandished his whirring minigun and strafed the Enclave soldiers. His Cerberian Guard tried desperately to cover him and followed close to his heels, firing all the while at the enemy as they feared a single well-placed shot could send the Dominion in disarray like it nearly did in the last war. They needn't worry too much, because as much fun as Stern was having in that moment, his focus was razor sharp. The aesir bio-augmentations did well for the High Marshal, but compared to the Brotherhood, Enclave soldiers don't die easily. It wasn't a knife-through-butter kind of easy for the Dominion, because whatever they dished out their new enemy had well in stock.
The Enclave stormtroopers, all suited up and carrying 5.56 light machineguns, spread out and took cover by the rocks. The sergeant wanted to kill the whole Horizon crew, but Vahlen stopped him by putting all the weight of her body against his armored hand. The pistol was knocked out of his grip, and the man in turn smacked the science officer so hard she flew a good five meters back, landing painfully against the hull of her ship. Her crewmates ducked and crawled away for cover as the fighting got more intense the higher the body count rose- and it rose sharply. The surprise attack gave the Dominion the advantage, and within minutes the Enclave soldiers were killed to a man.
Stern suffered a few hits to the arm and leg, but remained otherwise intact. He still had his limbs, his head and plenty of life beating in his chest. The High Marshal let his arm drop to the side, the buzzing minigun along with it. He approached the dying sergeant and stepped on his arm to prevent the soldier from getting up. A sneer was on Stern's face as he glanced at the white stars orbiting a large white 'E' on the armor's chestpiece. There wasn't time for an exchange of words between them, and Stern wasn't planning on having one either way. He let the man die in peace and approached the crew from Horizon.
"You guys okay?" He asked.
Dr. Vahlen stood up shakily, using the aesir's extended hand for support. She stared at him for a good full minute, marveling at his alien features. Likewise, the High Marshal stared back. When she removed the astronaut hood capping her head, the woman's golden short bob flared outward, giving her the appearance of someone who had no business being outdoors. Like all the colonists on Horizon she looked way too soft for the harsh climate of Earth, courtesy of the enclosed atmosphere of the moon vaults.
"Greetings." She said, the faint Swiss accent permeating her every word. "I am Dr. Moira Vahlen of Horizon Lunar Colony."
Fascinated by the discovery, Stern took a moment to mull on this bit of information. Then, he returned the pleasantry. "I'm Roman Stern, of the Dominion. You're a long way from home, Dr. Vahlen."
"Quite right. I should have expected our arrival would not go unnoticed, I suppose we're fortunate you happened to pass by." Vahlen paused to stare at the wreckage of the Enclave war machines, "Who were those men?"
Stern shrugged, "Dead men, for now. But they're not alone, and if you don't wanna end up dead in this part of the Wasteland I suggest you come with us."
"We can't do that, we have a mission of our own." One of the crewmen protested.
The High Marshal sized them all up with one brief glance and shook his head, "You and your crew look like a soft bunch, if you don't mind me saying so. You're not gonna last a day out here."
"Yes, I do mind." Vahlen's green eyes flashed with annoyance. She picked up a sleek silver and gold laser rifle that looked way too fragile to be considered a weapon, "I thank you for your timely intervention sir, but we can carry on from here. Auf wiedersehen."
The Horizon science team packed up into their ship and flew away from the battlefield, leaving a bewildered Stern and his Cerberian Guard to watch them disappear into the clouds. That wouldn't be the last they'd see of Dr. Vahlen, and Stern cracked a smile at the thought of meeting her again in very similar circumstances. For the moment, he'd busy himself with finding out just who these star-spangled men worked for.
Little John stared somberly at the crackling flames of the campfire. He didn't care for the song and dance that the hirelings did to chase away the dark mood that settled in after the killing. The deed was done, Reese and all those responsible for Molly's death were all dead. If there was any satisfaction to be had, John found it paltry and fleeting. The ghost of his girl was stilled, her blood no longer cried out for vengeance.
And yet, he remained as empty as ever.
His eyes wandered off to the side and saw a lonely little amber bottle of bourbon black on the sand, leaning upon the tree trunk he was using as a seat. It was almost as if some invisible hand plucked it out of thin air and placed it before him to fill up that emptiness inside. John knew better than to take up drinking. Loss was a common thing in Four Seasons and he wasn't about to go on the deep end by ending up like those drunks and chem addicts. He drank sociably, in moderation as moderation goes for cowboys. Still, the sight was mighty tempting and John felt too weak to resist.
He reached for the bottle and thanked the unknown benefactor who left it there. A firm twist and the lid came off, sending a whiff of its contents up his waiting nose. He smelled the rich smoky flavor swirling within that dark bronze liquid, just the right kind of drink to make him forget for a few hours.
"That there tastes better with company." Calamity Jane drawled as she sauntered over to his spot, leaving shy little Lassie to the Jackson hirelings.
Little John frowned but remained gentlemanly in the presence of the woman. People like Calamity had a knack for sniffing out the loners, but in her profession she was masterful when it came to assessing a man's needs. And despite his reluctance to be in the vicinity of anyone else at the moment, she knew Little John craved more than just the bitter burn of bourbon. He needed a woman. "I don't need company, ma'am."
Calamity puffed up her chest, offering a generous view of her plump bosoms. As expected, Little John couldn't resist getting an eyeful of her endowments and he stared with a hollow expression plastered on his face. A knowing smirk widened the cheeks on the woman's face, "Give us a drink, darling. Just a sip."
Little John recognized the banality of pleasantries, the old game between men and women that usually ended up with one thing. 'Give us a drink' would eventually turn to 'give us a kiss', Little John would've jumped at the chance if he were younger... and not short of a wounded heart. Calamity read him right about a few things, but she failed to see that lust and grief were a bad mix. Briefly, John considered just tossing the bottle to her and retreating to the safety of his own tent. But devious little she-devil as she was, Calamity found that smoldering ember of desire and gave it life. She wanted to forget her troubles in her own way, while Little John burned with a need for a woman's touch. In this way she would fulfill a debt owed to the Jacksons, for freeing her from Reese Dolarhyde's abusive patronage and giving the wily bastard an ending he much deserved.
"My tent's down the way." John said with a sigh, resigned to his fate. He got up and let Calamity grab onto his arm.
A moment later, the pair entered the cozy interior of Little John's ramshackle shelter. Calamity Jane threw herself at him and showered her man with kisses. Alas, there was a lack of passion in the way he kissed her back. Calamity expected this, but it hurt nonetheless. For a brief pause, she hung by her arms around his neck. Her pretty eyes looked into the sad half-drunk orbs that swam with near suicidal darkness, and she brought a hand to tenderly caress his cheek. She didn't mind the prickly stubble that stabbed at her palm, "Was she that good a woman to make you suffer so?"
John closed his eyes and his lips trembled, "Yes."
"Well now, sugar..." The woman offered, "Keep them eyes closed and think of her. Let me be your woman, Little John."
A faint surge of anger set his blood to simmer, John didn't like that idea one bit. To let this whore have her way would be to insult Molly's memory. And yet he missed her very much, so much that he was willing to live out the memory of his angel for a night. Molly was dead, nothing was going to change that. He was the only one left of the pair to walk the earth, but he knew she wasn't the type to make him walk alone forever. Molly was and would always be his first love. Just one night, he promised himself, and he would let go of the past come the morn.
"What's her name, baby?"
"Molly."
John heard the faint brush of her clothes slipping free from her body. "You want me to be your Molly?"
He dared to open his eyes. There stood the lovely Calamity Jane in all her naked splendor, wide and narrow in all the right places as though God Himself took meticulous care shaping this magnificent creature in the womb. Her breasts were plump like perfect globes, while her hips were generously spread out in an amorous girth that complimented the shape of her succulent thighs. The only thing that marred her perfection was the bandage covering the wound she suffered in the gunfight. The boys tended to her well, fixing her up with some med-x and some stims to close up the wound. John had to crack a smile despite his initial hesitation. Calamity was going to be the ruin of a lot of good boys should she head back to ply her trade in Four Seasons.
"No." He replied, placing his giant hands on her waist. "I want you to help numb the pain where the bourbon fails. Can you do that for me, please?"
"Baby, by the time I'm done with you..." Calamity pulled him into the sleeping bag spread out on the ground, "You won't even remember your own name. Just lie down and let Ol' Calamity Jane take care o' you."
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