Chapter 75: FUBAR

Chavez peered down the long road between the canyon. It had taken them quite some time to make it this far, so close that they could see the city in the distance. Food, cash, poon, and power were all waiting for them if they could just cross this damn… dam. He sighed as he looked back at the motley rabble he had been put in charge of while the head honcho attended other matters.

"…I think we're clear this time, guys," Chavez announced to the men. The inmates who had made it this far, those who hadn't been cut down by the security forces from their ivory towers above the mist nor the monsters within it, were generally equipped with bulletproof vests and handguns if they were lucky, and more likely spears and their typical prisoners' garb if they were not. As such, most of the inmates were trying to push their way through underneath the dam. They were being met, however, by chokepoints and killzones from the garrison, having been prepared for such an event years in advance. This flew in the face of what the cons considered to be conventional wisdom, expecting the top of the dam to be more heavily guarded. However, when they saw the empty stretch of wall, there was no evidence of marshal presence on top of the guard towers or on the other side of the wall. It seemed like a straight shot. At least the first time they crossed.

"…NICHOLS!" Chavez barked. A burly inmate approached him, gripping his security baton tightly. Inside, Chavez and Nichols had been enemies, having stabbed each other at least three times each in the yard. Nichols had been a Westside Baron in his previous life, an up-and-coming gang who had taken over turf that had belonged to an extinct crew, the Scorpions. Chavez, on the other hand, was caught dipping his hand in the Bishops' tills, and was in turn offered either a room or a hole. Looking back, Chavez never understood why he went to jail robbing gangsters, nor why Jake didn't have his back after he promised to back him up.

"…You see anything out there?" Chavez asked.

"Nah," Nichols shook his head.

"You know what that means?" Chavez asked.

"Nah," Nichols shook his head.

"We're in the clear, man," Chavez grinned.

"Huh?" Nichols looked over to his new partner.

"C'mon, look out there. I mean, is there any way we can miss something like that?" Chavez goaded.

"Uhm," Nichols rubbed his chin in thought.

"Just sprint across, man. By the time you get across, the rest of us will be right behind you. Honest," Chavez patted his ex-cellmate on the shoulder.

Nichols thought long and hard about the proposal. "…Gun," he finally said, holding out his baton in an anticipated exchange.

"Hey, fuck you, I got this gun fair and square," Chavez whined.

"Give," Nichols repeated, clenching his fingers.

"You have a baton, what more could you want?!" Chavez complained.

"…Fine," Nichols relented. The rest of the twenty-some odd convicts prepared to go on Chavez's signal. Once he had gathered up his courage, Nichols bolted across the concrete wall, running on sheer adrenaline, keeping his eyes trained on the towers. Chavez watched ahead for any movement.

As Nichols crossed a third of the way across the dam, Nichols signaled the rest of the convicts to follow. Gradually, not all at once, the convicts made their way down and began to follow after Chavez as he ran down after Nichols. Every man tried to keep their head on a swivel, looking at the towers for any gunmen who might try to take them by surprise. Mostly, though, they watched the other side of the canyon, waiting for the familiar figure they had all grown to fear.

Halfway across the dam, Nichols began to pick up speed. No one had ever made it this far! It was gone, they were in the clear! Vegas was theirs; he could already taste the squalor they would all be the kings of! Two-thirds, three-fourths, almost there…

Nichols let out a cheer as he made it past the last and westernmost guard tower. He was only a few strides away from the western bank! Everyone behind him began to let out a cheer, Chavez himself turning back to cheer on and encourage his comrades. "WE'RE GOING TO MAKE IT! THE MOJAVE IS OURS, MY BROTHERS!" he crowed. He then noticed that something had ground all of the men to a stop. They stared, their mouths agape as the blood drained from their faces. Chavez slowly turned behind him to see what he hoped would be Nichols celebrating in an obscene manner. Alas, were he so fortunate.

A giant scaly hand reached from the edge of the dam and clasped itself firmly onto the head of Nichols. Right as the shock wore off and the panic set in, the arms then dragged Nichols from the road as soon as he managed to scream. As his body vanished, a sickening crunch cut off the noise, and a short instant later, Nichol's body, minus an arm, leg, and head, was sent sailing over the causeway and down the side of the wall. The beast then vaulted up onto the causeway, lips stained with viscera.

"FALL BACK!" Chavez screamed, though his "comrades" had already beaten him to it, leaving him with nothing between him and the monster. Chavez booked it as fast as he could, kicking up dust as the reptile lumbered after him. Knowing that the beast was gaining on him, Chavez made his play. He pulled out his gun and fired into the men before him, hitting two in the legs and one in the back. As they screamed in agony, Chavez leaped over the fallen escapees as the deathclaw proceeded to maul the wounded he left behind.

As Johnny tore into the last of his screaming prey, he took a moment to marvel over how this had to be the easiest hunt he had ever partaken in. His prey was exactly where he knew they would be, they continuously and predictably made the same mistakes over and over again, each one thinking that somehow the wasteland's greatest predator had gotten bored and moved on.

Looking up, he saw the inevitable quarrel break out amongst the humans once they returned to their side of the wall. The one that fed him tried to justify his actions for the sake of survival, through which his packmates challenged him by beating him in the brain with the batons. Johnny snickered at the sight of the pack devouring one of their own for the pettiest reasons. At least if they were hungry he could understand, but watching them dump all that perfectly good meat down into the lake just seemed so wasteful. Really, though, it was the wonderful thing about hunting humans; they always found a way to be their own worst enemies.

Below the wall, the commander of the internal defenses wondered about the specialist Councilor Gannon had dispatched to secure the top of the dam, and why he had been so adamant that all forces were to focus on their efforts to secure the inner sections of the facility and to under no circumstances look on top of the wall. He shrugged as he fed another belt of ammo into his machine gun, cutting down yet another advance by the convicts. This had to be the fifth wave this week, at this rate if even half of the convicts had survived, then it would just make more sense to retreat into the wasteland than continue to throw themselves into a wall of overlapping defenses and killzones. Whoever was forcing them forward was either insane or adored bloodshed for its own sake.

Padre Hex watched dispassionately as the surviving members of the last wave gradually made their return. "It's no good, boss," one of the men wheezed out. "They were just waiting for us." Padre mulled over the notion that Vegas had taken the security of its dam more seriously following the second defeat of the Legion. Still, he felt it was only fair to probe for any weaknesses, as he had plenty of manpower at his disposal. Had.

Between all the probing attacks and him executing deserters, Padre Hex wagered that out of those who managed to survive escaping the Sierra Madre and stuck with him, about perhaps a fourth were in capable condition to fight. Say what he may of the marshals, but they were capable warriors and well-led. While his lieutenant, the strange individual who arrived at the prison and shortly afterward assembled a bootleg Pip-boy to orchestrate their escape, busied himself with trying to commandeer a radio to listen in on communications from another group closer around Vegas, Padre Hex then asked if any of the men atop the wall had sighted any marshals guarding it. Yet again, he heard tell of another group losing its nerve upon being faced with a monster. Padre Hex's patience at that point had worn thin. Perhaps it was time that he went atop and showed the beast above what a real monster was?

Dak braced himself against the frame of the doorway, his SMG drawn as his team took cover throughout the building. They had been sent in

to secure Westside and link up with the local saboteur teams in the area. As members of the vanguard, they were tasked with securing a safe route for their armored trucks to enter the city. The plan that had taken years to come up with had been drilled into all their heads that it would go off without a hitch if everything went as it was supposed to.

It had not.

The road to Vegas had been littered with marshals, holding up the convoy and forcing the mercenaries to disembark and fight their way through. Not helping matters at all was the air support, every strafing run setting another truck ablaze. Brodie forced the mercs to regroup, however, and punched a hole through the defensive line, at a high cost to the invaders.

Then, as they approached, they received a radio transmission that Emma and her co-conspirators had lost the Governor. As Brodie screamed and demanded an explanation about how you can lose a human being, he was interrupted by another transmission from their man on the inside, a kid named Jake Freeman. He demanded immediate extraction and for the trucks to regroup as per his orders. While Emma and Jake screamed at each other over the proper chain of command, they received more and more reports that their saboteurs were being hunted down by local militias and that Jake's allies were being destroyed by the greater Bishop family. With only the mercenaries they had taken with them into the Strip, Brodie ordered Dak to take position in Westside, get out their saboteurs, and await extraction.

What followed was the most intense firefight Dak had ever taken part in. As hastily trained as the local militia had been, they were numerous and heavily armed, and the firefight had led the team of mercenaries into an old hotel, trading potshots with the local defenders from the boarded windows as they tended to their light wounds.

Over the next hour, the shots began to die out, and after peeking through the firing slots Dak's men could report no sightings of any hostile defenders. Dak wondered just what they were planning. His mind was awash in possibilities. Perhaps they somehow reactivated the securitrons? Or maybe they found some kind of chemical weapon? Or perhaps…

There was a knock on the door. The folks who were supposed to be on recon let something get through, and yet the "infiltrator" went so far as to announce their presence? Something was wrong here. The militia wouldn't be this nice and the marshals weren't allowed in the city limits. The only other alternative would be the mobsters or the- Dak felt a chill roll down his spine. Ordering his men to hold fire, he slowly advanced towards the door. Gulping, he reached down to the handle, gingerly opening to door to reveal the smiling face standing on the other side.

"Hello! My name is Elder Albright! Would you like a moment to discuss-"

Dak immediately pointed his weapon into the trespasser's face. Unfazed, the elder gingerly took his finger and pointed the weapon away. "I've been sent by the North Vegas Community of Latter-Day Saints to discuss terms and exchange prisoners as a sign of goodwill," he explained as his partner dragged a hogtied saboteur onto the doorstep of the hideout.

"Yeah, you did send a team to the North Vegas to blow a hole through the walls. We tried to dissuade them, shots were fired and well," Elder Albright motioned down to the bound man. "…He was the only one to survive," he stated, sincerely apologetically.

Two of Dak's guys quickly rushed past their leader to grab the bound man by the shoulders and haul him inside, leaving Dak and Albright to continue their conversation.

"…I do hate to make these things personal, but during the shootout, a few bullets from your team in the north did go through my house, gave my kidlings quite the shock, and worried my wife something fierce."

"So, what? You're here to take revenge?" Dak scoffed.

Albright laughed as he shook his head. "Nah, the Father above usually frowns on that kind of behavior. Personally, I'm thankful that your team was such poor shots that none of mine were injured, though I believe Guard Vice-Captain Young isn't so happy with you lot. Not to mention my father-in-law wouldn't be any happier to know his grandchildren were almost in harms way."

"Anyone I know?" Dak asked, his sarcasm palpable.

"Gavino Bishop. Ring any bells?" Albright smiled.

"…You're just fucking with me, aren't you?" Dak exclaimed as he pointed his weapon back at the smiling elder.

"I came up here to allow you all to surrender with dignity before the less forgiving elements of this city made their moves against you," Albright explained, his smile finally fading. "So, are you all willing to play nice?"

Dak stared at the elder. He thought back to his past life as a thief and later a killer. The wasteland that he knew, which raised him and made him the man he was, taught him that ruthlessness was the only way to survive. He just knew that the man standing across from him doubtlessly suffered the same, especially if he used to be a New Canaanite. So, how was it that this man, who understood how the world worked and what it could possibly have in store for him, still find a way to smile through everything?

"…Fuck off, Mormon," Dak snarled as he readied his weapon. The mercenary smiled as Albright immediately turned tail and ran as fast as he could to get away. That smile began to fade when he noticed movement on the rooftops of the buildings that surrounded his own. A collection of clean-pressed shirts with bullet-proof vests under wide-brim hats came into view, with each and all carrying a Thompson submachine gun with, Dak gulped, extended drum magazines.

"NOW!" the female Vice Guard Captain ordered as the Mormons unloaded everything they had into the building. Inside, the barriers were blasted away piece by piece as every now and then a round would strike a cowering merc. One enterprising mercenary tried to return fire out of one of the gunnery slits they had improvised. He took twenty rounds before his corpse even hit the floor.

"CEASE FIRE!" The vice-captain barked over the cacophony. Gradually, the militia paused, some taking the opportunity to reload while others surveyed their handiwork. In a previous life, this building had been a house of ill-repute, but with safe shelters such a rare commodity these days, many hoped it would remain intact or could be repaired in short order. The vice-captain looked to the elder with an exasperated expression. "That was some real horse-pucky you pulled, Isaiah."

"Sorry, Hannah, I had to try," Albright grinned, sheepishly.

"Leaving me to explain this to your wife and father-in-law?" Hannah sighed as she checked her magazine before reloading her weapon.

"I wouldn't entrust anyone else with my family more than I do with you," Isaiah smiled. "You and your brother."

Hannah took a moment to swallow her tongue before returning her gaze to the holdout. Slowly, a stick with a white shirt poked out from the firing slot.

"Step out one at a time with your hands raised," Hannah ordered.

Thanks to the combined efforts of the marshals, militias, mobsters, and Mormons, the mercenary invaders had been brought to heel. As they quietly filed out, Dak remained behind, setting up the radio one last time.

"…Brodie… they got me…"

"GOD FUCKING DAMNIT, DAK, YOU COULDN'T EVEN HOLD OUT THAT LONG?!"

"We lost Westside, Brod, I don't know what to tell you. I hope you have an egress secured cuz I can't help you on that end. Best of luck, chief. Dak out."

"FUUUUUUUUU-"

"Ignore him! Just power through the wall and take a right!"

"Kid, we need to get the hell out of this city as soon as fucking possible! I'm not hugging the city limits for nothing!"

"I will pay you triply whatever you were promised initially!"

"Kid, all you got on you is a ton of jack and a lot of shit! You can't promise nothing!"

"I know where to go to get your money. We gotta go west, towards Charleston. You want a win, I'll get you there."

"Emma, we lost enough-"

"Just do what he says! If we stay we get shot up, if we leave the damn air force will pick us off. We're out of better options."

"Hey, boss, one of those security robots is trailing the convoy."

"Ignore him, er, it, it's probably just glitched."

"I thought we took all the bots offline?"

"Just ignore it! We're not getting attacked by that thing, right? So maybe focus less on the robot and more on the BLOCKADE IN FRONT OF US! FLOOR IT!"

Six armored trucks crashed through the barricade as the Bishop men dove aside, firing at the trucks as they passed. Of the ten armored trucks that breached the city, three were destroyed patches of landmines and one was smoldering after being perforated by enemy fire. Nonetheless, the RMX was prepared to throw everything they had left onto this final play as a fuzzy-screened securitron casually strolled after them.

The team had set up a bivouac as they got in contact with the other operators in the area. The guest of honor was currently tied to a stake in the middle of the camp, her parched throat quietly exhaling dry air as her side periodically flared up in pain. The leader chatted with his lieutenant as the guards quickly took up positions around the area. They were not going to get jumped again, not by raiders, not by deathclaws, and certainly not by giant mutant snakes.

Concluding the conversation, the leader decided it was time to once again entertain his guest. Taking his canteen, he swung by the mess area and grabbed a ladle from the pot. Pouring some water into the ladle, he then strolled to the bound woman and gradually held the utensil just out of reach of the woman's lips. Once again, however, the woman didn't take, ignoring his charity.

"…You know, if you want me to kill you, it would be easier to just put a bullet in you," Coleridge stated.

Ariel stared ahead, her chapped lips quietly gasping for air as the wound in her side flared up again, causing her to wince. Ever since the commandos found her, they had spent most of their time nursing her back to life. While not exactly enthralled by their display of humanity, knowing largely that the primary reason for their initial care was for their eventual attempts to interrogate her, Ariel had not been forthcoming about any information, even as it wound up cutting her daily water ration in half.

"…You know, it must have been nice being the Governor's main squeeze. I specialize in getting away with murder, when the situation calls for it of course, but that rail heist you and yours pulled was just so masterful, I'd almost applaud if it didn't involve the death of fifteen California troopers," Major Coleridge smiled.

"…Cut the bullshit…" Ariel wheezed. "We both know this isn't about that. What do you want?"

"Well, let's see… a nice cabin around Oregon, an exclusive contract with the Gun Runners, a night with Andrea Heilong wearing nothing but a smile, and enough blackmail against the right senator to make it all happen," Major Coleridge grinned. "That's what I want. Well, what do you got?"

Ariel tilted her head a little forward towards the ladle. Coleridge drew it back, slightly, knowing he had this fish on the line. Ariel took a moment to swallow some dry air before looking up at Coleridge. "…How is the NCR doing against the Wild Khans?" Ariel asked. "Surely, you must be getting some reports out here?"

Coleridge said nothing, but Ariel could read his expression just fine. The line near Redding had been breached, if not overrun. No doubt the Khans and their allies were running wild against the NCR's supply lines in a hopeless war to further damage their enemies. By now even the NCR had to have realized that the Khans weren't fighting to win, but to hurt the NCR. This wasn't an invasion, this was a suicide mission.

"…Urangal is really giving you Cali-shits the business," Ariel grinned through cracked lips. "Ever wonder what he might be so sore about?"

Coleridge's eyes narrowed. Pressing her to continue, Ariel closed her mouth. Relenting, Coleridge inched the ladle towards her, just enough for her to wet her lips and take a sip. Finishing, Ariel looked to Coleridge. "…Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that his two wives and five of his children vanished in an area close to an illegal NCR mining operation?"

The initial stage of the Wild Khan War began with an attack on some NCR prospectors stationed near the Idaho border, believed to be unprovoked according to the survivors. Coleridge wasn't quick or keen to take her at her word, but it did go some way to explaining the Khan's sudden aggressive stance against a neighbor they had grown to tolerate. "…And, if you could be so kind, could you tell me what happened to Urangal's loved ones?"

"…Does California have a constitution?" Ariel asked.

"Why do you ask?" Major Coleridge replied.

"Does it have a section regarding self-incrimination?" Ariel asked.

"…Last I checked, that only applied to citizens, you waste-rat," Major Coleridge growled. "What did you do?"

"…Potentially nothing," Ariel replied. "My… crew may have spent some measure of time in the area. I couldn't account for all of them at all moments," she explained, vividly remembering holding the women and their children at gunpoint.

"Your crew may have just instigated a war," Major Coleridge growled. "Good for them that they were all dead by the time I found them."

Ariel's faint smile vanished. Were it not for her crew, she would have traded her life for her silence. Now that they were gone and she had nothing left to protect, her silence meant nothing. Glasser, presuming she was still alive, would pay to have her eliminated, and have the means and resources to hire someone to do the job right. And all that was fine by her, everyone who lived by the gun, truly lived by it, understood that their lives could be cut short at any moment for any reason. But as she found herself laying in that cave, the thought of her daughter surrendering herself to protect someone else stuck with her as deeply as that of her fallen comrades.

"…I may or may not know anything about the people who did the job," Ariel replied. "But I do know who paid for the job, and who facilitated the deal."

"…Well?" Coleridge asked after motioning another commando to record her statement.

"…The client who ordered the job was Tek-Baron Jefferson, from Detroit. Not long after they disappeared, Jefferson struck a deal with Urangal for supplies and equipment in exchange for his warpath against California. And this deal was overseen by a broker named Levi Glasser, who works on behalf of the Rocky Mountain Exchange. Not many people know this, but Levi answers directly to Abacus, the real head honcho."

"Who's Abacus?" Coleridge asked.

"…I don't know," Ariel shook her head. "I've never met them, and Levi told me that they "don't talk to the help." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know where Abacus is holed up, but I do know where Levi is."

"Where?" Coleridge growled.

"…I want a deal," Ariel said.

"Our deal is we don't leave you for dead out here," Coleridge snarled in agitation.

"Urangal's wives and kids," Ariel stated. "They're with Levi. He's under expressed orders to eliminate them the moment he feels his operation is compromised. They die, and this war goes on forever. They live, and it's over the day after."

Coleridge stared down Ariel. "…A blank slate?"

Ariel's side flared up in pain. "That sounds great," she winced. "Levi's base is in Aspen, it's this town that's about three days out from Denver. It's in the mountains and well-defended, but they never expect visitors to find them without permission, anyway. They know me. I can get in, secure the Khans, and you guys can come in like an old-world cavalry and take all the credit."

Leaning forward, Coleridge stared down Ariel, warfare instigator-for-hire. "…Why the sudden change of heart? A woman like you doesn't switch sides easy. What gives?"

"…You a family man, Coleridge?" Ariel asked.

"Married to the job," Coleridge replied, dryly.

"So was I," Ariel nodded. "Domestication isn't really our thing. I gave it a shot, popped out a kid and everything, but that's not something… I don't have much, Major. My parents died when I was young, my brother died fighting cultists, and my gang was wiped out by you and yours among others. All I have is a daughter who will only show up to my funeral so she can kick the coffin in deeper. I guess… I just want to leave something to show…" Ariel paused. "…You guys still have a standing order to shoot the Governor if the opportunity arises?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Coleridge lied.

"You Cali-shits still think you're entitled to Vegas just because you bled too much for it? I don't know why Lars had such a high opinion of you people. He did you a favor taking that place out of your hands," Ariel scoffed.

"Oh, spare me the courier praise, groupie," Coleridge moaned.

"He kills one incompetent general and suddenly he's on a kill list? Governor Perez isn't your best friend, Cali-shit, he's your only friend. So quit looking at Vegas like its prime real estate and maybe you'll spend less time competing with your neighbors over fucking turf."

Ariel knew she was playing a dangerous game. Levi, appropriately for such a slimebag of an individual, was merely a tentacle of the greater beast. However, he was a very big and well-connected one. If something happened to him, Abacus would notice and would panic if they thought their operation was compromised. Abacus would have to move, to expose himself and be vulnerable for the first time in… no one could know for sure, except maybe some of the old-timers like Emma. Regardless, giving the family she left behind the means to fuck with the organization she abandoned them for was the closest thing to a meaningful apology she could think of.