It was late afternoon, and we were finally on the move again. I had taken a new dose of the painkillers Mash had offered me last night in Edison's dungeon, so my hip wasn't causing me too much pain.

I also felt well-rested, having gotten to take a risk and get some cuddling sleep with my beloved Mordred. I had no idea when my beloved knight and I would get another chance to cuddle before we got back to Chaldea, so we enjoyed every second of it.

When we had woken up, had a proper lunch, and were getting ready to go, though, I had a most unusual present from Geronimo, though not one I was reluctant to accept or anything like that.

I had been given a new tool, so to speak. A Springfield M1903 bolt-action rifle. Geronimo's followers were armed in an unusual mixture of old-fashioned and modern rifles. Slightly under half of the group were armed with bolt-actions that were either scavenged from the field of battle or from deserters of Edison's army. Naturally, there were no Celtic deserters.

In addition to the rifle itself, I had been provided with a bayonet and two bandoliers that each held sixty bullets, each in a clip of five rounds, making for a grand total of 120 bullets. Several hundred more bullets were stored in the back of the truck that Mash, Mordred, Ritsuka, Nightingale and Rama, Geronimo, and I were in.

To my surprise, Geronimo was bringing his entire force with him, about two hundred and fifty soldiers. When I had asked him why, he had told me that he couldn't leave the men and women who had followed him this far to fend for themselves in such an unfriendly environment. Furthermore, each of them had become relatively skilled drivers and mechanics, something that none of us had. So, for better or worse, I had agreed to let them accompany us, though I had stipulated that they would keep out of fighting unless otherwise stipulated, to which Geronimo had wholeheartedly agreed with.

"Sir, we're about thirty minutes from the outskirts of the location you gave us," reported our driver, Private Oliver Lawrence. I had learnt that the kid was a defector from Edison's army, or at least, in a way. He didn't agree with Edison's methods, and so had continued the fight under Geronimo's leadership. The fight was also personal for him: Celts had overrun his town and massacred over 80% of his village, including his parents and newborn sister.

"We're approaching the location where I had last met two other Servants. They are both of the Archer class, though you will have to ask them in person for their True names. I can assure you fully that they are both infamous Servants who specialize in guerilla warfare."

"Well, it's a good thing that it seems we're looking to also commit guerilla warfare," I said with a grim smirk. Geronimo nodded.

"Indeed. Unless they run into a particularly powerful enemy Servant, they are unlikely to lose in combat. If you can even get close to them. Of course, they're at a big disadvantage in terms of numbers. Like we discussed earlier today, the best any one of us could achieve is the reduction of enemy numbers, which is currently of dubious value considering how quickly replacements are generated."

"What have they been up to?" Ritsuka asked softly. Geronimo gestured at the desert-like terrain we had entered. The climate of America I had known was vastly different to this one. Deserts were supposed to be more common towards the southwest, not the southeast as we were headed.

"To reduce the amount of damage reaped by the enemy. Celtic soldiers are laying waste to the land as they please. Such savagery is easy to identify," Geronimo said contemptuously, and I knew from reading history books that there was more than just a little bit of personal experience with which the Native American was relaying.

"Savagery… As they please," Mash repeated softly, looking rather distraught at the Caster's words. Ritsuka and I both noticed, and my fellow Master reached out and gently gripped Mash's right shoulder supportively. "Are they not united in one group?" Geronimo shook his head.

"Not objectively speaking. It's obvious that their purpose is seizing control of this land, however. So, they probably have a single overall objective, but how they will accomplish it is left up to each individual."

"Why?" Mordred pressed, her brow furrowed. While she hadn't fought the Celts herself in her life, Britain was still dealing with rapacious invaders of their own. The Picts of modern-day Scotland, and the foreign Saxons to the East and South. She was well familiar with dealing in marauding and war-like groups.

"The literature suggests that Celtic soldiers can be downright vicious and ferocious," Doctor Roman answered.

"Indeed," Rama suddenly spoke up. "As far as I saw, the Cu Chulainn who I encountered massacred all opposing soldiers. His nickname as the 'Child of Light'? What a joke. He's truly fallen into darkness already… Ugh!"

I stared at Rama, strapped to the back of Nightingale. "Having fun with that piggy-back ride over there?" I asked dryly, and Rama shot me a rather dirty look.

"I told you that this wasn't my idea!" He protested, and I couldn't help but expect for him to pout at any second. "It was this iron-willed nurse who…ugh!" His diatribe ended as soon as it had begun when Nightingale began to 'adjust' the straps binding Rama to her back.

"Jacob," she said, and I stiffened slightly at the drill instructor tone she was addressing me with. "Please try not to disturb the patient."

"Right, sorry," I said, quickly raising one hand in submission. And I thought dentists could be scary!

"As I have said multiple times, this is just an emergency transportation device rigged up by Medea and I." She paused, and a small smirk appeared on her lips. "It's not a mere body bag. It's a Rama bag." I blinked slowly, my brain replaying that last sentence again before I let out a soft snort.

Florence Nightingale, the Berserker with a no nonsense, business only mindset, cracking a joke? Granted, it wasn't exactly the most hilarious or anything, but it was still apparently a joke. Talk about a day of surprises!

"U-Ugh," Rama groaned once more, turning a little green. Huh, apparently the Indian Heroic Servant suffered from some sort of motion sickness. Good to know. "To be carted around by a woman… How humiliating."

"You weren't used to being the helpless one, were you?" Mordred said, though without a sneer. Her fellow member of the Saber class opened his mouth to respond, but once more was interrupted by his…caretaker?

"Gender and age are irrelevant for patients. Do not forget that you have a severe injury and cannot walk."

"But we're not walking, we're riding in a car!" Rama protested.

"It's still safer this way," Nightingale insisted. A part of me was tempted to point out that by carrying Rama like that, she risked causing him further injuries should a combat situation arise, but then she might try to strap me to her back as well.

She truly lived up to her class name, alright. Plus, a Nightingale not focused on me meant a better chance of survival with all of my limbs in place. Geronimo coughed into his fist politely, looking rather awkward, and quite frankly I couldn't blame the Caster for feeling that way.

"Well, then. Going back to my briefing. As you might have noticed, the Western American military forces civilians in their own sphere of influence into Edison's factories, making them work on the Mechanized Infantry's mass production."

"We heard how he was giving them ridiculous hours, but I had hoped that it was on a volunteer-only basis," I said softly after letting out a long, disappointed sigh. Geronimo let out a sympathetic hum, while Roman let out a sigh similar to mine over the open commlink on my wrist.

"Wow. Edison really has turned into a dictator," Chaldea's acting-director said rather forlornly. I grunted in agreement, feeling disgusted by the idea of America being run by an authoritarian-leaning strongman.

"If it is of any consolation, Edison has not resorted to kidnapping or anything like that. My men and I have heard that many have sought refuge for the time being with him, saying that it's better than being slain by the Celts."

"Barely," Mordred grunted dismissively, her lips curled back slightly. Our Caster guide shrugged, before looking up ahead, over Oliver's.

"The war between East and West is at a stalemate. While it's a relief that we don't need to worry about the civilians at this stage…" I watched as he trailed off, before he suddenly stood up, raising a hand and letting out a soft whistle.

Silently, our convoy came to a halt. I pushed myself into a half-standing position with the butt of my rifle, having left the safety on. After all, it would be rather idiotic of me to somehow get myself killed with one of my own weapons. Especially after everything that I had survived thus far.

About two dozen Celts were on horseback. They seemed to be heading in a parallel course to the one we were taking but hadn't seemed to have noticed our presence yet.

"Looks like scouts," Geronimo observed. If we let even one escape, they'll call reinforcements. We're not in a position currently for a full-on engagement."

"Understood," Mash said, summoning her shield. "Do we let them pass, or-?"

Before Ritsuka's girlfriend could finish postulating a course of action, I felt the truck rock slightly, and Rama letting out a surprised gasp from behind. Whirling around, I saw that Nightingale and her reluctant passenger/patient were gone.

"Umm, Master, Jacob Senpai, what happened to Nightingale?" Mash asked, sounding more than a little worried about the Berserker's sudden action.

"Hmm," Roman hummed, sounding a bit dismayed yet also resigned. "It seems that she is on her way to engage those scouts."

"What?!" I roared, though more in frustration than shock.

"I shall purify the source of the illness!" Nightingale roared, about a few hundred feet away from us. "Time for your medical exam. Now, open your chests for me!"

"W-Wait! Do you intend on fighting while still carrying me?" Rama shrieked, before grunting in pain as he was jostled around on Nightingale's back.

To my frustration, I saw that the entire squadron of mounted Celtic warriors were wheeling around in the direction of the shouting. Well, at least it seemed that they were all focused on dealing with us now that the element of surprise had been lost.

"Atalante, can you use your Noble Phantasm to take them all down?" Ritsuka shouted to the truck right next to ours. The motherly Archer stood up, narrowing her eyes as she quickly judged the distance, then shook her head.

"Sorry, Master. Not unless you're willing to risk me catching Nightingale and Rama by accident," the Huntress reported. My fellow Master let out a soft curse, before shaking his head. I hummed, before leaning forward.

"Oliver, get us closer."

"What?" Geronimo asked. I gestured at the rifle I was using to support my bodyweight.

"We have plenty of these, don't we? Then why don't we use them?"

Geronimo nodded, a light of understanding entering his unearthly blue eyes. "Do it, Oliver," he said, before gesturing at the other trucks. His warriors began leaning to the front and sides, thus technically turning the retro-looking trucks into technical. The car began moving, and I braced myself as Oliver slammed the gas pedal.

I took up a crouched position, bringing to bear the latest addition to my arsenal. I breathed in and out slowly. While firing from the deck of the Golden Hind during Blackbeard's failed attempt to board us had given me a crash course on firearm usage, as well as the difficulty one could encounter whilst doing so on a moving surface, it was far easier to aim with a primitive flintlock on a ship than a modern rifle on a truck.

My first shot went wide, striking an innocent cactus. My second shot fell short. Third was closer, but still not good enough. It was the fourth shot that did it, and one of the lead enemy horsemen was thrown out of his saddle by the .30-06 caliber bullet I fired.

Working the bolt back, the warm brass cartridge flew out of the breech of the Springfield rifle, and I fumbled a little, still unused to using guns of any kind, before managing to work the bolt back forward properly, the last bullet of the five-round clip ready to be used.

I aimed again and pulled the trigger gently, and to my grim satisfaction I saw the Celtic horseman that I had lined up my iron sights with fall out of his saddle as well. I took no pleasure in the killing, however. I refused to become like Edison. Like my fellow American. Yes, the Celts were enemies, brutal ones, but giving in to hate and wishing their extermination wasn't right. Our actions would wipe them out, yes, but it wasn't our main intent, but a side effect. Edison was the opposite.

That was what separated me from the so-called 'presi-king'.

Geronimo's followers also began to open fire, as did Atalante and Drake, using their bow and pistols, respectively. Closer to the head of the charging mass of warriors, Nightingale began unloading on the horseback warriors with her own revolver.

The Celts barely knew what hit them, and less than a minute later, a dozen horses ran off in various directions, riderless. The rest lay in the dirt with their dissolving riders. Oliver drove the truck up to the side of Nightingale, as she reloaded and then holstered her pistol.

"Um, Nightingale?" Mash asked, polite yet uncertain. "We planned on letting the enemy go by without seeing us, so if you keep rushing in like you just did, it causes us trouble…"

"And don't go off fighting with me on your back!" Rama added for good measure, trying his best to cross his arms over his chest. Sadly, it was hard for me to imagine him as the royalty he had been in life at that very moment. "I'm your patient, remember?"

"Healing my patients is always my top priority. All other matters are not my concerns," Nightingale replied, dismissing Mash's and Rama's concerns with her usual brusque manner.

"Senpai. Senpai," Mash whispered to Ritsuka softly, though loud enough that Mordred and I could hear her. "Nightingale won't listen to us." Fou clambered up her back, resting on her head like some sort of silly stuffed hat, before nodding.

"Fou, fofooou…" It trilled rather mournfully.

"Hey, Jacob, Ritsuka," Rama said, staring at my friend and I with pleading eyes. "It'd be nice if you did something about this…"

"But she's a Berserker," Ritsuka said with a soft sigh.

"But she's Nightingale," I said at the same time. This time it was Mash who let out a weary-sounding sigh.

"You're right," she said, slowly shaking her head. "I'm beginning to realize that a conviction you can't compromise is a type of Madness Enhancement in and of itself."

"Makes you wonder if this was a result of her becoming a Servant, or if she was this intense in life," Mordred added.

"Luckily, we should reach our destination soon. The two Archers are in that town beyond the ridgeline…." Geronimo's voice trailed off as he looked over my shoulder. I watched his eyes widen briefly before narrowing into dangerous slits of supernatural-colored ice.

"Oh, that can't be good," Mordred muttered, right before her helmet re-assembled itself around her face once more. My own eyes narrowed slightly, as I watched the black clouds billow up to the high heavens, while the taste of ash and the smell of burnt wood were detected by my senses.

"Doc, what readings are you getting?"

"It's not looking too good, Jacob," Roman replied a split-second later. "I've confirmed the presence of multiple enemies and two Servants. No sign of any civilians. The latter seem to be surrounding the town. Hurry!"

"You heard the man, let's move!"

"Hey, where's Nightingale?" Ritsuka suddenly asked. I whirled around, and to my frustration, I saw her sprinting towards the cloud of smoke, with Rama shrieking like a banshee on her back.

"Oh, no," Mash muttered, her eyes wide and panicky, before she looked at Ritsuka and I. "L-Let's go!"

"You heard the lady, punch it!" I roared, reloading my rifle as I felt the truck begin to accelerate as we hurried to catch up with our errant nurse.

The town looked a lot like the one Geronimo had taken us to this morning, save for one crucial difference: this village was on fire. Arrows littered the ground as if it and the town were one giant pincushion for the attacking Celts.

Thankfully, Roman's report was accurate regarding the matter of civilians, for the only bodies I could see were those of Celts who hadn't finished dissolving into nothing yet. Of course, there were plenty of their comrades still drawing breath.

They were concentrated at the center of town, surrounding what looked to have once been a church. Somehow ladders were either brought or found in the town and were being placed against the bell tower.

I squinted as I saw a blur of green at the top. "At least one person is up there," I said, pointing at the top of the structure.

"That's probably the two Servants we're supposed to be meeting. We better hurry, before we lose them and Nightingale and Rama."

"See a little irony here?" I asked Geronimo softly, shaking my head.

"American cavalry riding in at the last second?" Geronimo responded wryly. I nodded, hoping that I hadn't made a stupid mistake by trying to make a joke of sorts. To my relief, he let out a soft but amused huff.

"Never thought I would be part of such a charge. War has a way of surprising us all, though. Especially Holy Grail Wars."

"Indeed. Oliver, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir!"

"I'm not a sir," I muttered. As I expected, my response was ignored, as the truck carrying us, as well as the one closest to us carrying the rest of our Servants, began driving down the slope of the hill at full speed. I was extremely grateful that Mordred was tensing up to launch herself into the back of the Celtic horde instead of driving.

My beloved Saber really needed to have some driving lessons…

Less than a minute later, we were in the town, figurative, for the most part at least, guns blazing as we reinforced the four Servants already engaged in battle.

Mordred, Jeanne Alter, Fran, and Chulainn made especially quick work of the Celts, while Medea, Atalante, Drake, and I wreaked havoc on the foes closer to the church. The battle passed by in a blur, and soon the Celts on this half of the town were defeated.

From the sounds of it, however, the other half of town was still occupied by the survivors. They were probably on their way to avenge their fallen brethren all while maintaining their seemingly suicidal attack.

I stood up, getting ready to dismount and ask for Mordred to help me down, while Mash delivered her usual battle report to Ritsuka and I, sweating slightly from the exertion, but virtually unscathed, along with the rest of the group.

"Most of the Celtic warriors have been eliminated—" Mash started to say. Like a bad omen, my commlink began going off once more. I breathed in deeply and answered it.

"What's up, Doc?" I winced internally as I realized I just pulled a Bugs Bunny.

"I'm picking up a strong enemy presence," Doctor Roman suddenly said, alarmed. "It's a big one…"

"It's not another dragon, is it?" Mash asked, bracing her shield as she and Mordred assumed their normal defensive stances in front of Ritsuka and I, respectively.

"No, this…this is a new type of demonic beast," Roman reported, the alarm in his voice evolving into borderline panic. "Please be cautious!"

Our temporary boss had barely finished uttering his plea when we got a good look at the thing that Roman had detected, and good lord, how I wish I hadn't.

"The hell is that?!" I exclaimed, feeling rather nauseated as I stared at the pupil staring back at us. It was slitted, and the eye rarely blinked. Its color was best described as that of molten lava, and as if to further lend credence to the metaphor, several white-gold veins extended towards the 'flank' of the monster. The rest of its body was purple, and of course, it had tentacles. The tips of the tentacle ended in a blood-red coloration. It didn't make any noise, and I found myself wishing we were facing off against another dragon like Mash had inquired.

After all, we had Jeanne Alter on our side this time. And it sure as hell wasn't for nothing that she held the title of 'Dragon Witch', as she had the power to exert her will and thus control wyverns and all but the eldest and most intelligent of dragons. I couldn't help but wonder if she would have been considered a member of the Rider class, were she not an Avenger.

"It looks like some sort of beholder!" Ritsuka exclaimed. I blinked, before craning my head around to look at my fellow Master.

"You play Dungeons and Dragons?"

"A little bit," Rits admitted with a sheepish expression. "My sister was a Dungeon Master, and so I got to hear about a lot of the various monster bosses that players might encounter."

"Huh," I hummed, unable to help myself in spite of the less-than-ideal situation that we were currently in. "Learning something new every day."

"Oh, seeing animals here," Nightingale groaned softly, reloading her pistol with much gusto. "Just how unsanitary can this place get?! And they're so many different kinds… A true hotbed of bacteria. I'll get triple the disinfectant ready!"

"I see," Rama said slowly, sounding equally impressed and unnerved by Nightingale's rant. "So, that's the first thought in your mind seeing this? Incredible!"

"Somebody should introduce her to Clorox," I said softly. Ritsuka and Mash both snickered at my remark. Though, in all honesty, should she answer any of our summonings once we get back, I was going to introduce her to the popular disinfectant wipes. Might actually help mellow her out regarding that obsession of disinfectant that she had.

"Orders, Master?" Mordred asked. I nodded, all humor leaving my body, leaving my mind focused solely on the upcoming fight.

"Mordred, you and Fran will focus on Mr. Eyeball over there. Astolfo, summon your mount, and see if there are any more of these things on their way. If they are, or any other reinforcements short of Servants, you may engage at your discretion."

"Okie dokie, Master!" Astolfo said with a playful salute, before summoning his faithful hippogriff. With a display of agility that would make Olympic athletes green with envy, the French paladin vaulted aboard the mythical creature and gently nudged its flanks with the heels of his boots, and Rider and mount took off into the air.

"What about me, Master?" Jeanne Alter asked, a feral look in her eyes. But I already had my response at the ready.

"You will deal with the Celtic reinforcements."

"Understood," she said with a grunt.

"Mash, assist Mordred and Fran. Atalante, Drake, focus on the enemy reinforcements," Ritsuka said, leaving off the unspoken request to not hit my Avenger by accident. Medea, hold back in reserve. Jack, you and Chulainn will assist Alter on the frontlines."

"Aye, aye, Master!"

"You got it!"

"Right!"

"Understood."

"Very well."

"Let's do this, Master!" Mash shouted, ending the choir of verbal agreements. I took a half-step back that was more of a shuffle and kept my newly-acquired rifle at the ready while our Servants launched themselves once more into the fray.

Original Endnotes: And done! Thoguhts? Hope I'm not making Jacob be one of those uber-powerful OCs by giving him a gun and all. Also, decided that it made more sense for the group to have a more modern form of transportation than going it on foot across all of America. In addition, I plan on reducing some of the regions the group goes to, though not cutting out scenes like I did in Rome. Makes sense, I hope?

Now, for the question(s) of the chapter! First up: What was your favorite Servant interlude for those who play FGO, and why? Second question: How has all of your summers been?

As always, thanks for reading, and for all the support you've given me by reading, commenting, bookmarking, subscribing, or leaving kudos! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and let me know what you think please! Have a wonderful next few days, and see you in Chapter 115!

Updated Endnotes 02/28/24: As always, if you want to be fully caught up with The Will to Fight now, feel free to visit my original copy of the story on Archive of Our Own, with Chapter 293 having been posted on Monday. Otherwise, have a wonderful rest of the day, and see you all next time!