Chapter 41: Interceptions
Major Coleridge looked over the reports before him, his staff having decrypted the messages relayed from HQ. It was interesting, to say the least. And a headache, to be honest. Just when he had cornered his target, this had to come along.
Gorobets and the Vegas trash royally botched the mission. Not only had hostilities been instigated with the locals, with or without assistance from a ghost, but they had lost their VIP, the entire operation undermined by a fucking custody battle. And now, a few of the pencil-pushers back in California expected him to run interference for someone else's op. He groused as he flipped through the report, focusing on a map before him.
Ariel Ximenez was a mercenary of some renown and no friend of the NCR. Initially, her feud with the nation did not start of her own volition, but that of her brother, Eduardo "Eddie" Ximenez. A dead cattle baron left the siblings on the run, fleeing to Vegas before disappearing into Legion territory, and from there to parts unknown. Funny way of saying Texas, Coleridge scoffed.
In the years that followed, coming after the dissolution of Caesar's western territories, Ariel had resurfaced minus her brother. A young but hardened gunfighter, Ariel's team of outlaws found themselves in the employ of the fledgling Mojave Nation, with their leader catching the eye of the Governor himself, Lars Perez.
What followed could generously be considered a romance. Agent Lupral was very detailed in monitoring their relationship, keeping an ear out for potential anti-NCR sentiments whilst the couple engaged in one of their nocturnal trysts. The top three topics she had been able to glean from the transcripts were whether or not sandwiches were complete meals, whether or not to keep the kid, and Mexico. No dice.
Of course, about a year after repelling a large pack of subterrain reptiles, the rail-lines near the Mojave border started getting hit. Mostly consisting of silver robberies, although every now and then an NCR weapons shipment would be lifted. There were suspicions as to the culprits, which were effectively confirmed upon the sudden exile of the Ximenez Gang from Mojave territory proper. Looks like even the Governor had limits.
Governor Lars Perez was a man Major Coleridge hadn't really made up his mind on. On one hand, the Governor had undermined years of work on California's behalf and usurped an entire country for himself. On the other, he had often argued rather effectively that he had only taken advantage of opportunities the NCR allowed him to. As he had become the NCR's knight in shining armor in the last six months of the war, what was there to stop him from crowning himself king in the end?
Of course, some people were designed to be conquerors, not administrators, but the Governor was capable of delegating most of his responsibilities. The Vegas City Council ran most of the legislative issues of the Mojave Nation, led by none other than a former Enclave ex-pat, who much to Coleridge's eternal chagrin was off-limits to assassination by his commanders, lest the resulting destabilization undermines the NCR's best/only ally. Still, at least they had another on record.
Even so, as annoying as this distraction could turn out to be, it could very well be a blessing in disguise. According to the map before him, the route the abductors were likely to take would take them right around their local area of operations. While Coleridge wasn't one to gladly risk his men against an admittedly experienced group of armed fighters, the custody of one Rosa Perez was a tempting opportunity. Returning her to Gorobets and that little scouting expedition would guarantee a promotion for him after his tour was over. Taking her with them back to California for safe-keeping, however, could present them with a significant opportunity for political leverage. The Governor would do anything to keep his little princess safe, up to and including calling in every military favor he could manage to watch after her (look how well that was going, he thought, derisively). Should, however, they manage to keep the girl safe from harm in the finest and most secret safehouse California could provide, the dear Governor would likely find himself… persuaded to be more malleable to Major Coleridge's friends. In such an instance, perhaps Major Coleridge could find himself running the California Intelligence Bureau by year's end.
Still, ambition aside, he was a leader, first and foremost. Taking on two dangerous groups, one after the other, could prove fatal to his manpower. He had already lost five of his men to Legatum ambushes, and another two were fatally wounded by plasma in a shootout. Already, he was dreading the assault in the mines where they were holed up, an action that he knew would get a lot of proud and loyal Cali patriots killed. In truth, his preferred course of action involved drawing them out and engaging them outside their new turf, but without the correct bait…
Coleridge once again looked at the estimated path that the abductors would take. Assuming they were heading to the Rockies, their current course would take them right next to the Legatum's last holdout. He looked once again at the dossier of everything they had gathered up on the group's leader. Born in the Enclave, served the Legion for what had been most of his adult life, and in his lifetime both were destroyed by two individuals who, if certain rumors were true, were related. If Coleridge knew his target, and in the previous years he felt confident, he could not pass up this opportunity.
"…Tech Sergeant," he ordered. "Broadcast to all local assets to keep on the lookout for a group traveling with a woman named Rosa Perez."
"Sir? Local… assets?" the techie repeated, confused by the notion that the commandos were operating independently, without support or even public knowledge in California.
"Broadcast in all available frequencies. Tell them California has posted a bounty on returning the girl alive," the Major continued as he lit a cigar.
"…Yes, sir," the techie saluted, a pit of dread forming in his throat as he complied. The Major puffed on his cigar. It was a risky gamble he was playing, but this opportunity could allow a hunter to kill two crows with one shot. Granted, he would be putting the girl in a little bit of excessive danger, but as his former commando instructor had taught him, better them than you.
"…so yeah, Mom took Pop to the cleaners and we moved to Scottsdale," Dinero grinned. Larain had become so acclimated to his constant chattering that the sudden onset of silence had thrown him for a loop. As things stood, he could not tell if his savior was either slowly undergoing dementia or was simply a pathological liar. The girl nudged his hip with her elbow, indicating that now was his time to talk.
"…That's very interesting," Larain replied.
"Oh, and he talks, too!" Dinero replied in a chipper tone. "So, don't worry about paying us back or anything. Let's just say we're solid if you help me out with a little quandary we find ourselves in. Looks like the three of us are out of a home," he grinned. Larain looked to the old man, then down to the girl wearing sunglasses. These two didn't look like they'd be safe in certain neighborhoods in the Res-by-the-Res, let alone the wilderness.
"…Why did you spring me out, anyway?" Larain asked.
"Because I just felt like being a good Samaritan," Dinero grinned. "Sides, Marc here did all the hard work," he added as the girl nodded.
"…Well, thanks," Larain said. "…I'm not sure how I'm supposed to help you, though?"
"…Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," Dinero dismissed the issue.
"I mean, I don't even have a gun," Larain continued.
"We'll be fine," Dinero replied.
"And why go through the risk for me. I mean, wouldn't it just be easier to get your own gun and…"
"Nah," Dinero shook his head. "My hands ain't what they used to be."
"…And who the hell are you two, anyway!" Larain finally let out. "I mean you've been talking for hours and I don't even have the faintest idea of who you two are supposed to be anyway, so I have no-"
"OH, MY GOD!" Dinero suddenly screamed. "ALL THIS COMPLAINING, NO WONDER YOUR OLD MAN LEFT!"
"…I'm… sorry," Larain got out, confused and a little on edge by the sudden outburst.
Dinero started to laugh nervously as his previous temperament returned. "…Sorry, this is the first thing I've gotten to a break in… weeks, it seems. I have a lot of faith in you, kid. I'll just leave it at that."
"…My old man?" Larain asked, pressing the issue.
Dinero winced as he wondered how to play it off like a joke. "Y'know, like… the big boss who keeps you young'uns in line," he chuckled.
"…And who's my big boss?" Larain folded his arms, unamused.
Dinero glanced down at Marcy, who seemed to be ignoring him. Cursing his luck and tongue, Dinero figured the best way to handle this situation was to slowly walk him through it. "…You just reminded me of someone I knew," he admitted.
"…And?" Larain asked, unimpressed.
"This guy was… a beast," Dinero continued. "One of the most ruthless and talented warriors I've probably ever seen, not that I'd consider myself an expert," he admitted. "And you… are his spitting image," he smiled.
Larain felt uncomfortable. His time with the Legion had been brief, but not enough. He still remembered bits and pieces of his time from then, that which he hadn't managed to repress. The less he brought up that part of his barely remembered life, the happier he'd manage, but right now he wasn't looking at any better options.
"…You knew my father?" Larain gulped.
"YES!" Dinero cheered as he hopped up and down in a triumphant victory dance. Marcy curled her lip as she looked around them. Larain just stood awkwardly as he waited for the celebration shimmy to come to a stop. "I knew it," Dinero cheered. "I knew you had to be him. His kid, I mean," he quickly added. "How's he doing?"
"…Dead," Larain replied, flatly and neutrally.
"…Oh right," Dinero laughed nervously, kicking himself. "…Silly me. ANYWAYS! Your old man and me go way WAY back! And if you are half the man he was, this little issue I'm dealing with shouldn't be any trouble!"
"…Let me make one thing clear," Larain's demeanor darkened. "Do. Not. Compare me to him."
"I mean, he was one of the greatest legionaries ever," Dinero shrugged. "Is that so bad?"
"Horrendous," Larain replied. "I'm not him. I want nothing to do with him. The greatest favor he ever did for me was fucking off and dying."
Dinero looked devastated. "…I mean, I realized that the relationship between you two might have been complicated, but I would've thought…"
"You didn't think at all," Larain snapped. "You sprung me out of jail because I look like someone who brutalized Arizona and got himself killed. Thanks for nothing. We're unarmed and defenseless and going to get jumped by a deathclaw," he said as Marcy shook her head.
"We can work something out," Dinero tried to placate. "Besides, I just know that if we work together, we can do something amazing down the line, I just know it, kid!"
"…What's my name?" Larain asked as he placed his hands on his hips.
"Eh?" Dinero cocked his head to the side.
"All that yakking out here, I don't remember you asking me once what my fucking name was? What's my name, Dinero?" Larain asked.
"…You know, I'm not super great with names," Dinero laughed nervously, but the expression on Larain's face killed any humor he tried to find. "…I know this, I heard them talking outside the camp," he racked his brain for something while Larain rolled his eyes in disgust. This all was just some sick joke. He was better off swinging back to the Rez and trying to find Daphne. Maybe if he threw himself at her mercy he could be invited back to the McGrath Clan in about a decade or whenever Cade finally died. Hell, maybe if he kept going north, he could find some primo land in the mountains and build that cabin he always fantasized about, maybe even…
"I REMEMBER!" Dinero cheered. "I BABYSAT YOU! YOUR NAME IS AB-"
The impact shattered Dinero's nose, knocking the older man on his ass as Marcy's head perked up. Dinero looked up to see Larain fuming over him, his shoulders rising and falling. The old man realized that he had pressed the wrong button. Larain was looking anywhere for a rock that could help him finish the job. Marcy had already rose her hands by the time the highway girls made their move.
A cloaked figure appeared on a rock with a Molotov in her fingers while a striking young woman pointed a submachine gun at the three. A third, slightly older woman appeared at the head of the travelers, holding a machete in her only hand. "That's some nice gear you three have," she grinned. "Part with it and we will spare your lives."
Dinero clutched onto his knapsack as Larain's eyes darted between the three women. Marcy gulped as she looked to Dinero, hoping this gamble would work. Thankfully, Dinero made the first move. "You can't rob us, we're Legion!"
The young woman with the submachine gun started to snicker while the cloaked woman let out a hissing laugh. The older girl, presumably the leader, smirked. "That's quite the cute ploy. Won't do you any good."
Dinero struggled to come up with something, anything to get him out of this situation. His silver tongue had gotten him into and out of so many scraps he couldn't even count. All he had to do was come up with the right words. After agonizing seconds of nothing, suddenly he had an insight he had never felt before to say words he had probably never said before.
"LEGIOS AMAZONIA!" Dinero called out. The three women stopped, their laughter silenced as the leader approached Dinero. Resting a foot on the knapsack he was clutching, the woman rested the blade of her machete against Dinero's neck. "…Well, aren't you so knowledgeable about who we are," she cooed, playfully. "Tell me, proud son of the Legion, can you tell me who is the leader of Laredo?"
How the heck am I supposed to know that? Dinero thought to himself. "Praetor Milius," he answered. Why the hell did I say that? The woman looked to her partners as they began to lower their weapons. How the fuck was I right?!
"…When were the Swamp Wars?" she asked.
"2296," Dinero answered. "And it ended three years ago with the defeat of the Sons of Dixie, the Voodoo Convent now acts as a client nation."
"NERD!" the woman holding a submachine gun called out. "SHUT UP!" the leader called out. "…Correct on all counts," she admitted. "…How many children has the Oracle given birth to?"
"…Officially?" Dinero somehow felt compelled to ask as Marcy bit her lip.
"…Your call," the leader answered.
"…Legatus Barabbas is the Oracle's first and only," Dinero announced as Marcy looked away, looking like she was about to cry. Larain placed a hand on her shoulder, which seemed to calm her down.
"…Sisters, it looks like we have a loyal son of Caesar in our presence," the leader said as she drew her sword away from Dinero's neck. "My name is Delilah, and these are my sisters Sophia and Ferra. It appears that you require assistance and protection. We shall provide you and your…" she paused as she looked at the two others with him. Dinero looked back at the two and came up with something on his own.
"The strapping young lad there is my bodyguard!" he let out.
"Where's his gun?" Sophia asked.
"…Didn't you just see what he did?" Dinero pointed to his nose. "With fists like that, guns are a handicap!"
"I'll take a spare if you got one," Larain said. The cloaked woman made some hand gestures. Sophia nodded and turned to look at Larain. "Good question, Ferra. So, why did you slug your boss in the nose?"
"…Pay dispute," Larain lied.
"And who is the brat?" Delilah asked.
As Dinero was about to respond, Marcy rushed over and hugged him. "…Grampy, Grampy!" she forced out as she held on tightly. "…Sure, why not?" Dinero cheered as Marcy groaned.
Delilah looked over the three. "So, I guess that leaves you, then. Who are you, son of the Legion?"
"I am Markus Tiberius Dinero!" he announced as he stood up, knocking Marcy from his shoulders as he posed triumphantly. "I am the chief administrator to the Legion's most prosperous western frontier province. I ran the largest copper mine this side of the Rio Grande, and with your help, I would very much like to reestablish control over that which is rightfully mine!"
"…Ladies, a conference," Delilah announced as the three huddled. "So, yeah. This guy is an idiot," Delilah whispered as Sophia nodded her head.
"We have a copper mine out in this dump? Why?" Sophia added. Ferra began signaling abruptly and quickly. Delilah and Sophia took her "words" into account. "…You sure?" Delilah asked, to which Ferra nodded vigorously.
"…Right, so maybe he is legit," Delilah picked up. "What's stopping us from waiting until they pass out and-" she clicked her tongue as she motioned slitting something. Behind them, Marcy let out a hiss as she backed Dinero and Larain behind her.
Ferra began signing again. Delilah glanced at her for a moment, then peeked behind her to look at the girl. "…You sure?" she asked as she returned. Ferra gestured her percentage. Nothing concrete, but enough to hold off anything drastic. "…Right then, best behavior, girls," Delilah nodded.
"So, what's the plan?" Sophia asked.
"We keep her alive, and those other two assholes as well," Delilah decided. "Then, it really is a matter of who we find first."
"You think she can hear us?" Sophia asked.
"…I imagine if she could, we'd already be dead by now," Delilah said, and Pariah was sorely tempted to prove her right. Nonetheless, her mother's toadies wouldn't move against Dinero or the sulky one, so with their safety guaranteed, Pariah dropped her guard and helped Dinero pick up his knapsack, while Larain was currently resenting the fact that his life had been saved twice by someone he was fully prepared to kill. If nothing else, he was prepared to let things go, so long as what belonged in the past stayed there.
The men loaded up their plasma weapons, taking into account their energy cells as their second in command barked out orders. "Phil, take your squad and recon the pass! Voltus, prepare an ambush on the riverbed. I'll confer with the boss and join you all. For the dark legacy!" The men grunted in affirmation as they filed out of the caves. Sheol turned and dropped his previous demeanor. Their leader had been in a terrible mood recently, and atomizing one of the men he believed to be a nuisance wasn't unheard of.
The chamber was the best lit in the caverns, a collection of gas and electric lanterns gathered around an individual sitting on a chair. Around him were cannisters of oxygen and other medicinal objects, all in an effort to extend his life further than his body wanted to allow. The old man turned to acknowledge his subordinate before hacking out a cough. "…What now?"
"We've intercepted communications from that Californian commando battalion," Sheol saluted. The leader scoffed at the notion but allowed his subordinate to continue. "A band of outlaws is scheduled to be passing through our territory in the near future. We estimate three days at the most."
"Relevance?" the leader groaned as he siphoned some medicine from an inhaler.
"This band has, in their possession, a person that you will be most interested in," Sheol grinned. "A girl."
"You're boring me, get to the point," the leader snapped.
"This girl is royalty," Sheol continued. "Rosa Perez."
The old man ran his hand down his face at the sound of the name. Already he could see the direction where his subordinate intended him to follow. Of course he would be excited by that prospect, and of course he expected his leader to share the enthusiasm.
"…One last gift before the grave?" the leader asked as he turned to face Sheol. "What's the plan, we hold her hostage in these caves? Amuse ourselves of her company before returning her worse for wear? Tell me, how many more enemies do we have to fight?"
"This is about something more important, my leader," Sheol insisted. "This is about the greatest act ones such as us can partake in. The principle we were founded on. This is about revenge." As he said the final word, Sheol noticed that his leader had mouthed it simultaneously, as if predicting that this was where he was going.
"…Sheol, my dearest and most beloved son," the leader spoke, sarcasm palpable. "Rosa's father destroyed the Legion I had served. And according to the stories, his father blew up my home and sent me into the wastes."
"I knew you would understand," Sheol smiled as he bowed his head.
"And you continue to be ignorant about everything in the world around you!" the leader snapped. "We are not Legion, we are not Enclave. There's nothing we have to gain, there's nothing left to fight for! You fight for a sick old man with nothing left. You want control of these people, take it," the leader spat as he began hacking up a lung. "Join the RMX, go help the Cabal, sign back up with the Legion, I don't care!"
"Sir, we all live to serve you," Sheol pleaded.
"AND LOOK WHERE THAT GOT US?!" Dalton screamed. The man had been robbed of his home by forces out of his control twice over. The first as a child, the second had been warped and twisted beyond recognition. Dalton had tried to go out on his own and make his own future. What he had actually done was create a pack filled with dogs of war that no one wanted. What good was a band of mercenaries that had nothing but contempt for a world that showed them the same in kind?
He had started this group with roughly one hundred members, the remains of a maniple he ran with his dearest friend. The numbers would fluctuate over the years, and rarely positively. Despite securing a stockpile of plasma weapons, the outnumbered flagless soldiers were hunted and nearly eradicated multiple times in the group's short and brutal history, this conflict with the Independent Commando Battalion promising to be the final engagement for his remaining twenty men.
Dalton looked around him, at the tomb his men had so graciously gifted him to remain for his last days. It was cold, dank, with stale air and still reeked of the smoke they used to flush out the survivors of the town they razed. This whole operation was stupid, and so transparently, nakedly a trap he was almost surprised Sheol couldn't recognize it as such. Almost, he thought with contempt.
"So, what do you want me to do, Sheol?" Dalton groused as he leaned his head back and pulled out his plasma pistol. "Cuz I feel like playing radiation roulette until I win."
"…Would you rather do that than this?" Sheol asked, having gotten acquainted with his leader's melodramatics. "After twenty years of fighting, you're ready to die an old, lonely man in a cave? You are Dalton, the last of the Enclave and True Legion. Die in this cave or in battle, it makes no difference to me. But I know what you'd rather do."
Dalton sighed as he stood up, walking over to his clothing rack. He took the belt, with a sheath for his machete and holster for his plasma pistol, and tied it around his waist. He threw the overcoat over his back, and took the Enclave cap, and placed it on his grey head. "…One last fight," Dalton muttered.
"I knew you'd see reason," Sheol smiled as he left his commander. Dalton stared ahead, thinking back to the last kind action he had ever taken, selling the son of his best friend to a bunch of hippie libertarian gun nuts. He could not tell if he had regretted that action or had been envious of the boy that he had a chance to not mess up his life as this tired old man had. Where all he had to look forward to was lighting up a complete stranger who happened to be related to people he didn't quite care for. If he was lucky, maybe now he'd finally catch that bullet he'd been waiting for after so long.
Excerpt from the Judicial Marshal Basic Training Guide and Manual
Legatum Saeva: A group of ex-Legion mercenaries who have acquired a stash of Enclave plasma weapons and equipment, this is one of the few Legion separatists that managed to survive Caesar Lanius's purges, thanks in no small part to their leader known only as Dalton. While initially a high-level threat, attritional losses have stunted the group's effectiveness, thanks in no small part to our apprehension and elimination of key members. While the bounty on Dalton is still in play, we estimate that the group has about five years after his removal before it dissolves into petty feuds and ceases to exist. They're not worth the effort, so just let this sick animal die on its own- Commissioner Floyd Wilson
A/N: Greetings, scalies! Engagement matters to me, and because silence speaks volumes, based on the information I've gleaned from the last chapter I've come to a conclusion. I'll just say that it appears most of my fanbase consists of those who "enjoyed" the Trochili. As I wish to cater to my audience, I am willing to implement certain scenes going forward that will cater to those interests. However, if you do not want a vivid description of Sawney's cloaca, I'm going to need some general feedback.
P.S. Continued silence will be read as positive confirmation to proceed.
P.P.S. Eruch and Interfectorem (thanks again for Dalton, btw) are barred from voting on this matter. They can't save you now.
P.P.P.S. In all likelihood, this is a joke. Probably. Maybe. Do you really want to take that risk?