Chapter 44: Battle Plans
The maps were laid out on the table. Pre-war and post, diagrams and schematics, and a general sense of the basic layout. Circle Junction was a fortress without a flag, its history being passed down and whored out to whoever used it as a refuge or shelter. After the bombs fell, this train junction was settled by survivalists, then the tribals who followed and drove them away, then by the Legion who used it to process manpower and what manufacturing Caesar didn't abolish, and then finally the Liberty Clans who chipped away at their new borders, growing ever emboldened by the receding horde.
The leadership stood around the table. Captain Milligan, War Chief Tandi, Captain Rathmore, Captain Wallace, Sergeant Hutsgy, Deputy Chiefs Bowen and Harbuck, and at opposite ends of the table Colonel Gorobets and Commissioner Boone. Deliberately, Natalie began marking points of the map.
"Chokepoints and killzones would, optimally, be located here, here, and here," she stated. "We didn't come equipped to handle a siege, so if we rush them, we need to avoid these points no matter what. Clear?" There was a general murmur of acknowledgment around her.
"Nonetheless, we can't pass up the opportunity," Gorobets added. "The situation before us may very well be the only chance we have to neutralize Inculta and shatter this "Cabal" in front of us. This expedition has already gotten off the rails, and regardless of whether or not Cassidy will succeed on her end…"
"She will," Natalie interrupted, eyes not leaving the map.
"…This chance to eliminate Inculta represents a win we very much need," Gorobets picked up, eyeing the commissioner. "Without a doubt, he's likely the strongest thing holding the Cabal together. Probably the only thing."
"It would make more sense, be more his style, if he waged an attritional war against us as we went forward. Consolidating everything together, baiting us into a big confrontation, this isn't just battlefield machismo and pride," Natalie shook her head.
"They're falling apart," Captain Wallace thought aloud. "They know we can't keep running from them, but at the same time, none of them are on the same page."
Natalie nodded. "The Liberty Clans are divided, the Pelt-Brutes cannot be team players for a long period of time, and the Ministerio has no loyalty to anyone. If everyone is in this box, they're going to chafe on one another."
"So why not just wait them out?" Captain Milligan brought up.
"We don't have the supplies, genius," Sergeant Hutsgy replied. A moment of silence passed before the non-com quickly saluted. "Sorry, sir! I thought I was talking to my staff!"
Tandi, Rathmore, and Bowen fought back snickers while Gorobets and Wallace glared daggers at the overburdened sergeant. "…Forgiven, sergeant," Milligan allowed the remark to slide.
"…We're running short on water and medical supplies," Hutsgy began again, diplomatically. "Considering the Cabal's playbook, I would bet a paycheck that they've figured out what our supply situation is."
"So that's what brings us here," Gorobets picked up. "Neither the AEG nor the Cabal can afford a long war, so we're betting everything on this one battle. They're ready for a siege, but we're all on the same page, so it looks like this is going to be a fair fight."
"Fantastic way to make your army smaller," Rathmore scoffed.
"Which is why we will not be fighting fair," Commissioner Boone said as she held a map containing some sewer lines.
"Here it is," Rathmore sighed as he looked over the map. "These passages should be covered by now."
"We have some demolition packs we can spare for barriers," Hutsgy chirped up.
"And you have some very capable engineers in your unit," Gorobets added. "So, mines and traps shouldn't be an issue. A small team inserted within that will attack simultaneously with the rest of our units should be enough to breach the walls and scatter most of the Cabal. These people aren't soldiers."
"Be wary of the Ministerio, though," Natalie interjected. "If you get in a firefight with them, you're going to take casualties. I know from personal experience that those guys excel in environments like this. If nothing else, those guys won't break like the others. We will have to systematically destroy each and every one."
"So, I think we've come up with a decent enough battleplan to start with. We'll hit that place from the ground, above and below. Shock and awe, enough time for our teams to breach the walls. After that, we hunt down and identify Inculta and the other leaders. That should be enough to pacify the Unclaimed Wastes during the rest of our stay here. Any questions?" Gorobets asked.
As the meeting ended, Gorobets pulled aside Natalie as the rest of the officers and leaders filed out. "Are you sure you're OK?" Gorobets asked.
"I'm fine," Natalie nodded her head.
"You sure?" Gorobets folded his arms. "I can run the op myself, if you aren't all there, it might be for the best if…"
"I need to focus on something," Natalie snapped. "We've got too much riding on this for me to curl up in a ball and feel sorry for myself. I shouldn't have brought them along, it's just that simple," she added under her breath.
"So, I can rely on you going forward?" Gorobets asked.
"The Marshals are well acquainted with the Liberty Clans and the Ministerio, you'll need our experience," Natalie shot back. "The Pelt-Brutes, well, I've heard rumors about them from Floyd, and going off them, I'm not sure we're the ones that need to be worried about them."
"You don't think they have the discipline to endure the battle?" Gorobets asked.
"They're raiders, Gorobets. They'll only throw themselves at an army so often until they decide that there are easier targets," Natalie explained.
"An easier target like?" Gorobets asked.
"…Let's just say that I hope the Liberty Clans evacuated all non-combatants from that fortress," Natalie answered. "And got as far away from there as they could have gone."
The ranch was modest and lonely. Its sole occupant was tending to the garden, the meager crop of xander root as much his sustenance as it was his hobby. Near the barn, the brahmin were feasting on the feed he had traded what scant surplus he had raised. This wasn't his job, he retired, but this hobby had given him something to work on at a pace he could manage. If nothing else, Ulysses was content.
Finally, after years of working as a spy, agitator, and nearly a terrorist, Ulysses could enjoy the last years of his life in peace and tranquility he could not have imagined as a younger man. And this was after his years serving as trainer and advisor to the Judicial Marshals, a job that he had earned a remarkable level of pride in, finally building something he did not eventually learn to despise. In his age, Ulysses had finally learned to settle.
Dull as his senses were, his instincts were as heightened as ever. He acknowledged the presence before they even announced themselves. "…Your empty hearth must be driving you mad if you come to me for company," the elder wastelander said as he stuck his spade into the dirt.
"I just came to see if you were doing alright," Craig Boone lied.
Despite sharing the title of founders of the Judicial Marshals, Craig Boone and Ulysses rarely, if ever, saw eye to eye. One time Ulysses had made a statement that could generously be construed as supportive of certain Legion practices, and in return Boone refused to speak to him for five years. Ulysses figured that the stoic sniper was still yoked by his emotions, whereas Boone was eternally weary of the ex-Legionary, his wife having to constantly assure him that he was good around their kids and had to talk him down from stalking him more than once.
"Friendship is hard to come by at this age," Ulysses said as he dusted his palms.
"We're not friends," Boone quickly stated.
"And yet you seek out me instead of the Governor or Wilson or the likes of IA," Ulysses openly mused.
"Whatever, I'm really not in the mood for your cryptic bullshit," Boone snapped.
"I have beer in the fridge," Ulysses countered.
And so, the two sat on the porch, beers in hand as they looked on the horizon. An hour passed without a word spoken between the two, followed by another. Halfway through the third was when Boone finally broke, as Ulysses knew he would.
"I haven't gotten a status update from any of them," Boone said. "I'm blind about the situation in the east and it's driving me insane."
"Were you a good teacher?" Ulysses asked.
"What?" Boone asked, caught off-guard.
"Were you. A good. Teacher?" Ulysses enunciated.
"…I taught them everything I know and everything I wish I knew at their age," Boone replied.
"Then you've done everything you could have. I know Natalie did her best. As did I," Ulysses said as he stretched.
"I should be out there with them," Boone hissed. "Sitting on my ass here waiting on them is enough to make me even more stir-crazy."
Ulysses glanced at Boone's bum leg. He remembered that mission, down south near Mexico. Padre Hex and his acolytes had been edging ever closer to the Mojave. So the fledging Judicial Marshals, with support from the Ximenez Gang, went to answer them. The mad priests were fatalists, but each and all capable fighters, and their leader was no exception. It was he who personally shattered Boone's leg, almost killing him had it not been for the intervention of Ariel, Natalie, and Ulysses himself. They drove the monster back, saving his life while the Governor himself brought the Padre to his knees. His leg never really recovered, and his career in the field had come to an abrupt halt, which ate away at him.
Ulysses could sympathize. Though he relished his current state and retirement, a small but loud part of him wished he could have been two decades younger, fit to wander with his hands and eyes. Now, with one of his eyes blind and his long hair bleached pale, he was an old man in a world that tolerated very few of them, unless they were kissed by radiation or enslaved into mechanical shells. No, old age was inevitable, but not to be feared.
"…Your children will be fine. We both taught them everything we know about the wastes, and any gaps that we overlooked they can learn. They are quick and clever, so long as they remain together," Ulysses smiled.
Boone fumed. Ulysses was impossible to rattle, always calm. Boone was just stoic, bottling up his emotions unless he figured it was important. Ulysses was calm, always calm, truly calm. The kind that many might mistake for weakness or apathy, until the world was on fire. It was infuriating, really.
"…Well, I guess we all could use distractions," Boone said as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out two tickets. He was a regular ticket holder and patron of the Thorn, one of his few hobbies that didn't relate to work. As a founder of the Judicial Marshals, regular free tickets were one of the few privileges he regularly indulged in. Normally he shared his tickets with his wife or kids, but now that he was home alone, he found himself with an extra ticket "You a fan?"
"Not particularly. Blanco exploits the combat arts, perverts it for profit."
"So, you don't want to see a man try to beat a deathclaw to death with his bare hands?" Boone asked.
"Really? I thought that was just publicity. Lionel is that deadset?" Ulysses interest perked, despite himself.
"Blanco is upping the date for the fight. Apparently, the one he found is getting real ornery and they pushed the date to this Saturday," Boone explained.
Ulysses stroked his beard. "…I'm not the first you've asked," he stated, flatly.
Boone threw up his hands. "Wilson isn't interested and said he had some business to attend to up north. Bishop is babysitting his grandkids again, and Lars is just being unusually secretive. He hasn't even left the Lucky 38 all week."
"Heh, it's as I thought," Ulysses chuckled. "I imagined you'd have also asked Dr. Gannon before me."
"I did!" Boone enunciated. "He's been acting weird. Scouring lawbooks and talking to his Follower buddies about animal rights and how much it takes to tranq a deathclaw. I asked him what was up and he told me not to worry about it. Must be the Enclave in him, loves his secrets," he scoffed.
"…Did you place any bets?" Ulysses asked.
"Nah," Boone shook his head. "I hate Lionel's guts, but that doesn't mean I want a deathclaw to show'em to me. Truth is I just need to get my mind off it, and maybe a night at the circus is what I need. Also, my wife will jump down my throat if she found out I gambled on a fight with our money."
"Not a fan of chance, I see," Ulysses nodded.
"No, she'd just want a cut," Boone chuckled.
The two work-friends shared a rare laugh. As they did, somewhere in Westside, Emma was radioing her teams, sketching out a timetable while Bad MFKA entertained a handful of the local hired help. Writing on a slip of paper, she motioned for a ghoul to take it. "Mojave Supermax, lower floors, ask for Gidjit. Don't get caught until you deliver," she snapped. As he left, Emma looked at the map before her, of Vegas and the surrounding area.
Such a small nation, one crisis would be enough to stagger the whole of it. A crisis like a prison break, or an attack on the power grid, or a northern invasion. One of those would wound Vegas, make it malleable. All three would cripple it, leave it to her mercy at the behest of her employers. And all without the trump card she had right up her sleeve. Jake had no idea how expensive this favor she granted him would turn out to be, but for the immediate future, he would never think to ask. She looked at the calender once more, seeing Saturday. Two days until the Project. Two days until she turned out the lights.
The tribunes were filing out, as were the various consuls and quaestors. Scorpio waited patiently as several of the attendants gathered their things. There were little left then the two of them, save for some of the menial servants and a scribe beside the throne. Scorpio took his chance and approached.
The figure seated atop the metallic throne gazed upon the consul as he approached, eyeing him suspiciously as Scorpio made a sweeping bow. "Grand Caesar, might I have a moment of your time?"
The great armored figure shifted in his seat. "Consul Oklahomus deigning an audience with me and not the Senate? This should be entertaining," Caesar Lanius muttered.
Caesar Lanius had been seen by many as second only to Caesar himself. Though many in Imperial Texas did not remember the days of the First Caesar, it was through his authority that Caesar Lanius was granted the near godhood afforded to him. That and his bitch, Scorpio thought to himself.
"My Lord," Scorpio bowed. "May I take a moment to apologize on behalf of your son for his actions and behavior, as of late."
"Your apologies are meaningless," Lanius growled. "Empty prattle that only serves to annoy me. Out with it, Oklahomus, what do you want?"
Scorpio looked up to Lanius. "…Considering Barabbas's continued absence, I would like to offer myself as substitute heir, should he not return," he said, being upfront and honest as Caesar would prefer.
"You have so little faith in my blood that you seek to usurp it?" Lanius rumbled.
"You have so much faith in him that abandoned his father and empire to search for a wastrel?" Scorpio said before bowing his head, humility on full display.
"…She is as much of my blood as him, Scorpio," Lanius replied. "I pray for his success, as a father and as Caesar."
"So much that he would trade his responsibilities and duties to chase after your lesser child?" Scorpio stated.
Lanius grew quiet as he leaned towards Scorpio. "…Careful, Scorpio. Mind your tongue."
"I am only repeating what the Oracle has stated publicly," Scorpio countered. "And to my knowledge, you have never challenged her."
"…The matters of my family are my business, Scorpio, and mine alone," Lanius growled.
"And when your heir leaves on a meaningless chase, does it remain a family matter, or can it then become an imperial issue?" Scorpio shot back.
Lanius grabbed the blade embedded by the side of the throne. Scorpio once again bowed his head. Slowly, Lanius released his grip on the handle. "…Because you chose to speak to me in private, your insolence shall be forgiven. Gratuity for your northern campaigns. Were it not for them, you would be replaced."
"I thank you for your mercy," Scorpio bowed as he swallowed his bile.
"A capricious little politician you are," Lanius said aloud. "Scarcely a few weeks ago and you were trying to curry favor with my son. I never got the impression the feeling was mutual."
"Barabbas is… quite the competitor," Scorpio stated. "He's taken to seeing me as a rival when all I truly desired was his companionship, if not his friendship."
That got a rare laugh out of Lanius. "So much so that you offer him the choicest morsel from your latest conquest?"
Swallowing his anger, Scorpio continued. "A gift. One he must truly appreciate, seeing as she's the only one he took with him to the east."
"I imagine her kicking you in the head may have done more for that," Lanius muttered. Scorpio looked to Lanius, and whatever look was on his face had to have further amused Caesar himself. "HAH! I had thought nothing of it but the Oracle's rumormongering, but I see there is enough of a kernel of truth to it. Must be your personality," he chuckled.
"I was only seeking to discipline her impudence," Scorpio seethed.
"And that will be Barrabas's duty. I imagine she must be with child, by now. Little else she would be good for, out there. That or entertaining your uncle and their warrior riders," Lanius openly mused. "Regardless, whether he tires of her or not, soon he should have a new morsel to whet his appetite."
"Sir?" Scorpio asked.
"I've sent a letter to the Hostis Publicus. He requested military support. I requested to see his blood and legacy. He had a daughter," Lanius explained. "And if he now sees us as equals, then may his blood join with mine. A bargain, I know, whether he realizes it or not."
"…You would pledge your armies for a girl you've never seen before, to your son who isn't even here?" Scorpio asked, incredulously.
"No. I pledge my armies on the condition that his blood submits to mine, that through blood we will be bound. With my son's abilities contrasted with whatever talents she inherited from her father, what else could result but a true conqueror, through whom shall bring this broken country, no, this continent under our banner," Lanius announced. "Assuredly, it will make your efforts in the northern frontier look paltry, consul."
"…And should one or both fail to arrive in Dallas, my Lord, what then?" Scorpio asked.
"Are you offering to do the honors, Scorpio?" Lanius asked. "As amusing as the notion is, the future of Imperial Dallas rests on a bloodline. Mine… and hers," he reluctantly added.
"…Do you truly place so much faith in her abilities?" Scorpio asked.
"…There is no power in the Legion that can challenge or surpass her," Lanius admitted. "Nor any that may threaten to overwhelm my… our children. The only way to rule the Legion is through the family. Had Pariah remained, then perhaps in a few years you would be granted the opportunity you so desperately desired. Until then, I order that your 4th Legion march south. The Rio Grande has grown evermore restless since San Antonio, but the sight of your men should dissuade any further action on their part."
"…Understood, my Lord," Scorpio said as he rose from the floor.
"Scorpio?" Lanius asked before he could turn and leave. "What manner of contraption are you wearing on your head?"
Scorpio looked to Caesar, having prepared for the question days ago. "It's a device from the Cipher tribe, a trinket that supposedly alters fortune on a mathematical scale."
"It boosts luck?" Lanius asked.
"I'm testing it, mostly out of curiosity," Scorpio continued to lie. "So far, I haven't experienced any particularly blessed fortune. Perhaps I should have traded it to Barabbas for the woman I gave him."
Lanius surrendered a chuckle to that. "Never took you for the superstitious sort, consul. I hope you will spare me the sight of that ridiculous thing the next time we meet. As you were," Caesar dismissed with a wave of his hand. As Scorpio left, an attendant walked up to the scribe. "Gather your sisters," she whispered out of Lanius's earshot. "The Oracle has called us."
Leaving the Senate chambers, Scorpio was met with his second-in-command, Tyrus, and two of his senior centurions. Not returning the salutes, Scorpio leaned in to his subordinate and whispered. "Have your cohort stationed around the Senate. Be discrete, and disregard any orders you receive from the contrary, even if they come from Caesar."
"This is a dangerous game," Tyrus responded. "If we move against Caesar, the rest of Dallas…"
"We" will make no such moves," Scorpio tutted. "Have you so little faith in your commander? I would never ask you to risk such an action that would imperil all of us. Now, be obedient and relay my orders. I have to go check something."
He could not tell if it was good fortune or something else that stopped the Oracle from attending the meetings as she usually did. The excuse she gave was that she was under the weather, which most of her staff insisted stemmed from the loss of her children to the wastes, her maternal worry strangling her heart. More likely she realized, or at least suspected, that Scorpio had discovered a way to silence her "divine authority" and could not risk exposing her weaknesses to the masses. Still, a problem she remained, so he had to make sure that she was dealt with.
The basement of the Senate was often treated as a vault where treasures from conquests or tribute from vassals were stored before they were divvyed up by the ravenous ambitions of the Senators and their pets. One of Scorpio's such tributes came in the form of a series of waist-high containers, the contents of which were a mystery to everyone who could not decipher the code on the electronic locks that vacuum-sealed the lids. Checking his surroundings, Scorpio typed the code on the keypad, the lid releasing steam as it popped open.
The metallic frame rose up, its single ocular light emitting a red pulse as it identified Scorpio as its chosen owner. "…Machine…" Scorpio began, unsure as to how to proceed with what was in front of him. How does one talk to an inanimate object, as fruitless an endeavor as it was talking to a weapon or appliance or a woman. "…You are to serve me, forevermore, machine," Scorpio decided to settle on.
"…Designate mission parameters…" the static-y radio voice replied.
"…Most of you can wait until you are told what to do, until I give the… designated signal," Scorpio recited the exact phrase he had been given. "But you… I have a different mission for you. Assassination."
"Designate target," the machine stated.
"Your target is stationed in the Coliseum of Fort Wrath, about a day's walk from here to the west," Scorpio tried to explain.
"Insufficient data," the robot replied.
"…The Coliseum," Scorpio enunciated. "The Coliseum, the big… round building that doesn't have a roof. And I want you to kill the Oracle."
"Insufficient date," the robot replied.
As Scorpio growled and prepared to strike the machine, a floating eyebot decloaked and moved next to him. "Having trouble with my instruments?"
"Abacus, would you be so kind as to translate?" Scorpio asked. The eyebot turned to its side, revealing a coin slot. Annoyed, Scorpio inserted a few aurei into the device.
"Machine, I demand that you head to the Coliseum and eliminate Sybil the Oracle, discreetly," Scorpio ordered. Abacus let out a series of beeps and pulses. The one-eyed robot took a moment to register the commands before stepping out of the container, taking a minute to cloak itself before heading up the stairs. Scorpio then looked to the rest of the containers. "…Seven left. More than enough."
"Might I offer you more support?" Abacus asked.
"That won't be necessary. Every tragedy needs a hero at the end," Scorpio mused. "That way no one will question why their hands are stained in blood."