Chapter Two

Fiddler's Green

The Ruins of Fort Knox, Kentucky

My name is Preston Marlowe, and my story really began back at the Jefferson Memorial. My buddies and I were a part of the 222nd Infantry Battalion, the unit that got the worst of the action. Liberty Prime, the same patriotic robot that we'd learned about in history class, tore us to ribbons alongside the Brotherhood of Steel. It was unlike anything we'd seen before, and yet, through it all, we somehow managed to survive.

When the battle was over, the few of us who were left had to make a choice. We could follow the chain of command and accompany Colonel Autumn out of the Capital with our tails between our legs; or, we could fight and die for our country at Adam's Air Force Base, following the directives of an unelected, psychotic computer president who had killed himself not even a few days ago. While my buddies and I decided to follow Colonel Autumn, the rest of our company decided that they were going to disobey the order to retreat. As a result, us four misfits were the last men standing out of an entire Battalion.

With the 222nd gone, Autumn was nice enough to take us in under his own unit, the 69th Infantry Regiment. This meant that on the Sixth of June, we just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to make a little history. Of course, my friends will tell you that we were all doing our patriotic duty, and keeping a watchful eye out for any danger that might have threatened the Army's property. But every man's got to find his own reason to fight, and some of us just so happened to be looking for another…


At a glance, the grass that grew in Kentucky all seemed to be dead. Somewhat ironically for the "Bluegrass" state, it was all a blackish gray, and was nestled in equally dead-looking gray soil. The grass, however, was still very much alive. Necessity had forced its evolution, alongside the nuclear fallout and traces of the Forced Evolutionary Virus that had been released into the atmosphere during the Great War. But, even in such a hostile environment, with such odds stacked against them, the grass still lived, and even grew.

But Preston and his squad, Bravo-One Charlie, were not looking for a biology lesson as they kept their eyes on grass. On paper, the four of them were meant to be on the lookout for hostile infiltrators and wildlife, since Fort Knox was still government property. However, it had been months since they'd last seen any major fighting, and the last few uneventful patrols that Bravo-One Charlie had conducted through the ruins had proven just how safe they were. They were perhaps a little careless, but that didn't mean that they were opposed to a stroll through the area.

After all, Fort Knox had always been famous for more than its safety.

Preston carefully opened the drawer of a dresser that had somehow made its way out into the middle of the dirt path that the squad was patrolling. A small part of him hoped that some enterprising scavenger might've decided to stash a bit of stolen gold in such an unassuming location, but all that he found were some moldy socks.

Standing beside him was Private Terrance Sweetwater, who, unlike Preston, had been fortunate enough to be issued with a set of Mark II Advanced Power Armor. Back in the day, every Enclave soldier had gotten such a suit, but years of defeats had taken their toll on the Arsenal of Democracy. "Haggard, will you stop digging around in every trash can you find? I can smell you with my helmet on! Why the hell are you even looking in there?"

Across the path, Private George Gordon Haggard Jr., honorable soldier of the United States Army that he was, pulled his head out of a trash can that hadn't been emptied for more than two-hundred years. "Gold Sweets, twenty-four karats! What kind of motivation do you need?! Don't tell me you're afraid to get your hands dirty!"

"What kind of scavenger throws gold in a garbage can?" Sweetwater pointedly asked.

"You see, that's just it Sweets! You're a city boy, you wouldn't think of it!" Haggard replied, gesturing towards the now-filthy helmet on his head. "You wanna find something a scavenger hid, you gotta think like one, right Preston?"

"Right!" Preston affirmed.

Although even as he spoke, his attention was momentarily grabbed by what almost looked like movement. It was hard to make out exactly what he'd seen, especially at what must have been at least three-hundred meters distance. Whatever it was, it seemed to be moving around at the base of one of the trees that was actually alive, and judging by its uneven shape and blackened bark, it was probably just as mutated as the grass.

Their squad leader, Sergeant First Class Samuel Redford, turned back to face him. Unlike the rest of the squad who had their sights solely on the gold, the Sergeant had been continuing along with their actual mission of patrolling for any enemies. Like Preston, he was clad in American Combat Armor, painted in black and gray tones to blend in with the scorched Wasteland. "Marlowe? Did you see something?"

Preston squinted further at the spot in the distance, but no further movement could be seen. "...I could swear, I thought I saw-"

As Preston spoke, a pair of bright red Northern Cardinals took to the air from right around the spot where he'd first seen the movement. They were far enough away that they were just red specks, but they were common enough in Kentucky that Preston knew what he was looking at. Their tweets and calls could be heard even before the birds flew over their heads, heading westward.

Redford still looked to Preston expectantly, and the younger man shrugged in response. "I guess it was just those birds."

"Stay frosty," Redford reminded him, before turning his attention to Haggard and Sweetwater, who had not ceased their bickering. "And you two! If you're gonna be lookin' for gold, the least you can do is keep an eye out for mines while you look! Do you really think a Wastelander's going to leave a bunch of gold unguarded?"

Sweetwater stuttered a little as he replied. "Yes, Sergeant Redford."

Haggard, however, had a more thoughtful look on his face. "…And what if someone put a mine in a garbage can?"

Sweetwater shook his head in disbelief but kept his eyes firmly on the ground. "Haggard, do you really think the locals are that paranoid about racoons getting into their trash?"

"Both of you, shut the hell up!" Redford ordered.

For about a minute's worth of silent walking, all seemed calm. A few more birds flew past them, enough that it was easy to notice.

"What's with all the birds?" Preston asked, looking at Sweetwater. After all, Preston knew that when it came to normally useless information, Sweetwater was the resident expert.

"I don't know, maybe they're migrating?" Sweetwater suggested. "It's a little weird though, I thought they did that in Spring."

"Wait a moment-" Redford said. Preston and Sweetwater turned to face him, half-expecting to be scolded for not shutting up when ordered to, but Redford had a far more concerned look on his face. "Maybe there's some-"

Redford was interrupted, however, by a triumphant cry of victory from Haggard. "Holy shit! Lookie here boys!"

The three turned to see him standing up again, having previously had his head in the stump of a fallen tree, but from the apparently hollow interior, Haggard withdrew a small ingot of gold. Haggard held it triumphantly up for all to see, and even with his helmet on, it was easy to imagine the jubilant expression on his face.

"I told ya Sweets! I fuckin' told ya!"

The three of them stood dumbfounded as Haggard danced with delight, before Redford swiftly killed the mood. "Haggard, shut the hell up! There's something up ahead of us, we-"

The realization had come far too late, however, as a high-velocity rifle round struck the side of Haggard's helmet. Had he been wearing a lesser suit of armor it would've surely been instantly fatal. As it was, he stumbled onto his side under the force of the impact.

At once, the whole squad threw themselves to the ground as more gunfire, and even a laser bolt, flew out over their heads as the ambush was sprung. Preston hastily rolled into the ditch on the side of the dirt path for cover, but not before another rifle round struck him in the right forearm. It stung like all hell, made worse by the puddle of dirty water he'd rolled into, but at least now the bullets were going over his head and not into it. His laser rifle was still in his hands, but he had to see the enemy before he could shoot them.

The ditch made for a bad position, but Preston could still see Haggard and Sweetwater had made it to more solid cover on the other side of the road behind a boulder. Within moments Haggard was returning fire with his Plasma Rifle, and Sweetwater with his Gatling Laser. Their cover fire gave Preston enough time to peek over top of the ditch he had crammed himself into. The young soldier's eyes widened as he saw their attackers for the first time, and the sheer number of them that were present.

The closest ones had taken cover maybe fifty meters from Preston's ditch, with at least a dozen of them visible from various positions of cover; mainly trees, rocks, and ditches. What was so strange about them was that they didn't look like an ordinary raider gang, they seemingly weren't even wearing any armor. Instead, they were all uniformly clad in gray outfits, wielding an array of long rifles, including a laser weapon that glowed an ominous red.

Preston couldn't see where Redford was, but he heard him shout out orders from somewhere across the road. "Marlowe, get a smoke grenade out! Regroup with us!"

Wasting no time, Preston reached down to the belt of his combat armor and unfastened a smoke grenade, pulling the pin and throwing it in between their enemies and his path of escape. It was a very short throw and the grenade ended up exactly where he wanted it to, spewing out a steady stream of vision-obstructing smoke. It wouldn't stop any bullets, but it would make him harder to hit, and staying where he was, separated from the rest of the squad, would've been suicide.

While the smoke began to spread, Preston took the opportunity to try to suppress their attackers with a few laser blasts. Aiming accurately was nigh-impossible, what with the superior cover of the enemy and his already wounded arm. Even so, he did manage to violently and messily sever the arm of at least one of the men, whose screaming could be heard even over the gunfire.

After about half a minute, the smokescreen had become as thick as it was going to be, and Preston knew that he had to take his chance to cross the road. Even so, with all of the fire coming in, it was a daunting prospect. Swallowing his fears, he clutched his rifle to his chest and stumbled out of the ditch, trying to stay low as he could hear the snapping sound of rifle rounds passing his head. He crossed the road successfully, but as he dove behind cover with Sweetwater and Haggard, another bullet struck him across the chestplate, immediately knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to the ground.

"Marlowe, stay down!" Redford shouted. Even through the smoke, Preston could see him now, returning fire with his own laser rifle. "Haggard, Sweetwater, lay down fire while I help Marlowe!"

It was impossible to hear their reply as what must've been a grenade exploded just in front of their cover, blasting a good chunk of the boulder away as shrapnel and bits of rock landed all around them. By now, Preston could see the small river of blood that he'd left in his trail, and Redford held him steady as he dug Preston's First Aid Kit out of his chest rig and fitted a tourniquet to his arm. Redford then injected a stimpak into Preston's opposite arm, before handing the First Aid Kit back to him.

"That'll have to hold; cover me while I call for backup!" Redford ordered.

Now no longer in imminent danger of bleeding to death, Preston joined Sweetwater and Haggard in exchanging fire with their attackers. The concealment offered by the smoke grenade was largely gone now; more rifle and laser fire hammered the boulder in front of them as more and more of the uniformed enemies emerged. There had to be at least three dozen in imminent view, but more were becoming visible by the second.

"Where the hell did these guys come from?!" Sweetwater shouted. As he spoke, a laser blast struck him across the shoulder plate. Luckily for him, it would take a lot more than a single laser shot to punch through Enclave Power Armor. The culprit was swiftly reduced to a pile of fiery red dust under a barrage from both Sweetwater and Preston.

"It must be scavengers, they're here for the gold!" Haggard answered, although Preston found it somewhat difficult to tell if he was being serious. Given the hit that his helmet had taken during the ambush, it was a miracle that he wasn't deaf. "Sweets, sniper in the tree!"

The machine gunner diligently redirected his Gatling Laser fire towards the sniper, and as their flaming corpse fell, Preston caught a momentary glimpse at the man's weapon. Far from some Wastelander's varmint rifle, it looked worryingly like a high-caliber anti-material rifle. The fact that the man had apparently climbed the tree so quickly while holding it was as impressive as it was concerning.

Aiming with a wounded dominant arm had been difficult for Preston even before the majority of his blood flow was cut off. As such, the best he could really hope to do was keep the enemy pinned down while Redford called for help. He tried to focus his fire on any of the enemies who were trying to flank them while Haggard did the same on the other side and Sweetwater covered their middle.

Redford was behind the three of them with his head down, trying to get the boxy hand radio in his hand to cooperate. "Break break break! This is Bravo-One Charlie, troops in contact! We-"

"RPG!" Haggard shouted in warning a moment before a rocket came screaming down the dirt road towards them. The four Soldiers ducked further into cover as the rocket struck the boulder before them, blasting it in half and knocking both Preston and Redford off their feet. A few bits of shrapnel peppered Preston's Combat Armor, but none of it seemed to make it past the plates.

Disoriented and dazed, the two of them would've surely been killed were it not for Haggard and Sweetwater, who hastily dragged them both behind the split halves of the boulder.

"We can't stay here, we need better cover!" Sweetwater shouted.

"The old event venue's right over there!" Haggard hastily voiced up a suggestion of his own, even as he reduced another of their attackers to a puddle of green goo. He gestured towards a ruined brick building, that was at most two hundred yards away, back down the way that they came on one of the paved roads.

"Event Venue?!" Sweetwater asked.

"Yeah, the Saber and Quill! They have a real' nice bar, lots of good stuff to loot!" Haggard answered. Preston couldn't help but roll his eyes, but perhaps Haggard's prior scavenging efforts would save their lives.

"It'll have to do!" Redford ordered. "Haggard, Sweetwater, get smoke out! Preston, lay down covering fire!"

The three soldiers complied, and by now, they could see just how badly they were outnumbered. There had to be at least eighty hostiles approaching them, and they were now close enough that they could even be heard. Their yells and battle cries were accompanied by what sounded worryingly like strategic orders. Preston soon lost sight of them however, as two smoke grenades began to obscure them from vision.

"Now, let's move!" Redford shouted. As the four broke off running, Redford put his radio to his ear and answered the stern demands for more information from, judging by Preston's memory of the Enclave's callsigns, one of the officers back in the Control Tower in Ashville. "This is Bravo-One Charlie, requesting immediate QRF. We've engaged some one-hundred foot mobiles and are falling back to the Saber and Quill Event Venue, over!"

Preston couldn't hear the reply over the hail of gunfire that poured down around them. The smokescreen did its job however, and barring a round that ricocheted off of the armor plate on his left shoulder, Preston escaped unscathed. The same could not be said for Redford, who even as he was talking over the radio, had it shot out of his hand and blown to pieces. A few bits of resulting shrapnel caught him across the hand and face, and Preston had to stop and drag him back up to his feet with his good arm.

"You okay?!" Preston urgently asked, helping him keep his balance as they continued to run as quickly as they could.

"I'm fine damn it, keep moving!" Redford reassured him, although Preston could see burns and cuts score the side of his face where the radio had detonated.

Behind the four of them, the first of the enemies ran through the smoke, throwing insults and taunting yells at them as they fired off even more shots at them. Sweetwater and Haggard briefly turned and engaged them, and Preston watched as seven of the poorly-protected hostiles fell in burning heaps, before the rest wisely took up better positions.

After what felt like hours of running, the squad arrived at the entrance to the event venue and hastily threw themselves into cover behind the brick wall. Bullets immediately began to impact the wall just as they took cover, tearing Pre-War Army Propaganda Posters to shreds as they landed. Sweetwater continued to lay down a hellstorm of laser fire down on the advancing foes while the rest of them reloaded.

"What's the call Sarge?" Haggard prompted, sounding out of breath even through his helmet. "Are we gonna have to kill them all by ourselves?"

"Reinforcements are coming… just not sure when," Redford replied, gesturing towards the burns and cuts that now adorned his face. "We'll just have to hold them here!"

"Reloading, cover me!" Sweetwater shouted. Preston and the rest of the squad dutifully peeked out from behind their cover and opened fire once more. The enemy was alarmingly close, to the point that Preston could not only hear them, but actually make out some of what was being said.

"-I said fry those damned Yankees! We've got a flamer, don't we?!"

"Flamer!" Haggard warned them, having apparently heard the same thing.

A quick glance across the line revealed nothing but rifles in the hands of their enemies, save for some who had what were now evidently homemade laser weapons. Preston watched as one soldier armed with such a weapon emerged from cover, took aim, before his weapon detonated catastrophically and blew him off his feet. From behind the now-incapacitated hostile, however, came another gray-clad attacker holding in his hands the distinctive projector of a flamethrower, pilot light ignited and ready to fire.

Ruined arm or not, Preston liked to think of himself as a decent shot, and his pride was vindicated as he managed to score a hit on the enemy's fuel line. The contents of the weapon were a mystery, but rather than exploding catastrophically like normal flamer fuel, it instead began to spew flaming fuel all around the man as the hose flailed and recoiled. At least five men immediately caught fire, screaming and fleeing as they desperately tried to extinguish themselves.

A stray bit of debatably-deserved sympathy for the men crossed Preston's mind, but he spared it no mind, there just wasn't any time for that. "Flamer down!"

"Running low!" Haggard reported as he reloaded his plasma rifle once more. As soon as he took cover, a high-caliber round flew right past where his head had been, and he visibly recoiled. "Jesus Christ, where'd these guys get their guns?!"

"Here!" Preston shouted, pausing his own fire to reach down into a pouch and toss Haggard one of his own Microfusion Cells. While Preston was aware that the move left him with only a single spare magazine, Haggard's weapon was the more powerful one, and despite his good shot earlier, Preston was aware that his aim was starting to slip more and more by the second.

"Thanks Pres!" Haggard jovially said, before converting another one of the attackers into a glowing green puddle.

"I'm running low too, and I think these guys know it!" Sweetwater shouted.

Sweetwater had already been firing controlled bursts of fire for the entire battle, but Preston had picked up on the fact that he was being a lot more picky with his shots. Sweetwater running out of ammo was particularly bad, not only because he held the majority of the squad's firepower, but because his Gatling Laser used the far more specialized Electron Charge Packs. Once he was out, nobody had any ammo to share with him.

Sweetwater's words were also more than errant speculation, as Preston noted that their attackers were getting a lot bolder. Some had even reached the distance where they'd started to shout "Grenade!" and throw things at them. After the first few objects bounced off of the brick exterior of the building however, Preston realized that they were actually throwing rocks, and had successfully baited him into sheltering for cover a few times.

Unfortunately, right as he'd wisened up to their scheme, they started throwing real grenades. The first few were fragmentation grenades, but they failed to blow down the sturdy brick walls which had stood since long before the Great War. What came after them was far more dangerous however... smoke grenades. Now their attackers were using the same tactic that they had used, only in reverse, to cover their advance as they pushed forward.

"We can't stay here, they'll overrun us!" Redford shouted. "Haggard, where can we hole up in here?"

"Fiddlers Green!" Haggard answered without even a second's delay. "Follow me!"

The four of them hastily retreated further into the building, and for the first time since the shooting started, were no longer getting immediately shot at. Sweetwater covered their rear, but still felt the need to voice at least one concern. "Isn't that where Cavalrymen go when they die?!"

"Not that one!" Haggard answered, before pushing open the door to a surprisingly intact bar and grill. "This one's just got nice whiskey!"

Sweetwater shook his head as he quietly closed the door behind them. "Why am I not surprised that you know about this place?"

"Keep quiet, we need to buy every second we can!" Redford urgently whispered.

The four of them hastily took up positions behind whatever cover they could find, doing their best to shelter themselves from the entrances and the windows. Even if they were boarded up, it was no doubt that the enemy would find out where they were sooner rather than later.

It wasn't even thirty seconds before Preston could hear the sounds of men kicking down doors throughout the rest of the building. Some shots were even fired, although, judging by the lack of pained screaming, they were likely just jumping at shadows rather than accidentally shooting each other.

"Hold your fire you ingrates! Save it for the damned Federalists!" One of their attackers shouted. Preston couldn't help but be a bit confused by the wording, but it seemed that, at the very least, their enemy knew who they were.

Bravo-One Charlie was, for perhaps the first time in their entire career, perfectly silent as they listened to the enemy hunt for them. The only noise that Preston made was when he checked his remaining ammunition, and saw that he only had half of a magazine for his laser rifle left over. After that, he was down to his ripper. But after much anxious waiting, the American Soldiers perked up at the sound of something else, something an awful lot more familiar.

The distinctive whirling of Vertibird Rotors… the Cavalry had arrived.

Preston couldn't help but smile with satisfaction as the leaders of the search promptly ordered their men to take defensive positions. It was too late however, and within a minute the sound of rockets flying was heard, followed by the sound of autocannon and Gatling Laser fire. Panicked screaming followed as the Vertibirds flew overhead, and it seemed that they were going to be safe after all… only for the door to Fiddler's Green to be kicked open by a gray-clad man with an old-world assault rifle. In less than a split second, he was shot dead by Haggard and Redford, but the dead attacker was soon joined by at least five more.

The Old World restaurant was illuminated by muzzle flashes, which were met by plasma and laser fire. Preston made every last shot count, and after a dozen men lay dead at the entrance to the room, the attack suddenly stopped. Small fires illuminated the room, and for a brief moment Preston held his breath, wondering if perhaps they'd managed to kill the entire squad that had come for them. It was too good to be true however, as a grenade came flying through the door.

Time seemed to slow down as Preston perceived something that he was sure that the rest of the squad hadn't. As the rest of the squad dove for cover, the small fires in the room illuminated the grenade just enough for it to cast a shadow, and Preston noticed that it was not an ordinary frag grenade. Instead, it was a pulse grenade, the detonation of which would no-doubt render the Power Armor that Sweetwater and Haggard were wearing into nothing but dead weight. It would leave them helpless, and he and Redford wouldn't be in a much better state.

So, naturally, he did something that was perhaps a bit reckless.

Preston dropped his nearly-empty rifle and threw himself forward towards the pulse grenade, landing right in front of it while the rest of his squad screamed conflicting instructions at him, with none of them seeming to realize his plan. As soon as he'd landed, he grabbed the grenade with his good arm and promptly threw it right back down the hall with as much force as he could manage from a prone position. Not a millisecond too soon as well, as the pulse grenade detonated almost immediately after it had cleared the door for the second time.

Pulse grenades weren't necessarily designed to be used against flesh-and-blood targets like a Human, but Preston could still hear the screaming from outside Fiddler's Green as the grenade's previous owners were given nasty electric shocks. Haggard took the opportunity to throw a fragmentation grenade of his own into the hallway as he grabbed Preston by the back-plate of his armor and dragged him back into cover. A few seconds later, the grenade detonated, and barring the sounds of shrapnel flying and bodies dropping, no further noises were heard from the hallway.

"Thanks Marlowe!" Haggard told him as Redford handed his rifle back over. "Say thank you Sweets, this man just saved your life!"

"Holy shit… thanks Preston!" Sweetwater added, seemingly still a bit shell-shocked at just how close he'd come to becoming entombed in his own power armor.

"Eyes forward, we're not out of this yet!" Redford barked, before looking to Preston. "Marlowe, how are you on rounds?"

A quick inspection of his laser rifle told him all that he needed to know, and it wasn't good news. "Five shots."

"Not much better here, think we should stay put?" Sweetwater proposed.

"Hell no! Let's just take some of their guns and go kill 'em into teeny-tiny pieces!" Haggard argued.

At the very least, Preston saw the wisdom in having a weapon with ammunition, and scooped the pistol out of the hands of one of the dead gray-clad bodies. It was an old .45 Autoloader, with only seven rounds in the mag, but that already more than doubled Preston's remaining ammo.

"We stay here, we're just gonna get more grenades thrown at us," Redford pointed out. "Sweetwater, break one of those windows open, see if there's anyone outside!"

By now, the sound of battle all around them had intensified, and the distinctive reports of laser and plasma weapons could be heard. It seemed that their reinforcements were on the ground, and they had engaged the enemy. Of course, none of that could be seen, at least until Sweetwater broke off enough of the boards to see what was outside.

Haggard watched the door while Preston joined Sweetwater and Redford in spectating the ensuing carnage just outside their window. Enclave soldiers in their distinct Mark II Advanced Power Armor were engaging with the enemy in force, and utterly demolishing them. The battle became even more one-sided as Bravo-One Charlie opened fire from the window, catching the enemy in a crossfire, before all of those who could be seen from the window were dead.

As soon as shooting had ceased, one of the Enclave soldiers approached them, holding a plasma caster in his hands. Their armor was identical to their peers, with the exception of two distinctive symbols on their shoulder plates. The first was a yellow emblem with a diagonal black stripe through it, along with a black horse's head in the upper right half of the emblem, the insignia of the 1st Cavalry Division. The second was the twin silver bars of a Captain.

"Sergeant Redford? Are your men all still breathing?" Captain Mosley asked with a remarkable calmness given that all of the men behind him were now shooting at something that was beyond Preston's field of vision. In the sky, Vertibird gunships could be seen performing strafing runs on unseen targets, no doubt obliterating them entirely.

Preston stepped off to the side, allowing Redford to speak to the Captain through the window more directly. "Yes Sir. We've got wounded and we're low on ammo, but we're not out of the fight."

"Good, we've still got resistance clumped up around the main entrance." Mosley informed him. "Take your squad and see if you can hit them from the side, I'll let my boys know you're coming. Redcoat here will get you some ammo," he waved at his second in command, who was approaching from somewhere further back.

"Yes Sir, thank you Sir," Redford replied.

A moment later, Lieutenant Wellington Patchett came up to the window and passed a rucksack up to them. While he might've had the name of one of America's old enemies, he was anything but, even if he had inherited a strange accent from his family. "Here ya go lads, and remember, don't play nice."

The squad dutifully dug in, with Preston briefly swapping places with Haggard so that he could rearm as well. Inside of the rucksack were enough Microfusion Cells and Electron Charge Packs to allow the team to fight the whole battle all over again, although with the way that things were going, that seemed to thankfully not be necessary.

Once the team had rearmed, Preston grabbed the rucksack and held it out of the window for Wellington to retrieve. Just as the lieutenant took hold of the bag however, they both watched in horror as a missile careened up into the air towards one of the Vertibirds. The pilot turned and deployed flares, but the missile turned along with the craft, and Preston winced as it collided with the Vertibird's fuselage. It fell to the ground in seconds, detonating spectacularly on impact as the munitions within began to explode.

Preston was stunned for a moment before Redford grabbed him by his good shoulder and shook him. "Come on Marlowe, we've gotta go!"

Preston reloaded his laser rifle and followed the rest of the squad back out of Fiddler's Green. A handful of enemies stood in their path as they moved through the building, who were forced to retreat under the combined firepower of the fireteam. Sweetwater and Haggard's power armor took the brunt of the return fire while Redford and Preston followed along, helping whenever they could take a shot without shooting their brothers in arms.

The gray-clad men conducted a well-orchestrated fighting retreat back towards the entrance of the building, where they regrouped with what must have been the last of their group. Encircled and outgunned, their last stand was a futile one, but Preston noted how not even once did any of them seem to consider surrendering. Bitter and defiant, they spat insults and curses even as Haggard cut down the last man standing with a bolt of plasma through his heart.

"Cease fire!" Mosley shouted over the chaos, and steadily, the cacophony came to an end.

With the battle mostly over, Bravo-One Charlie half-stumbled out of the Event Venue, taking great care not to trip over fallen foes and discarded weapons alike. Preston himself nearly fell over his own feet as they made their way over to Captain Mosley and Wellington as he reminded himself just in time that he was not meant to salute a superior officer in the field.

As they reached him, Mosley turned to Wellington and issued him an order. "Lieutenant, take your team and clear out the building, make sure none of them escape."

"With pleasure,Sir," Redcoat replied, taking a small squad of Enclave Soldiers along with him as they moved to sweep through the Event Venue for survivors.

With the matter of the enemy now at least somewhat addressed, Mosley turned his attention to them. "Hell of a job boys, my pilots saw the trail of corpses you left from the air. I couldn't help but notice that you all holed up in the old Cavalry Bar, which is very much off-limits to you; but given the circumstances, I'm willing to overlook it."

Preston was still trying to figure out whether or not Mosley meant what he had said as a joke when one of Mosley's men shouted over to him. "Captain! Lieutenant Gannon's got some live ones!"

"Live ones?!" Mosley immediately replied. Even through the helmet he wore, Preston could practically sense the sheer disgust and displeasure on Mosley's face. "This had better be good… you four, come with me!"

Once more reduced to silence, although this time thankfully not by the enemy, the four soldiers dutifully followed the fuming officer around the building to find another officer, Lieutenant Arcade Gannon. He was accompanied by a small squad of medics who were trying their best to save the lives of two of the gray-clad soldiers.

"Lieutenant!" Mosley practically screamed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! Are you here to treat their wounded, or ours?!"

Gannon hastily stood up and replied with a remarkable calmness, underlined by an anger that almost seemed to match Mosley's own. "I don't recall the Colonel specifying when he gave me my orders, Sir. However, I believe he'll find value in what our prisoners will have to say, assuming they survive."

The whole squad watched with mixed shock and morbid fascination as Mosley seemed to be trying to decide whether or not he was really going to argue with a fellow officer in front of not only the four enlisted men who weren't a part of his unit, but his own men. But despite Mosley's reputation for having a short temper, he simply nodded and gestured to Preston. "Very well Lieutenant, but don't let that get in the way of treating our own wounded."

"I won't let that happen, sir," Arcade answered.

"Good," Mosley said, as calm as though nothing had happened. "Sergeant Redford, stay here with the Lieutenant and get your team's injuries seen to. Take the first Vertibird back to base once everyone's gotten looked at."

"Yes sir!" Redford replied. With that, Mosley turned and left, no doubt to ensure that none of their attackers escaped.


It took at least half an hour for us all to be looked over by Lieutenant Gannon or one of his medics. To his credit, the Doc did manage to keep one of the prisoners alive, and Captain Mosley, not to be outdone, swiftly returned with a prisoner of his own, who had been hiding in a liquor cabinet. Two men had lived, out of the more than one hundred men who had attacked us. If nothing else, it felt pretty good to know that the Enclave could still put up a good fight.

All the while however, even while my buddies were talking and Doctor Gannon was stiching my arm back together, I couldn't help but stare at the dead man in the gray uniform. It wasn't hard to pick up on the fact that they must've been part of some larger organization, what with the uniforms and their coordination, but there was something we'd missed in all of the carnage on the battlefield.

Each and every one of the gray uniforms had a flag on their shoulders, just like I did on my armor. Just like Old Glory, the flag had stars and stripes on it, but they weren't exactly arranged in the same order. I remember it seeming vaguely familiar at the time, but I hadn't quite put together why. In my defense, I wasn't the only kid in my class to slack off when the teacher started talking about history.

Although, it seems my teacher might've gotten the last laugh on that one. We didn't know it yet, but we were about to get a pretty stern history lesson.


Author's Notes: I've had the idea to incorporate my favorite soldiers from the best Battlefield Campaigns into one of my stories for some time now. Sure, they're not my characters, but I'll be damned if they didn't deserve more time in the sun. Oh well, if we're never getting Bad Company 3, then I'll do it my fucking self… although in a Fallout story, obviously. Still, rather befitting that I held off on writing anything with them until I started writing a story about American Soldiers, eh?

I did consider having the whole story be told from Colonel Autumn's Perspective, but then we wouldn't have seen any of the fighting, and that just didn't seem like any fun.

Regardless, I hope that I did them justice, and if you've never played the Bad Company Campaigns before, I would strongly recommend them.