A/N
So readers, you want tanks? I'll give you tanks! Enjoy a new chapter as a prologue to another chapter of good old fashioned Fallout raider-murder :D
Kudos to Blaze1992 and BrotherCaptainSheperd, for the inspiration of tank inclusion that provides a more realistic approach to the Fallout universe.
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Paladin Brand awoke to the grinding noise of a dozen or more engines roaring in the wee hours of the morning. Annoyed that he was roused from his sleep that early in the day, he crawled off his mat and out of his tent to investigate.
As he emerged into the open, he squinted as he felt the glare of a dozen floodlights lighting up the compound right next to the refugee dwellings. He was not alone in being roused abruptly from a good night's sleep, Karter along with the tribals started coming out too. Before long, a crowd had gathered at the perimeter fence of Outpost Seven. A convoy of vehicles had just arrived from the north, ranging from Dominion IFV's to logistics vehicle transport systems and troop transporters like the Centaurs.
All eyes turned to the massive armored trucks pulling up to the Outpost Seven compound. The HETS, a shorter term for Heavy Equipment Transport System, were heavy duty carriers designed to transport heavy armored vehicles on the semi-trailers hooked up to their M911 Tractor-Units across long distances where less equipped transporters were unable to bear the load. Like most armored vehicles, the HETS were protected with 3 quarter-inch steel plates over essential parts like the driver's cabin and the engine compartment. There was little room for additional weapon modifications, so the HETS depended on an armed escort whenever they were deployed in the field. Their task, for this particular campaign, was to transport the Dominion's MBT's to the front.
The MBT's started up their engines the moment the straps securing them to the semi-trailers were unclasped, and they growled like the menacing beasts of composite metal and steel that they were as they rolled down the ramp.
"What are those things?" Paladin Brand gasped in awe, a sentiment shared by pretty much everyone in the crowd of onlookers. As much as the Dominion soldiers liked to keep the crowd at a distance, they couldn't help but feel proud about the fact that the mere sight of their war machines evoked such strong reactions among the wasters.
Dex smiled as he walked up to the front of the crowd and stood next to the paladin, as he recognized the tank after practically growing up with the sight of it from military parades, to the White Bastion exercises he witnessed back in his old training days, to the propaganda posters on every other street corner in Elysion. "The backbone of the Dominion military. Every rook's prayer answered, and a wastelander's nightmare. The Black Bears."
The M2 Black Bear, a fourth-generation main battle tank, the last vestige of american-german collaborative engineering before the events of the European Commonwealth-Middle Eastern Resource War, now redesigned and recreated by the brightest minds in the Dominion. It was the brainchild of Bishop Wilhelm Weiss, which stemmed from decades of planning and provided a solution to the Dominion's dilemma when it began its first few years of taming the wasteland.
The Black Bear was equipped with armor that had an arrangement of NERA metal plates, ceramic blocks and open spaces. HEAT and sabot rounds would enter the beginning layers of armor but would be unable to penetrate the crew compartment. Ceramics had the ability to absorb a great deal of heat, and could blunt physical blows by cracking and deflecting the force. The remaining hot gasses and metal shrapnel spread out or settle in empty air pockets.
The composition of the Black Bear's composite armor consisted of sandwiched plates of non-explosive reactive armor (NERA) between conventional steel plates. The NERA plates featured elasticity, allowing them to flex and distort upon perforation, disrupting the penetrating jets of shaped charges and providing more material and space for a kinetic round to pass through, thus providing increased protection compared to conventional steel armor of similar weight.
In terms of armament, the Black Bear had a 105mm rifled main gun, which was equipped with a ballistics fire-control computer that assisted the gunner in plotting sound firing solutions. The tank's ammo storage allowed for up to 49 rounds; ranging from the AP fin-stabilized discarding sabot rounds, HEAT rounds, high-explosive rounds, white-phosphorous smoke rounds, to the anti-personnel fletchette rounds. Secondary armaments included a 12.7mm gun mounted on the commander's hatch, which had the option of being manually or remotely controlled by the operator. Then, a 7.62mm gun on the loader's hatch on the right and another as a coaxial mounted gun that could be aimed wherever the main gun was pointed at.
Dominion soldiers moved in to assist the engineers in unloading the cargo, while tank crews scrambled to mount up and drive the tanks into formation. All in all, the military vehicles amounted to 16 tanks, 12 IFV's, 9 support and logistics vehicles.
"Fascinating." Paladin Brand breathed.
"Hah, if you think that's fascinating, waster." One of the Dominion soldiers sneered, "You haven't seen anything yet."
There were civilian vehicles in the convoy too, belonging to carefully selected colonists who would settle the conquered lands right after the military purged them of their previous occupants. They weren't the soft bunch that most would expect from the name, for these colonists were trained in basic self defense as much as any citizen of the Dominion and were issued military-grade equipment such as automatic weapons or combat armor. They were doctors, engineers, cultivators- which was the term the Dominion used for farmers- and technicians. It was no coincidence that the civilians were partnered up by two's, as most of them were registered breeding partners, some having been registered just recently.
Even after emerging from Vault 115, the breeding program had not lost its influence on Dominion society, and it continued in its mission to encourage its citizens in making procreation a priority. Every citizen must give to the state, the most common tribute being in offspring.
Paladin Brand noticed that there were children among the colonists too, ranging from the ages of 8 to 13. Healthy boys and girls, every one of them.
"I think I understand now the reason and the need for this outpost." He said to Scribe Karter as they moved away from the crowd, "It is necessary for a successful colonization. But I fear for the tribals who might get caught in the crossfire."
"We should head back." Karter advised him, "If not now, then soon. Who knows what terrible secrets they might unearth from the past and unleash upon the Wasteland?" She paused, then suggested. "The Elder will know what to do, we just need to let him know everything that we've seen and heard here."
"We will go, but only after things have settled a bit." Paladin Brand decided, "Right now, let's wait and see."
The commander in charge of the convoy entered Outpost Seven and met with Lt. Hope Weiss. He saluted the lieutenant as he reported the success of their journey through the desert, "Tank Commander Sgt. Reese Hannigan, reporting."
"At ease, sergeant. It's damn good to have you here." Hope gave his hand a good shake and beckoned for him and the other tank commanders to enter the tower, along with the officers in charge of the troops that arrived with the convoy. They wasted no time getting the briefings underway, as everyone in the outpost was eager to begin the next phase of the campaign. Up till then, they had taken on the defensive role, but now that the heavy armor had arrived on site, it was time to go on the offensive.
A digital map was brought up on display, which was charted according to Sgt. Sterling's findings when he and his men infiltrated the Blood Harbor and the Lexington. Hope had plenty of time to think up every strategy, but she allowed the others to fill in the gaps in her plan. It would, after all, be a hard battle ahead as it was largely an urban terrain, and all precautions had to be considered. They had to expect attacks from every direction, and the presence of non-combatants like the slaves. It would, however, be easy to judge an enemy based of their faction attire and weaponry. The slaves were acceptable collateral damage, as bad as the term sounded, but the neutralization of the slavers was paramount.
Operation Burnout was set, and would commence at exactly 0500 hours.
Beforehand, the whole base assembled its troops and had them mount up in their tanks and troop transports. And when the morning light dawned at its first rays in the horizon, they rode out for the Lexxer base.
Elrik heaved a sigh of relief after finishing the first draft of the High Marshal's memoirs. The scribe leaned back on his chair and stretched his aching limbs, then proceeded to scrutinize his work. The computer screen flickered in his sight as his eyes felt a little tired from staring for far too long. Elrik promised himself that he would get some rest right after, then polish up the final piece when he was done. There would be some addendums in the future, there was no doubt about that, but for now he would be content with what the High Marshal imparted to him.
It wasn't every day someone would get a glimpse into the past of the Dominion's greatest leader, and Elrik found it a great honor to have had a hand in putting it into writing. Now, all that was left to do was perfect it and then wait for the High Marshal's approval.
"High Marshal Stern's Memoirs: A Recollection"
Firstly, a foreword: My name is Roman Stern. I was born on May 24th 2041, a citizen of the now gone pre-War federal republic known as the United States of America.
Officially, I was born to a loving home, raised by two good and loyal citizens Joe and Pat Stern. I grew up in upstate New York, graduated from Jim Henson's University, and later enlisted in the army. But the truth is never so simple, and considering that there's no lasting ties with the old government to keep me from sharing the truth, I shall be quite frank for its own sake.
I was born in a lab, grown right out of a vat alongside many other babies in a government-funded project designated as Project Manifest. All of us were the result of select DNA manipulation, drawn from the traits of the Commonwealth's finest. The goal of the project was to birth and raise children in controlled simulated environments, fully indoctrinated to resist seditious ideals that are considered an affront to American Democracy, that would result in creating the next generation of military strategists and political officers- all true patriots of the Commonwealth.
I was put in a carefully and meticulously crafted neighborhood alongside the other kids. Our 'parents' were volunteers, selected from among the most dutiful of citizens to help in the project's tasks, and sworn to secrecy. I will never know if their love for us was genuine, or it may be that they simply performed too well. In whichever case, their efforts showed promising results that I can personally attest to. It was the happiest years of my life, everyone of us thought about it that way.
On my 18th birthday, we were suddenly taken out of the neighborhood and brought into the outside world. At the time, none of us knew what was going on. Later, it was explained to us rather plainly that the project had been abandoned and we were to be taken in for our creators to decide what to do with their rejects. We spent the next two months in a white room, under guard but treated well enough. Some of the kids unraveled, turned violent. I'd like to think that I fared pretty well with all things considered.
When I was brought before the think tank that gave birth to me, I never hesitated in telling them what I wanted to do. I still wanted to serve. Back then, it was a lie. I saw no other purpose, but wanting it was another thing entirely. I submitted myself to their tests, and lived the lie they formed for me when they sent me out into the world.
I found a home in the Army, and I never let go. My past might have been a lie, but this one was my truth. The Commonwealth could not take that away from me, I made sure they knew it too.
I served with distinction and climbed the ranks in the 20 years I served, finally attaining the rank of Colonel. Under Gen. Babcock, I participated in the annexation of Canada, which officially began in 2072 and ended in late 2076. Of course, unofficially, our operations in the Canadian Front began way before its official declaration. Later, I was recalled to serve in the Yangtze Takeover at Operation Yellow Fever, and Gen. Babcock took over the reins in Canada to finish what I've started.
My men and I were responsible for the occupation of US forces at Shanghai and Nanjing, but my regiment suffered heavy losses and I was badly wounded in the final battle of the takeover. We were sent back to the mainland to replenish our numbers, and so I could recover from my injuries. It was there that I met a certain Dr. Isley Markham, a representative of Vault-Tec.
He shared with me the troubling reports of international mutually-assured destruction, a fancy way of saying that China was going to drag us down to hell with it, revealed the existence of Project Safehouse and that I was one of the candidates for reservation in Vault 115. After reviewing his proposition for quite some time, I agreed only on the condition that my men would come along with me.
My condition was accepted with little hesitation on Dr. Markham's part, and I was added to the program.
Then, on the night of October 22nd 2077, just one day away from Armageddon, it came to my attention that Vault-Tec's actions were not as benevolent as they seemed. I walked into that program with my own suspicions, and just in a nick of time caught up to the program director's schemes. For the sake of this memoir, and to the knowledge that no other official mediums would set the record straight, I will not withhold the details.
I took over Vault 115, then had Dr. Markham and his team interrogated- thoroughly.
They confessed to Project Safehouse's true purpose, which was nothing short of sinister. Although their knowledge was purposefully kept to a minimum due to internal compartmentalization, I was able to garner sufficient intelligence to come up with my own conclusion. Vault-Tec was designed to shelter each a select number of human populations as testing pools for their many experiments. To this day, I do not know the extent of these experiments or the twisted reasoning behind their conception, but it shouldn't be premature of me to classify it as nothing more than a madman's dream come true.
Assuming control of the vault, and thereby becoming responsible for the lives of so many men and women- not just soldiers but civilians as well- it changed me.
In hindsight, I suppose that's what made me the commander I am today. I did not operate under the blind loyalty of serving a corrupted ideal, I merely chose to be loyal to my men- my one true family. This feeling extended towards the civilians under my care, and I so devoted myself to their survival- thereby devoting myself in preserving the last vestige of civilization.
It was never about America. It was about humanity. It was always about humanity.
Elrik scratched his chin and smiled. It was perfect, save for one more detail.
He leaned forward over the keyboard and scrolled up to the title. Hitting backspace, the keys clacked loudly as his fingers danced atop the board. Then, he sat back to gloat over the final touches.
"The High Marshal's Memoirs: Humanity First"
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